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The Bucket Old as the dirt that packs its seams, its burnish has long since wearied. Even the rising of a resurrecting sun Can barely coax a gleam, although reds and oranges translate to a bit of glint on its pocked surface. It hangs by a wire on a post that lives out its remaining days, an unwitting teller of time. Two roan horses and a mule wait by the bucket, noses nudging it, eager for the morning routine. Suddenly, they recognize the footsteps of the stable boy, watch him approach with downcast eyes and tousled hair. Ears lop and twitch as the bucket is taken by its overburdened bail. Ears project forward as they perceive the whispering swish of oats, sticky with molasses, being scooped. The sound changes as the bucket fills. Ears back, they jostle for their places at the manger, chewing the wonderful mixture, eyes half-closed as though in prayer to the Giver of all grain. As late afternoon calls in its debts, the stabler fills the bucket with water and forgets. His mind is on the tavern-- the sounds and smells of it reach irresistibly into his lonely world. With the falling of the dark sky, the bucket, old as the dirt that packs its seams, has become a thing of beauty as it proudly cradles a crescent moon, and reflects a bucketful of stars from The Milky Way. |
Additional Notes:
I will be going on vacation from March 29th thru April 3rd. Even though I will take my laptop,
I cannot guarantee that I can rate critiques during that time. I will do my best--because I do
want your feedback and ideas.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Sherri L Smith On Date: 2004-04-05 20:55:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.65217
Hi Marcia, great to have you back, I missed you and the wonderful scenes that you paint with words.
Even the rising of a resurrecting sun
Can barely coax a gleam,
although reds and oranges
translate to a bit of glint
on its pocked surface.
A wonderful beginning with glorious visions. I can see that old bucket hanging there not looking at all like it did when it was new, but still being used and the sun can still catch that bit of "glint".Two roan horses and a mule
wait by the bucket, noses nudging it,
eager for the morning routine.
The purpose of the bucket, the feeding and watering of the animals, so familiar with it and just knowing what was coming. Marcia with your ranch "cowboy" background this is perfectly done.
As late afternoon calls in its debts,
the stabler fills the bucket with water
and forgets. His mind is on the tavern--
the sounds and smells of it reach
irresistibly into his lonely world.
With the falling of the dark sky,
the bucket, old as the dirt that packs
its seams, has become a thing of
beauty as it proudly cradles a crescent moon,
and reflects a bucketful of stars from
The Milky Way.
The bucket we see is multipurposed. First the oats and then the water...but in his haste to be done with the chores he has forgotten to dump the water. There it is sitting all forlorn, but the beauty of the stars and heavens are mirrored in the buckets contents. Wonderful visually beautiful.
It is so glad to have you back with your delicious ways of telling a story.
Sherri