A Humble Bucket
There have been some great inventions
and some are not noted for their worth.
Take a humble bucket and all the uses
of it that can be employed.
It can carry water
when you’re thirty for a drink
or when you want a wash.
It can carry clothes
and most objects you can name.
You can put a bag in it
and use it as a waste paper bin
and it can be used as an overnight latrine
in case you are caught out
in the middle of the night.
A humble bucket
is one of the most versatile inventions ever made.
Australia’s most famous bushranger Ned Kelly
used a metal one to cover his head and hide his identity.
The list of uses go on and on,
so the next time you see a humble bucket
raise a glass to him
for all the work he has done for us.
18 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Bucket T
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Found her in a barn in tennessee
I paid five bucks for my bucket t
Took me three years of sweat and blood
To clean off all that tennessee mud
Chorus:
My bucket t (bucket t)
Bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
T t t... bucket bucket bucket...
Cruise down the street in front of school
I wanna rev it up but I gotta be cool
Drivin down the road Ill get my kicks
Apoppin the clutch and aslippin the sticks
[chorus]
I was right, too, shes first in her class
Theres nothing on the freeway she dont pass
All the girls want to take a ride with me
But theres only one seat in my bucket t
[chorus]
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bucket Kicker
What rhymes with bucket?
'That depends.
Is the bucket empty?
And
Is there anyone kicking it? '
Let's say the bucket is full.
And it is being carried?
'In a Porshe?
Or a Mercedes? '
You know
Sometimes I wonder why,
I bother to ask you anything!
'Oh
So 'you're' the kicker?
That should be obvious.'
Why is it obvious now?
'Well,
If a bucket is struck by a kicker out of luck
And that bucket is not picked up,
That bucket struck aint worth
What's being dumped into it from an outhouse.'
What's an outhouse have to do with it?
'That's for you to figure out
That bucket I'm going to carry
Is going to be in the trunk of my limousine.'
Thank you.
But that doesn't rhyme with bucket
'My plucked duckets
In the trunk of a limo
Sitting filled to the brim
In my golden bucket
And your hands aint around
Or near enough to touch it
Uh, I don't know about you
But that sounds very poetic to me
And you can fuss and cuss,
While kicking your bucket all you want
Thank you for your inspiration.'
No problem.
I just know from now on
Not to ask you anything
'I'm cool with that
Bucket kicker.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Bucket Of Water
One bucket of water
Razed the city to ashes.
One bucket of water
Could not quench the fire
Blazing from the town's
Central pump.
One bucket of water
A man held, jumped the
Queue to the pump.
One bucket of water
At the pump, about to
Collect water, resisted.
They stared each other
In the eye. Their tribal
Marks were different.
They threw caution to
The winds. Including
All buckets on the line.
Everyone queued behind
Their tribal marks. And
The city burnt through its
Length and breath. Death
Sprung out of life. And life
Spilled out of the bucket.
poem by Adeoye Adetoba
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Humble People
Humble people
We both are
We are humble people
We are happy
We have someone that is watching out for us
Humble people
Are much happier than those who have too much
Humble people have little but they are happy
Humble people are rich in spirit
Humble people have more friends
Than those that are rich
We are not so materialistic either
Humble people
Like to enjoy other humble people also
That is the kind of people they mix with
Humble people don’t wear any expensive clothes
Humble people are good Christians
Humble people are hungry for the word of the Lord
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Red
Have you heard about big red?
They even bought a beebread rig
To help the flowers in mean space
Theyre trying to make that place green
Hope the trees will take away the storm [2x]
Dont know how this whole thing started
There was a crowd and then we parted
Dont know if Ill ever go back
Its a long way across all of this black
Here I am in my bucket today
In the middle
Here I am in my bucket today
In the middle
They got a mule they call sal
Bulldozing up canal walls
Theyre gonna tap that icecap too
When they do theyre gonna make that green map blue
The weather is finally getting warm
And the weather is really getting warm
Dont know how this whole thing started
There was a cloud and then it parted
Dont know if Ill ever go back
Thats how I felt when I left that tarmac
Here I am in my bucket today
In the middle
Here I am in my bucket today
In the middle
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Say Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Close your eyes
And bow your head
To rest your soul
And to praise the dead
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Dry your eyes
And stand upright
Put a smile on your face
He wouldnt want us to cry
The sun will rise
The stars will shine
Turning day to dusk
And night to dawn
Well pass on
But until that time
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Have mercy
Its a wonderful life
Eternal rest for the weary
Mourners party tonight
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Wave your hands
But dont say goodbye
Were all gonna meet you
On the other side
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire, Fire! The Earth Is On Fire!
Fire, fire! The earth’s on fire!
Pass me a bucket and join the queue
if you don’t then things will get dire.
The savannah, the Hague and the few
polar bears will soon be gone.
‘Where are the fire engines you ask? ’
Well every time you or I do a bucket run
a CEO can buy himself another cask
of vintage Burgundy and his wife a gold locket
because he owns the rights to all the buckets.
poem by Blogging Paper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Washing Windows
Your mother used to sit on the window
Ledge of the tenement building and
Wash the windows of each of the rooms.
She’d push back the shutters and just
Sit there with a bucket of warm water
And a cloth and wash away. You were
Always afraid she’d lean too far back
And fall out and down to the ground
Several storeys below with a heavy crash
And break bones or neck or maybe die.
But she’d just sit there her legs holding
Onto the wall beneath her and push her
Right hand holding the damp cloth
Over the glass while her left hand held
The metal bucket tight swishing the warm
Water as she moved back and forth like
Some lone trapeze artist on the high wire
Without apparent fear or knowledge of
Was going on in the street below with the
Passing of the walking dead as Father used
To say and Mrs Febrile sitting on her window
Ledge with her daughter watching gossiping
And nosing about who did what to whom
While all the while you were frightened of
Your mother slipping out the window waving
Her hands and arms as she fell to her doom.
poem by Terry Collett
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A minnow, trench and a widow
I found a guppy struggles to swim in that lack of water ditch
And I borrowed a bucket of water from the near by watering widow.
Then I poured the whole into the ditch.
Oh! The minnow swims happily I watched
And I too felt happy after a long time.
I returned the bucket and said; 'Thank you very much Madam.'
I sniffed and measured her roomy smile
Really it's deeper than the trench.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A well
i wish to be seen
well like a well
that never dries
ever so inspired
you need just a
little bucket to
harvest the verses
and as you look
into it in the wet days
you see yourself
so well reflected
in the clear sky
and in the dry days
a little hideaway
angel a mace
in her hands
making your
humble wishes
come true
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Mother Penchallamma
Bursting the banks of the rain-fed tanks,
the swirling flood was swelling
the river Kundu in Cuddappah,
on twenty fourth August two thousand.
Carrying her two sons on her shoulders,
Penchallamma dared to cross the river,
in chest-deep strong current
to reach safe the other side,
as her house was engulfed
to be washed away soon.
The Collector from a helicopter
lowered down a plastic bucket,
to lift her up with her children.
Alas! Her seven year old boy
while climbing up into the bucket,
slipped and slumped into the river
and was swept away before her eyes!
Controlling her shock and grief,
She made her next attempt
to get into the swaying bucket.
But fate snatched her infant son
from her shivering hands
and dropped into the furious river.
She cursed the heavens and cried aloud,
pushed aside the bucket
and sank into the surging river.
God Himself can’t compensate her loss!
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
But his daughter named Nan,
Ran away with a man
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.
by Dayton Voorhees from Princeton Tiger (1902)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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I Don't Think I Will Ever Learn To Be Humble
I don't think I will ever learn to be humble-
After so many years of rejection,
After so many failed efforts at publication,
After so much self- publication,
And in its wake
So little enthusiasm for my work,
After so much pushing of myself
And so little response to that pushing
After so much trying again and again
Over nearly fifty years,
I still write and attempt to push myself forward,
As if there still will come a vindication
A revelation and total transformation
In the way my work is seen-
It appears I will die then as a wannabe,
Still pushing still dreaming still believing
I should be what clearly I am not-
I will never learn to be humble-
I will carry to the grave
My own exaggerated idea of the worth
Of my work and the value of myself.
I will go down to the grave
The fool of my own dream
A lifelong failure.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bucket of Water
carrying a bucket of water
up a hill... careful not to spill.
whose life will i come
in contact with today?
and what kind of impact
will i make?
do i do enough?
or am i deluding myself?
do i really care?
or am i just going
through the motions?
when someone talks,
do i listen?
when i listen,
do i really hear?
when someone is hurting,
do i feel it?
or am i so hardened
and calloused from the battles,
that i dont really feel
much of anything?
when someone else needs,
do i take the time to really
be there?
or am i so blind
that i just walk by?
when this day is over,
will i really have lived
every moment?
hard questions you ask yourself...
carrying a bucket of water
up a hill...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Cosmic Time
Don't panic!
Be patient.
Aren't those the words you said to me?
Don't worry!
Things will change.
Maybe the wait wont take four hundred years.
In Cosmic time,
That's just a dropp in the bucket.
Don't panic!
Be patient.
Maybe your bucket will come brimming to the rim!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Bucket
You can make it better!
If you insist that it is.
By getting better,
With a doing more of it!
Much better.
If you want it to exist,
By getting better.
With a doing more of it.
Now...
Take that empty bucket and you tell yourself enough,
And then you kick it away...
To-day.
Now...
Take that empty bucket and you tell yourself enough,
And then you kick it away.
'Cause you can make it better!
And place and win on any bet,
By getting better.
And...
Do it at your best,
By getting better.
And be that best of better yet!
Now...
Take that empty bucket and you tell yourself enough,
And then you kick it away...
To-day,
Now...
Take that empty bucket and you tell yourself enough,
And then you kick it away.
'Cause you can make it better!
And place and win on any bet,
By getting better.
And...
Do it at your best,
By getting better.
And be the best of better yet,
But better...
Than an ever you can get!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Date Of Christmas DaY
The Date Of Christmas DaY
A.D.Four plus thirty-three= A.D.Thirty-seven.
The millineum year Two Thousand Thirty Seven has not yet occured.
Inn mye humble opinion never will it ever bee.
Iff Christ was born in September Thirty-Seven,
we should have Christmas on September Three.
December TwentY-fifth is the dead works day of druids.
They still dance the maypole day in May.
May ONE could be the birthday of GODS son.
The time is tricky anyway after more than a few years.
Everything gets blurry after way too many beers.
The moral of this story just accept that it was done.
This Christmas try to worship on December Twenty-One.
Drink less eggnogg and have more FUN.
On this millineum day in Nineteen Fifty-Four;
Eye was not yet one year Young.
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tophat, Cape and Evening Gloves
Please keep me humble.
Don't let me stumble on my arrogance.
Don't let my ego leave fumes of stench!
Please keep me humble.
And when I have risen to heights,
To pay much more than my rent.
Help me remember,
My talents have been to me God sent.
And He can remove all of my pretensions.
Especially those I flaunt...
Seeking attention I necessarily do not want!
Please keep me humble.
At least...
Until I have arrived to see the eyes of Oprah!
And only then will I pretend not to know you!
But as for now...
Keep me humble,
With my feet planted on the ground.
'I hope you are kidding? '
Me?
Of course.
Now toss me my tophat,
Cape and evening gloves.
I feel like taking a stroll,
Around the neighborhood!
Leaving those a glimpse...
And a taste of what's to come.
'And you believe that is being humble? '
Of course not!
I said 'Please keep me humble.'
Do you think I have any intentions,
To stay that way?
If I have to fall from a climb...
I am going to make sure I leave visuals!
I know what I want.
But I also know folks love to be entertained!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seashells in the Bucket
Vs.1 Walkin' at the beach, I
Thought I saw a bird fly,
Decided to follow it down a ways.
Then it flew away, and
I tripped and fell in the sand,
That's when I realized what all I did today.
(chorus)
I put seashells in the bucket,
And I waded in the water,
Didn't think it could get much hotter,
But, boy, was I wrong.
I went to eat some lunch,
And I made a castle out of sand,
Some little kid just stepped on my hand,
But the day's still goin' on,
So I sat down 'n' started writin' this song.
Vs.2 That's when it started to rain,
I knew that I would stay
Outside in it 'cause it felt good to me.
Then, the sun came back out,
And I started to pout,
But I had done a lot this week.
(chorus) x 2
Yes, they're still in the bucket,
And I'm done with this song!
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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The Possibilities of Ice
One day at school
I decided to put a pool
Of ice water over Mrs. Stuart's desk
When she sat down in the chair
The bucket turned in the air
And boy I swear what a mess
She stood up to shout
The person responsible will be out
Of school for a couple of days
It was funny to see
The stunned looks of glee
But not as funny as that teacher's face
Although I got out
Because of that teacher's shout
Mr. Owen said to me
Nice work young one
But the trouble's only begun
Because when you come back there'll be
Mrs. Stuart with a bucket of ice
And a room full of unsanitary mice
So Mrs. Stuart
I'm as sorry as I could possibly be
But you should have sen the look on your face
The day that you yelled at me.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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