There was a bucket full of water, I picked it up and carried it as far as I could. I did not think I would take the bucket of water as far as where I was. Where did I travel to with this bucket of water you ask? Well just a couple of houses down the road.
I am 42 years old and have dedicated a better portion of my life to being a single mom. Now he is 18 and off to college it is time to fulfill my bucket list. I have so many things I want to see and do and not going to allow anymore time to pass!
Kicking the Bucket- a great Kings of Leon song- popular here in England. I nearly saw them in Nashville a few years ago with a guy who was practically a stranger at the time. How crazy. Nearly drove three hours just to be with a guy I was surprised was interested in me. I wonder how that can be when I know I’ma catch and confident.
It was a truly unique gift, the way he had thrown it together wasn’t as tactful as it should have been though. It’s not every day you get a puppy nestled in a bucket of lilies…
there a thousand things she wants to do before she dies, and a thousand ways to do them, but she cant, theres no way, cuz shes sitting alone and lost, doing everything and nothing and nothings what comes out of it.
I have my list of things to do before I die written on my ceiling, right above my head where I sleep. I haven’t crossed out anything yet, I’m worried that I’m going to end up getting hit by a bus or something before I’ve done any of the things that I want to do. I’m terrified that I’m going to end up wasting my life away.
The perfect assemblage of things I don’t yet understand, all tossed into one big bucket, it seems. I can’t figure it out. This year has been a labyrinth of hopes, of dreams, of an awakening to difficult realities I’ve but just begun to experience. And I’m struggling to hold onto the bit of innocence I’ve got left. And as I savor this feeling of loss and gain, of freedom and fear, I have an inkling that maybe…just maybe, everything will be alright.
And I feel the beginning of a smile gently push its way across my face.
My bucket list is very short and getting shorter by the minute. You see I can’t remember my name today much less what I had wanted to do before I die. The doctor says this will get worse, this missing things, so I guess my bucket will include just to remember those I love.
The splash came to you as a mockery. I meant it to be a joke. One of my pathetic attempts to catch your attention. You did notice me, but not really in the way I have always wanted you to. Your eyes burned right through my soul. No words were necessary to let me know you’re never going to forgive me for this. I guess putting that bucket of water on top of your door really was going too far. Then again, who knew someone who had everything could be so short on humor?
If I was to describe what the word bucket means to me in my life I could go in many directions. For one thing, there is a bucket list! My list consists of things I want to do before I die. Another thing with buckets are the precious cargo one can carry in their bucket. I personally like grapes so in my bucket I would be carrying grapes.
A lady passed by,carrying a bucket
She smiles with grace as she works by the river
A lady like her shouldn’t have to work
But she does so,singing a song
Someday,she won’t work no more
She’ll leave the bucket behind
but for now,I watch her
as she smiles
I fill my bucket up with water and start the trek back to our campsite. I sigh as I lug the heavy bucket. At least I only have one week of camp, and then I’m back to my air-conditioned house. However, as I carry the bucket, a tiny deer pops out of the woods, right next to me. “It’s Bambi!” I say, and laugh. Maybe camp won’t be so bad after all.
Buckets. We see them so sparsely, now a days. Now, we carry our possessions in fashionable bags. Sad, isn’t it. When I think of buckets, I think of a little girl, with a red bucket in her hands. She holds it without a care in the world, just like the world used to be.
in the air, it went flying, and came down with a crash onto Charlotte’s head. She screamed. “Artie, I am going to effing murder you!” as the dung slowly slopped down all over her head and shoulders. She tossed the bucket away, reached for the hose, and turned it on, full blast, and aimed it at Artie. She was not successful. Dung was coming down her face, and into her eyes. They stung, and it was hard to see. Artie managed to get away, laughing. But he would not escape her for long.
Bucket are useful and fun. They can be used to carry things. When I think of buckets, generally, I think of little girls with pig tails carrying red buckets and skipping. Odd, but true. You can buy buckets.
I don’t like buckets. Reminds me of my job as a janitor, when I worked in a coed dorm and would loan my elevator key to guys wanted to visit their girlfriends. They could take the service elevator up to the girls side, but someone ratted and I lost my job.
I don’t want to write about a bucket, but I will. I’m not sure what I would write about, the prompt being a bucket. I’m not sure what I’d say about a bucket. A bucket is for holding things. A bucket is for carrying things and for dumping things out. A bucket is also for making lists, making bucket lists. I have a bucket list.
In the driveway
Childhood plays
captured in a million tiny pixels
is her smile
a little blue sailboat sweatshirt
and the bucket on her head
these are the things I will never get back
the bucket list is there in a way that comforts, somehow. the list of tasks that are our unfinished business – the things that keep us going, going forward and searching and looking and living in the meantime, the business that until completed will bring us back and haunt us as we would haunt it. we must fill this bucket.
I have a bucket list. Probablly too many things on my bucket list for me to ever accomplish but somethings have been accomplished. Like having a child. Like finding myself. Like knowing the truth of a situation. Some have not been accomplished yet. Like going to Italy. Like writing my great american novel. Like riding in a hot air balloon.
Bucket List:
Go cliff diving
Go bungee jumping
Read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War
Move across the country
Visit Italy
Become the CEO of a major corporation and not turn into an asshole
Own my own Restaurant/Bar
Have a family
Be Happy
Become friends with an ex
Give life changing advice
Take a weekend trip with someone I love
Figure out this whole, ‘math’ thing
Buy an expensive car with cash
Get my mom her own house
Love deeply
list a group of things to before you die. there’s a hole in my bucket, dear liza…… sing with your sister. can’t you harmonize? How come you get to sing the lead?
THe bucket was empty, but she carried it anyway. The hole in the bottom had drained the water a long time ago, but the small girl was too naive to notice. She kept walking, walking, walking, carrying her empty bucket back home.
I raced out the door to go to my grandmas house. On my way I grabbed my bucket. You see, I was planning on collecting wild strawberries along the way. So as I travelled I kept my eyes out for the bright red colour of ripe strawberries, and as I found them I put them in my bucket.
Bucket often brings to mind being ill, or cleaning up. Or a type of seat, like one you seen in a car. Bucket seats. I don’t know, this word is funny because I’m not even sure I’m allowed to conjugate it? Buckets would be much easier to talk about. There, I see wooden buckets, plastic buckets, buckets are often used in stores to hold merchandise, like shells, buttons, beads, toothpaste, soap, cookies, oh now I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Has anyone ever
Everyone should have a bucketlist. A list of things that you want to do before you’re called home and well…kick the bucket. Maybe that’s why it’s called a bucket list. Anyway, I’ve never made one and I don’t even know what I would put on mine. Nothing cliche like see the Eiffel tower or travel to every content. I think at the top of my bucket list i would simply have the word live.
Fish guts slopped over the sides of the stained wooden bucket she hefted in her hands. The bucket knew the weight of offal as well as those hands, and together they made another journey, one out of the hundreds they had ever made and would make. Quick feet over the smoothed stones of the street and the worn wood of the docks knew their path, and the wood and stones their touch. Always quick, no matter the weight of the load. It wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.
Maybe if it had rained harder, it would have been better. The bucket wasn’t even all the way full. just an inch or two up the sides and and not even enough to water the dying roses in the house.
Oh my.
I’m a little bit of a Homestuck fan so I was immediately taken aback when I saw this.
I never really understood the idea of a bucket in the web comic, but of course, it’s something hilariously inappropriate and worth snickering about.
I Lifted the Bucket
And Handed it to Him.
“What is it?”
I Murmured, Peering at the Small Creature Inside.
He Smiled,
And He Replied in a Soft Whisper.
“It’s a Kitten.”
And So it Was.
Smaller Than My Head,
Laying on a Fine Layer of Straw.
It Was a Runt.
Left By it’s Mother.
Fur Darker Than Night.
Folded Ears
Eyes Shut Tight.
“Can I Keep it?” I Murmured.
He Grinned.
I’m fucking depressed. I wanna fucking die. Why do I always lie to make others happy? Why do I think that no one can love me for who I am. I fucking hate myself and I don’t deserve anyone, not even my own family. I’m a burden who should lead themselves to destruction. I wanna kick the bucket.
The bucket of worms held my fortune. They lured me into their trap and I fell right into it. Now, I could only depend on the wand in my pocket to save me from my fate. I was doomed. Unless, of course, I could find another bucket with flowers rather than worms. I could be saved.
Seized and separated into sizes
The sibilance circumvented the syllables
Splatted on the surface, shimmied solidly for several seconds
Then left its stain on bucket’s base
There was a bucket full of water, I picked it up and carried it as far as I could. I did not think I would take the bucket of water as far as where I was. Where did I travel to with this bucket of water you ask? Well just a couple of houses down the road.
I am 42 years old and have dedicated a better portion of my life to being a single mom. Now he is 18 and off to college it is time to fulfill my bucket list. I have so many things I want to see and do and not going to allow anymore time to pass!
Kicking the Bucket- a great Kings of Leon song- popular here in England. I nearly saw them in Nashville a few years ago with a guy who was practically a stranger at the time. How crazy. Nearly drove three hours just to be with a guy I was surprised was interested in me. I wonder how that can be when I know I’ma catch and confident.
It was a truly unique gift, the way he had thrown it together wasn’t as tactful as it should have been though. It’s not every day you get a puppy nestled in a bucket of lilies…
there a thousand things she wants to do before she dies, and a thousand ways to do them, but she cant, theres no way, cuz shes sitting alone and lost, doing everything and nothing and nothings what comes out of it.
I have my list of things to do before I die written on my ceiling, right above my head where I sleep. I haven’t crossed out anything yet, I’m worried that I’m going to end up getting hit by a bus or something before I’ve done any of the things that I want to do. I’m terrified that I’m going to end up wasting my life away.
The perfect assemblage of things I don’t yet understand, all tossed into one big bucket, it seems. I can’t figure it out. This year has been a labyrinth of hopes, of dreams, of an awakening to difficult realities I’ve but just begun to experience. And I’m struggling to hold onto the bit of innocence I’ve got left. And as I savor this feeling of loss and gain, of freedom and fear, I have an inkling that maybe…just maybe, everything will be alright.
And I feel the beginning of a smile gently push its way across my face.
My bucket list is very short and getting shorter by the minute. You see I can’t remember my name today much less what I had wanted to do before I die. The doctor says this will get worse, this missing things, so I guess my bucket will include just to remember those I love.
The splash came to you as a mockery. I meant it to be a joke. One of my pathetic attempts to catch your attention. You did notice me, but not really in the way I have always wanted you to. Your eyes burned right through my soul. No words were necessary to let me know you’re never going to forgive me for this. I guess putting that bucket of water on top of your door really was going too far. Then again, who knew someone who had everything could be so short on humor?
If I was to describe what the word bucket means to me in my life I could go in many directions. For one thing, there is a bucket list! My list consists of things I want to do before I die. Another thing with buckets are the precious cargo one can carry in their bucket. I personally like grapes so in my bucket I would be carrying grapes.
A lady passed by,carrying a bucket
She smiles with grace as she works by the river
A lady like her shouldn’t have to work
But she does so,singing a song
Someday,she won’t work no more
She’ll leave the bucket behind
but for now,I watch her
as she smiles
Bucket list, it’s raining buckets. Going blank on this one. I gues it makes me think a farmers–feeding bucket calves. I don’t use buckets much.
The bucket can hold anything. Water, blood, even dreams. Yet the bucket is used by people others look down on like janitors. I find it funny.
I fill my bucket up with water and start the trek back to our campsite. I sigh as I lug the heavy bucket. At least I only have one week of camp, and then I’m back to my air-conditioned house. However, as I carry the bucket, a tiny deer pops out of the woods, right next to me. “It’s Bambi!” I say, and laugh. Maybe camp won’t be so bad after all.
Buckets. We see them so sparsely, now a days. Now, we carry our possessions in fashionable bags. Sad, isn’t it. When I think of buckets, I think of a little girl, with a red bucket in her hands. She holds it without a care in the world, just like the world used to be.
in the air, it went flying, and came down with a crash onto Charlotte’s head. She screamed. “Artie, I am going to effing murder you!” as the dung slowly slopped down all over her head and shoulders. She tossed the bucket away, reached for the hose, and turned it on, full blast, and aimed it at Artie. She was not successful. Dung was coming down her face, and into her eyes. They stung, and it was hard to see. Artie managed to get away, laughing. But he would not escape her for long.
Bucket are useful and fun. They can be used to carry things. When I think of buckets, generally, I think of little girls with pig tails carrying red buckets and skipping. Odd, but true. You can buy buckets.
I don’t like buckets. Reminds me of my job as a janitor, when I worked in a coed dorm and would loan my elevator key to guys wanted to visit their girlfriends. They could take the service elevator up to the girls side, but someone ratted and I lost my job.
I don’t want to write about a bucket, but I will. I’m not sure what I would write about, the prompt being a bucket. I’m not sure what I’d say about a bucket. A bucket is for holding things. A bucket is for carrying things and for dumping things out. A bucket is also for making lists, making bucket lists. I have a bucket list.
In the driveway
Childhood plays
captured in a million tiny pixels
is her smile
a little blue sailboat sweatshirt
and the bucket on her head
these are the things I will never get back
the bucket list is there in a way that comforts, somehow. the list of tasks that are our unfinished business – the things that keep us going, going forward and searching and looking and living in the meantime, the business that until completed will bring us back and haunt us as we would haunt it. we must fill this bucket.
I have a bucket list. Probablly too many things on my bucket list for me to ever accomplish but somethings have been accomplished. Like having a child. Like finding myself. Like knowing the truth of a situation. Some have not been accomplished yet. Like going to Italy. Like writing my great american novel. Like riding in a hot air balloon.
Bucket List:
Go cliff diving
Go bungee jumping
Read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War
Move across the country
Visit Italy
Become the CEO of a major corporation and not turn into an asshole
Own my own Restaurant/Bar
Have a family
Be Happy
Become friends with an ex
Give life changing advice
Take a weekend trip with someone I love
Figure out this whole, ‘math’ thing
Buy an expensive car with cash
Get my mom her own house
Love deeply
list a group of things to before you die. there’s a hole in my bucket, dear liza…… sing with your sister. can’t you harmonize? How come you get to sing the lead?
THe bucket was empty, but she carried it anyway. The hole in the bottom had drained the water a long time ago, but the small girl was too naive to notice. She kept walking, walking, walking, carrying her empty bucket back home.
there’s a hole in my bucket dear isa dear isa, there’s a hole in my bucket dear isa a-hmm
I raced out the door to go to my grandmas house. On my way I grabbed my bucket. You see, I was planning on collecting wild strawberries along the way. So as I travelled I kept my eyes out for the bright red colour of ripe strawberries, and as I found them I put them in my bucket.
Bucket often brings to mind being ill, or cleaning up. Or a type of seat, like one you seen in a car. Bucket seats. I don’t know, this word is funny because I’m not even sure I’m allowed to conjugate it? Buckets would be much easier to talk about. There, I see wooden buckets, plastic buckets, buckets are often used in stores to hold merchandise, like shells, buttons, beads, toothpaste, soap, cookies, oh now I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Has anyone ever
Everyone should have a bucketlist. A list of things that you want to do before you’re called home and well…kick the bucket. Maybe that’s why it’s called a bucket list. Anyway, I’ve never made one and I don’t even know what I would put on mine. Nothing cliche like see the Eiffel tower or travel to every content. I think at the top of my bucket list i would simply have the word live.
Something used to fill up with water and liquids, container.
Cleaning supply, carry, etc…???
Fish guts slopped over the sides of the stained wooden bucket she hefted in her hands. The bucket knew the weight of offal as well as those hands, and together they made another journey, one out of the hundreds they had ever made and would make. Quick feet over the smoothed stones of the street and the worn wood of the docks knew their path, and the wood and stones their touch. Always quick, no matter the weight of the load. It wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.
Kick the bucket.
Maybe if it had rained harder, it would have been better. The bucket wasn’t even all the way full. just an inch or two up the sides and and not even enough to water the dying roses in the house.
Oh my.
I’m a little bit of a Homestuck fan so I was immediately taken aback when I saw this.
I never really understood the idea of a bucket in the web comic, but of course, it’s something hilariously inappropriate and worth snickering about.
cool,usefull,fine,water,tool,i like buckets even thought I don’t ever use one,it is kind of a random thing,If I had a bucket it would be purple.
I Lifted the Bucket
And Handed it to Him.
“What is it?”
I Murmured, Peering at the Small Creature Inside.
He Smiled,
And He Replied in a Soft Whisper.
“It’s a Kitten.”
And So it Was.
Smaller Than My Head,
Laying on a Fine Layer of Straw.
It Was a Runt.
Left By it’s Mother.
Fur Darker Than Night.
Folded Ears
Eyes Shut Tight.
“Can I Keep it?” I Murmured.
He Grinned.
“Of Course.”
I’m fucking depressed. I wanna fucking die. Why do I always lie to make others happy? Why do I think that no one can love me for who I am. I fucking hate myself and I don’t deserve anyone, not even my own family. I’m a burden who should lead themselves to destruction. I wanna kick the bucket.
The bucket of worms held my fortune. They lured me into their trap and I fell right into it. Now, I could only depend on the wand in my pocket to save me from my fate. I was doomed. Unless, of course, I could find another bucket with flowers rather than worms. I could be saved.
-id like A big mac.
mc fries
mc napkin
– sir we dont-
– MC ICE CREAM
– THIS IS WENDYS, DAMNIT.
Seized and separated into sizes
The sibilance circumvented the syllables
Splatted on the surface, shimmied solidly for several seconds
Then left its stain on bucket’s base