The drip echoed through the house, making my eye twitch. I tried to focus on my book, but the drip was my tell-tale heart, my slowly ticking clock in the belly of a crocodile. Alligator? Which was it? My focus was GONE.
I put a bucket in the well. As I pulled it up I could feel my hands toughening up. I looked in the bucket and saw gold, silver, and jewels. I gasped and ran inside the house. I showed my mother the bucket and her face brightened up. My mind raced with all the things I could do with all this gold and jewels. I could take my mother to get help from doctors, I could make amazing meals for my mother, and finally get clothes for me and my mother. All this was a dream come true I looked out the window and saw someone go by our well. He had a bucket and looked down our well. I ran outside and said, “Hey, what are you doing?” He looked at me and all of sudden I realized it was Prince Alexander. I quickly realized my mistake in yelling and bowed down. Prince Alexander took my hand and pulled off of the ground. He smiled and asked,” What is your name?” “My name is Avery.” I said, trying to look brave. “Well, Miss Avery, I was the one who put gold and jewels in your well and came to see if you got them. Also to ask if you and your family would like to live with my father and me. My father, King Andy, has taken fond of your mother and would like to ask you mother if she would take his hand in marriage.” I took my hand out of his and said, “How does your father know my mother?” At that time my mother came out and said, “I accept his marriage.” I looked at her with a questioning face. She smiled and said, “I knew the king since we were young. Now I think he would like us as a family.” I looked at Prince Alexander and said, “Well, with you as a brother, what can go wrong. We headed to the castle and the wedding was the next day. As I sat by my new brother I said, “Oh, the adventures we are going to have.” We grinned at each other and started laughing. Oh how it is great to have a family now.
Seagulls fly overhead as I sit on the beach. I can hear my mother and aunt laughing behind me, reclining on beach chairs. Buckets filled with sand are piled next to me. Pudgy toddler hands grabbing fistfuls of the grainy material and dumping it into the container. I take the bucket and tip it upside down on the cool, wet, ground. I feel the waves washing over my small feet as I slowly lift the bucket to reveal my masterpiece. A small tower made of sand.
When will we kick the bucket and will we know when it will be tipped over. Where did that actually come from, the phrase “Kicked the bucket?” Why do we have such casual ways to say “Died”?
She grabbed a tin cup and headed down to the well, tears streaming down her cheeks. A cool cup of water would calm her nerves. At the well, instead of the usual wooden bucket, there was a bucket craved from a solid piece of crystal…
I found a bucket of dead fish. Someone had left it on the sidewalk. The fish were colorful and bright, but dead. I stopped and stared for a long time. I was trying to decide what exact emotion it was that I was feeling, seeing these beautiful things dead and discarded.
So many things to put in, so little space. Buckets feel like a metaphor for life sometimes. I am surrounded by endless possibilities, endless things that I could make happen, but I only have so much space and then I am out.
I think I need a bigger bucket, but they appear to be in short supply.
The wafer-thin mint, like the pin on a grenade… To his credit, Monsieur tried to refuse the mint. But the waiter wouldn’t take “No,” he’s the nicest bully you’ll ever know. A foodie terrorist. “It’s only one little thin one,” he says, knowing Monsieur’s gonna blow. “Oh alright…” *BLAM* The waiter runs, too late! He’s trodden in Monsieur’s barf bucket: true justice.
“I wouldn’t give a bucket of piss for your chances when that posse catches up to us,” Graham said with a sneer, spitting a stream of tobacco juice towards his wounded compadre. “They took a damn chunk outta your hand there!”
Bucket, this instantly paints the picture of a plastic bucket lying in my bathroom, with a mug floating in it and tap water flowing into it. However, after studying engineering, I came across many more meanings of the word bucket. Buckets were used a lot in few mathematics concept and yes from that emerged the bucket list concept. So this word somehow touches me sensitively as I used to find those mathematics concepts quite complicated.
got a hole in my bucket
i tried to plug it
still it seeps
i dip it in the ocean
it’s full for the moment
but step by step it leaks
the walk home is long
though i’m careful
i lose more than i keep
my soul is that bucket
over and over I try to fill it
yet at the end of the day
what remains is shallow
“Will that be all, Mrs. Bucket?” “It’s Bouquet, dear,” said Hyacinth, and her husband rolled his eyes as usual. She was always putting on airs. Even the neighbors knew about it.
Chad left a bucket of the worst Halloween candy he could find out in his front yard, and then he turned out all the lights and watched the second season of Stranger Things in his boxers, eating tiramisu-flavored ice cream out of the carton because he had to feel somewhat fancy about his life. Not surprisingly, when he brought the pail back into his house four hours later, it was still around half full. Also, an allegedly angry trick-or-treater had left a note scribbled out on binder paper, using quite a few cuss words that were more appropriate for teenagers’ dirty mouths, to demonstrate their disappointment in the crude selection of sweets.
bucket full of dusty pucks and rusty muskets
russet trumpets next to budget cutlets for custom cuspids
on the cusp of luscious, covet justice
on the summit, take care not to plummet
rustic pundits turn to crusty puppets no longer trusted
mascots and maggots stuck it a casket – the handle’s busted
the glutton shovels mutton, finds himself sullen
near a cove, the coven eat crumpet from the oven
wisdom nugget: brave does, careful doesn’t
Falling, falling, clutching the bucket tight, everything is spinning but the water stays inside. We plummet up and down, side to side, the bucket and I, but I never spill a single drop. Not one. That’s how steady I can be sometimes.
The sound of the constant drip, drip, drip.
The rain was a mantra in her head, over and over.
He promised he’d fix the hole in the roof.
He was long gone.
The water filled the bucket, drip by drip.
But she was still empty.
Detective Rostrum zoomed his camera lense to get a closer look at his suspect sitting on the edge of Smith and Main.
“There’s the bucket,” his partner, Holloway, said.
The man was exactly how the witnesses had described him. The fact that this sicko, posing as a vagrant, was able to get away with a string of murders for so long, boggled him. It didn’t help that social media was dragging the department around by the nose, either.
A flock of business men in ties costing more than his rent walked by. The suspect stumbled up, dragging the bucket behind him as if it was a cement block.
“Oh, there he goes.” Holloway was already out of the car.
Rostrum bit back a curse. “Wait a second, kid–” But his three month old partner had already crossed the street. Rostrum huffed behind him, wishing that he had eaten one less cheesesteak.
bucket’s are meant for filling
like milk is meant to spill
or words are meant for feeling
adjectives are fill of whim
this is the last one I write today
something about buckets
skin and paving the way
for things that mean something larger than them…
buckets of women carrying buckets of men
a bucket is a thing of beauty
filled with rainwater
beside a yello and white striped
fence
that really needs a paint job
and the bucket is the thing that makes it happen and the bucket sings its own praises because it can
because it can.
good old bucket.
my fan.
I just really like what you’re up to, and how you show and discuss it!.
I just really like what you’re up to, and how you show and discuss it!.
There’s a puppy in a bucket waiting for me when I get home. When did this become normal life for me?
The drip echoed through the house, making my eye twitch. I tried to focus on my book, but the drip was my tell-tale heart, my slowly ticking clock in the belly of a crocodile. Alligator? Which was it? My focus was GONE.
I put a bucket in the well. As I pulled it up I could feel my hands toughening up. I looked in the bucket and saw gold, silver, and jewels. I gasped and ran inside the house. I showed my mother the bucket and her face brightened up. My mind raced with all the things I could do with all this gold and jewels. I could take my mother to get help from doctors, I could make amazing meals for my mother, and finally get clothes for me and my mother. All this was a dream come true I looked out the window and saw someone go by our well. He had a bucket and looked down our well. I ran outside and said, “Hey, what are you doing?” He looked at me and all of sudden I realized it was Prince Alexander. I quickly realized my mistake in yelling and bowed down. Prince Alexander took my hand and pulled off of the ground. He smiled and asked,” What is your name?” “My name is Avery.” I said, trying to look brave. “Well, Miss Avery, I was the one who put gold and jewels in your well and came to see if you got them. Also to ask if you and your family would like to live with my father and me. My father, King Andy, has taken fond of your mother and would like to ask you mother if she would take his hand in marriage.” I took my hand out of his and said, “How does your father know my mother?” At that time my mother came out and said, “I accept his marriage.” I looked at her with a questioning face. She smiled and said, “I knew the king since we were young. Now I think he would like us as a family.” I looked at Prince Alexander and said, “Well, with you as a brother, what can go wrong. We headed to the castle and the wedding was the next day. As I sat by my new brother I said, “Oh, the adventures we are going to have.” We grinned at each other and started laughing. Oh how it is great to have a family now.
why this hut have a old buckets outside? Someone here or not?
“Knock Knock” from inside the door
when I’m open the door. Nothing in the hut…..
No feel no sanity
No words that came pouring out
What thoughts that are trapped inside
Filling me to the brim with voidless nights
Upon a night I would wish
That such deliverance be come to me
But strength I have
Shall never be broken
Twas full the bucket it was
As my mind hovers in vain
Overshadows those pesky fellows
Of little consideration they ought to be
Seagulls fly overhead as I sit on the beach. I can hear my mother and aunt laughing behind me, reclining on beach chairs. Buckets filled with sand are piled next to me. Pudgy toddler hands grabbing fistfuls of the grainy material and dumping it into the container. I take the bucket and tip it upside down on the cool, wet, ground. I feel the waves washing over my small feet as I slowly lift the bucket to reveal my masterpiece. A small tower made of sand.
I use a bucket to hold water to water my animals
kicking the bucket means dying, jack and jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, pail is also a bucket, bucket is made of wood
When will we kick the bucket and will we know when it will be tipped over. Where did that actually come from, the phrase “Kicked the bucket?” Why do we have such casual ways to say “Died”?
She grabbed a tin cup and headed down to the well, tears streaming down her cheeks. A cool cup of water would calm her nerves. At the well, instead of the usual wooden bucket, there was a bucket craved from a solid piece of crystal…
I found a bucket of dead fish. Someone had left it on the sidewalk. The fish were colorful and bright, but dead. I stopped and stared for a long time. I was trying to decide what exact emotion it was that I was feeling, seeing these beautiful things dead and discarded.
So many things to put in, so little space. Buckets feel like a metaphor for life sometimes. I am surrounded by endless possibilities, endless things that I could make happen, but I only have so much space and then I am out.
I think I need a bigger bucket, but they appear to be in short supply.
The wafer-thin mint, like the pin on a grenade… To his credit, Monsieur tried to refuse the mint. But the waiter wouldn’t take “No,” he’s the nicest bully you’ll ever know. A foodie terrorist. “It’s only one little thin one,” he says, knowing Monsieur’s gonna blow. “Oh alright…” *BLAM* The waiter runs, too late! He’s trodden in Monsieur’s barf bucket: true justice.
A bucket is about this much with as much for the whole that you can carry beside the rain or fruits you have harvested, or even for the time again.
“I wouldn’t give a bucket of piss for your chances when that posse catches up to us,” Graham said with a sneer, spitting a stream of tobacco juice towards his wounded compadre. “They took a damn chunk outta your hand there!”
Bucket, this instantly paints the picture of a plastic bucket lying in my bathroom, with a mug floating in it and tap water flowing into it. However, after studying engineering, I came across many more meanings of the word bucket. Buckets were used a lot in few mathematics concept and yes from that emerged the bucket list concept. So this word somehow touches me sensitively as I used to find those mathematics concepts quite complicated.
got a hole in my bucket
i tried to plug it
still it seeps
i dip it in the ocean
it’s full for the moment
but step by step it leaks
the walk home is long
though i’m careful
i lose more than i keep
my soul is that bucket
over and over I try to fill it
yet at the end of the day
what remains is shallow
“Will that be all, Mrs. Bucket?” “It’s Bouquet, dear,” said Hyacinth, and her husband rolled his eyes as usual. She was always putting on airs. Even the neighbors knew about it.
Chad left a bucket of the worst Halloween candy he could find out in his front yard, and then he turned out all the lights and watched the second season of Stranger Things in his boxers, eating tiramisu-flavored ice cream out of the carton because he had to feel somewhat fancy about his life. Not surprisingly, when he brought the pail back into his house four hours later, it was still around half full. Also, an allegedly angry trick-or-treater had left a note scribbled out on binder paper, using quite a few cuss words that were more appropriate for teenagers’ dirty mouths, to demonstrate their disappointment in the crude selection of sweets.
Bucket.
buuucket.
buck it.
buck quet
buckquet.
buuuucket.
buck. buck buck. et.
balk blak balk et.
Balket
Balquet.
bucket full of dusty pucks and rusty muskets
russet trumpets next to budget cutlets for custom cuspids
on the cusp of luscious, covet justice
on the summit, take care not to plummet
rustic pundits turn to crusty puppets no longer trusted
mascots and maggots stuck it a casket – the handle’s busted
the glutton shovels mutton, finds himself sullen
near a cove, the coven eat crumpet from the oven
wisdom nugget: brave does, careful doesn’t
you can hold things in this bucket.
Falling, falling, clutching the bucket tight, everything is spinning but the water stays inside. We plummet up and down, side to side, the bucket and I, but I never spill a single drop. Not one. That’s how steady I can be sometimes.
The sound of the constant drip, drip, drip.
The rain was a mantra in her head, over and over.
He promised he’d fix the hole in the roof.
He was long gone.
The water filled the bucket, drip by drip.
But she was still empty.
Detective Rostrum zoomed his camera lense to get a closer look at his suspect sitting on the edge of Smith and Main.
“There’s the bucket,” his partner, Holloway, said.
The man was exactly how the witnesses had described him. The fact that this sicko, posing as a vagrant, was able to get away with a string of murders for so long, boggled him. It didn’t help that social media was dragging the department around by the nose, either.
A flock of business men in ties costing more than his rent walked by. The suspect stumbled up, dragging the bucket behind him as if it was a cement block.
“Oh, there he goes.” Holloway was already out of the car.
Rostrum bit back a curse. “Wait a second, kid–” But his three month old partner had already crossed the street. Rostrum huffed behind him, wishing that he had eaten one less cheesesteak.
there was a small little bucket named jet he was no ordinary bucket he was a shape shiftier every one loves him.
I like to smoke from my bucket my good ole bucket bong,its hits you right between the eyes and makes a right ole pong,
List
Budweiser
Dollarama
Balti
All connect to bucket
Nancy responsible for buckets Tim Horton
Tek Cub
Kal Ket
Horse water
bucket’s are meant for filling
like milk is meant to spill
or words are meant for feeling
adjectives are fill of whim
this is the last one I write today
something about buckets
skin and paving the way
for things that mean something larger than them…
buckets of women carrying buckets of men
a bucket is a thing of beauty
filled with rainwater
beside a yello and white striped
fence
that really needs a paint job
and the bucket is the thing that makes it happen and the bucket sings its own praises because it can
because it can.
good old bucket.
my fan.