This Poem was Submitted By: Marcia McCaslin On Date: 2004-03-19 20:21:14 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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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.

Copyright © March 2004 Marcia McCaslin

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


This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-03-31 21:12:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.15152
Ms Marcia- Was wondering why the Milky Way is hanging there on its own bar... seems lonely there. otherwise perfect. tom
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jennifer j Hill On Date: 2004-03-26 10:18:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.80000
Hi Marcia, This is quaint and the rustic images it provides the reader are heavenly. The unique description of the bucket in the first stanza makes it's appearance vivid in my mind. The phase "even the rising of the ressurected sun" is spendid. You artfully weave assonance through out the piece, (bit/glint, gleam/seams...) giving us a subtle musical effect. Stanza two's description of the post being "an unwitting teller of time" is a delight for this reader. The post like a sundial showing us a shadow is such a rewarding idea to plant in our minds. The depiction of the animals nudging (noses nudging-nice allit)the bucket with their noses gives such personality to them and the poem and brings a smile to my face. It reminds me of my dog and the way he nudges the door knob when he wants to eat(his bowl is kept outside). May I suggest leaving the word 'horses' out, since my dictionary tells me that the word 'roan' is a horse having a brownish coat thickly sprinkled with white or gray? It seems slightly repetitive there, but not a big deal. I enjoy the way you use the roan's ears to signal their emotions, first they lop and twitch to let us know they are growing inpatient waiting for their meal. Next they project forward as they listen intently, and finally they get serious(ears back) as it's time to dig in. I don't know horses(never been around them), but that would be an endearing quality to me. The bucket is endowed with such personality through out the piece. The handle seemingly frail now and it's sound being different depending on whether it's filled or empty. The conssonance of "whispering swish" and "overburdened bail" lend more music to our ears, as does the rhyme of debts/forgets in s-6. You leave us with the most rewarding image in our minds as you carry the theme of this poem all the way through to the end, and this is so beautiful and my favorite part: has become a thing of "beauty as it proudly cradles a crescent moon, and reflects a bucketful of stars from The Milky Way." Thanks for such an enjoyable read! Blessings, Jennifer
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-03-25 11:31:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
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. I love this introductory stanza with its amazing subtle visual tones and the lovely assonance and multiple meanings in such phrases "as rising of a resurrecting sun." I did have a moment's pause at ]the hyperbole of the bucket begin "as old as ...dirt" but I got over it. It hangs by a wire on a post that lives out its remaining days, ambiguous - the post or the bucket - here an unwitting teller of time. Two roan horses and a mule wait by the bucket, noses nudging it, eager for the morning routine. ah. even in age it also serves~! 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. wonderful description _ i can see the boy Ears project forward as they perceive the whispering swish of oats, [fantastic sounds!} sticky with molasses, being scooped. The sound [softens?}s 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. ah...luscious scene which has more than one Christian Bibical allusion. As late afternoon calls in its debts,[wondrful phrase making1} 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. The plot becomes even more complex! Great storytelling too. With the falling of the dark sky, the bucket, old as the dirt that packs its seams,[I like the conculsion coming full circle to the beginning] has become a thing of beauty [and thus - a joy forever - wonderful allusion ]as it proudly cradles a crescent moon, and reflects a bucketful of stars from The Milkey Way WOW the ending explodes in a new direction! BRAVA
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-03-21 14:25:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.56452
Thanks for posting this excellent piece, and Happy Vacationing!! Beginning with a poweful 1st image, I was drawn into this rapidly. A beautiful read. Can barely coax a gleam, although reds and oranges translate to a bit of glint on its pocked surface. - [I seem to feel weakness in this line, in spite of the hard sounds. Maybe one or two more syllables?? "... upon its pock-marked surface."] It hangs by a wire on a post that lives out its remaining days, an unwitting teller of time.* *[I like this image, but maybe it could be dressed up a little. Maybe a "...cedar post/living out..."?] Beautiful 3rd stanza. Imagery and assonance perfect. I hear the 4th staza rhythm of sounds perfectly, as well. in prayer to the Giver of all grain. - [possibly drop the "all" for rhythm?] As late afternoon calls in its debts, the stabler fills the bucket with water and forgets. His mind is on the tavern-- [These lines instill a feeling that the roans were left un-watered for the lure of the tavern, and sadness prevails, if so - and the rest seemed so uplifting and positive. I'm hoping that with the bucket full, the 2 horses can reach their drink.] Wonderful closing stanza. A truly lovely poem. Thanks for sharing it with us. wl
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-03-20 17:26:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Marcia: I read this one earlier today - before a trip to the post office and out into the spring day that is glorious, unrepeatable and in the "resurrecting sun." How incredibly delightful this poem is - if only I could give you back a bit of what I took away from it and into my day - how my step was bouncier while walking into the library - how I smiled spontaneously at people in the grocery store, thinking of your horses and a mule and the bucket cradling the crescent moon! To read such a work is to be reminded that life is indeed very, very good. 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. The sound of "bit of glint" is only part of what I mean - something suffuses this piece that is more than its parts. I can't deconstruct it and don't want to - merely admire and tell you what I love best. Maybe the sound of "packed" and "pocked" and "coax" for now. But we haven't got to my favorite stanza yet. It hangs by a wire on a post that lives out its remaining days, an unwitting teller of time. --- WONDERFUL! Two roan horses and a mule wait by the bucket, "noses nudging" it, --oh yes, and here too! eager for the morning routine. I thought it would be this one, the way it set up little anticipatory shivers, because you let me know that you were going to dwell awhile with the "two roan horses and a mule" which I accepted as if handed a basketful of fragrant geranium, a pile of unread letter, and a china pot of tea with wild clover honey. 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. Now having spent some contented years which I draw upon when surrounded by too much flurry and 'civilization' you show me how to reach back and retrieve watching those "ears lop and twitch." Ears project forward as they perceive the whispering swish of oats, (oh, luscious sounds!) sticky with molasses, being scooped. The sound changes as the bucket fills. Maybe I should stop here. The next course in this meal might not be as delicious as this one just was. I could roll around forever in the midst of "whispering swish" and "sticky with molasses" and listening to the sound change "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. But no -- the denouement was yet to come. It is above with the "half-closed eyes" which "as though in prayer to the Giver of all grain" inform us of what the Giver has given once more - through your creativity and generous sharing of this work. And to be reminded of a manger is to be reminded of the One who was born there. I can't forget that as I read. This stanza is almost like a depiction of a sacrament. 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. "debts/forgets" - the music, once more - and the slow lead in to compassion for the stabler who is drawn by "the sounds and smells" of the tavern in much the same way as the animals were by the "sounds and smells" of grain filling the bucket. 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, - exquisite~! and reflects a bucketful of stars from The Milky Way. Your reminder to us of the age of the bucket once more "old as the dirt that packs/its seams" helped me assimilate another idea from this poem: dirt and metal are very old - really their age can only be guessed. The metal comes from ore that came from the earth, too. The manufacturing date doesn't mean much. When you help me to see and feel and think about the age and meaning of the crescent moon being 'cradled' in the bucket (again, maybe another manger scene analogy) and then -- and then!! -- "The Milky Way." How far away and how old and how marvelously, wondrously made is that - and how significant are things like buckets and mules and roan horses and oats and smells from taverns that signal lonely stablers? It is if there is a beckoner within this poem, from within this galaxy of unimaginable immensity - that reaches right down to the littlest molecule in my heart and sings to it. See - this is your very great gift. It is more than I can take in in a single day. You must know that the astronomy-poetry-music-animal loving part of me is thrilled to the core. What a magnificent work (and play) you engage us with. Brava!!! All my best, Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-03-20 15:01:21
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.23810
Hi Marcia, If this poem does not finish at the top of the list this month I will be surprised! I can easily see that old bucket from its dirt packed seams to its burnished color. Burnished is not a word one sees often and now I wonder if it is used anywhere but the farms and ranches of the west....'bit of glint on it's pocked surface' you must have been looking right at this bucket to come up with such perfect images. I have the image of it hanging on a wire fence with roan horses and one mule nudging it...they know what it will soon hold and also know that it is just for them. Then their ears lop and twitch as they hear the footsteps that will bring them a feast...'overburdended bail'...wonderful! They can hear the 'whispering swish of oats'...love this...and the stickiness of molasses. They jockey for position and then eat as if they are in a blissful trance as they chew the wonderful mixture...."as late afternoon calls in its debts'...this line is truly inspired! Your last stanza is my favorite as it is so beautiful...both with its descriptors and its lovely thought...."a thing of beauty as it proudly cradles a cresent moon (great 'c' sounds) and reflects a bucket full of stars from... The Milky Way" This bucket is not only a recepticle but a thing of absolute beauty as it not only holds food but also cradles the stars and the moon as it seemingly just 'hangs there' doing nothing to the untrained eye. But to those who use the bucket know it is a mysterious and lovely thing that is capable of catching moonbeams. I just love this poem...it brings so many memories to my mind. When we had horses in Rawlins we too had an old bucket...thank you for letting me take a trip back into time and witness some beautiful memories. Love...Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2004-03-20 11:32:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.80952
Hi Marcia, Go on that vacation and really enjoy yourself, such a relief to see you come back to the mainstream and begin to write again. I thought of the old country song, Old Oaken Bucket, even before the read your poem, part nattative, lots of country nostalgia, vivid view transformed your words of wonder, beautiful ending, Captures all the sensation, of that bucket reflecting the stars of the milky way, beautiful romantic ending, yet reality see the Stable Manager in the bar hoisting his escapism in drink, the animals sated and quieted for the day, the bucket full of history (of all of us) hanging once again, building, and building on whats in the future, and the bucket knows, more dirt to cake it's crevices, and tarnish the metal that frames it's conception, as a newly made bucket that will experience the glory and the hurt, the rain, the snow?, the history remembered in it's congifuration. It's beautifully phrased, romantic in some phases, tried and true in others. Isn't that what all our make up is, to be tried and true, to face the demons of time, to become a part of the makeup of the cosmos, thus stars do shine and remember all of the history experienced. An artifact to mankind and it's history. Lovely, I missed your poetry and I'm peaceful now to see it once again displayed for all to enjoy, a universal piece that sings, beautiful, well done memorial to time........Love always, enjoy the rest, Jo
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2004-03-19 20:40:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.35484
Marcia enjoy your trip wherever you are heading........ The Bucket is a wonderful poem which reads more like a child's storybook for the images you have created come to life as one travels down each row......never a disappointment form one stanza to the next either... structured well, great choice of words to complete your image.....isn't it amazing how those animals know what this bucket is meant for and how they wait by it to be filled .....I think children of all ages would enjoy reading such a story book......thanks for posting and sharing with us....be safe on your journey and God Bless, Claire
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