Bucket List

Yellow, White, Red and Green

Before the music finds a way to end
I hope these faithless fears would take a break;
I hope I’d choose to give more than I take
I hope to trust the present as a friend.
Before I tell a dream it’s time to rise
I hope its vision binds me in some way;
I hope to nourish it throughout the day
Until I find its truth in someone’s eyes.

Before my rhythmic breathing has to slow
I want to say I tried each given task;
I want to feel I hid behind no mask
Preventing any miracle to show;
And if my bucket’s empty when I’m done
I hope you won’t reject an emptied one.

Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar hosted by Victoria C. Slotto with prompt to write a list poem.
Photo: “Yellow, White, Red and Green” by the author. Flowers on display at the Chicago Botanic Garden.

Author: Frank Hubeny

I enjoy walking, poetry and short prose as well as taking pictures with my phone.

66 thoughts on “Bucket List”

    1. Dreams are more or less mysterious messages which I unfortunately forget. We can be freed by being bound if that helps to guide and not let us wander in a scattered way. Thank you!

      Liked by 1 person

  1. This is very good. It reminds me of Emily D.

    I love this part:

    “Before I tell a dream it’s time to rise
    I hope its vision binds me in some way;
    I hope to nourish it throughout the day
    Until I find its truth in someone’s eyes.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Sarah! The first draft is effortless, but that draft is usually uninteresting. Most of the effort involves revising it till it becomes something I hopefully would not be embarrassed to read a year later.


  2. SMiLes.. mY friEnd Frank.. oN the
    2nd Day beFore Mother’s Day
    yoUr LiNe of Rhythmic
    BreAthiNG SloWinG
    uNTiL the
    and can no longer
    Be FiLLeD FoR NoW
    aS hUmaN ForM.. reMiNds
    Me of the Doctor while my
    Mother was slowly dying..
    Cancer Consumed from
    Head to tow.. no
    water or
    lAsTinG 8 Days longer
    iN Rhythmic BreAthiNG
    And the Doctor sAid heR
    STronG heART kePT HeR
    aLiVe thaT LonG iN
    OF LoVe MoRe
    to ExiSt iN BeDsIDE
    oF LoVinG Children wHo
    are/were heR entire World from the
    Day we were/are born.. of what may come neXT..
    ALL thAT LoVe and a Last Breath oF SiLence.. a Poignant
    Moment as great as a BiG BanG to Me.. as she Breathed Love
    into me
    that lasts
    iN a SMiLe
    that WiLL
    end NoW
    as A Cheshire
    sMiLe that Lasts NoW
    forever NoW iN more than
    A KA Memory as PreSent NOW..
    saDly.. Egyptians Pharaohs Built Pyramids to
    spRead tHeir soUL not much different reALLy
    than Golden Trump Towers.. Meanwhile.. oTheR
    Artists buiLt Hieroglyphs to BeTteR TaLe tHeir SoUls..
    thing is.. Pharaohs could have beCoMe PoETs and sPreAD so Much more..
    and mortar
    down the road
    as a bucKeT sTiLL
    oF LIFe continUes
    to DancE and SinG SoUL foR NoW..:)

    By the way your last few
    Poetic Efforts
    are Stellar..
    i don’t often
    Rate poETry
    but tHeRe
    are a
    that beg stellar..;)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I am glad you liked these, Fred. I like your comments about the Pharoahs. Their tombs are like Trump Towers and their souls would spread better had they been poets. I look at the human form as the bucket. We give away its contents. I can see how your mother’s last breath would be like a big bang, but her love remains “forevernow”, as you put it. My parents have both died and I visited my aunt yesterday in an intensive care unit. She was unable to speak, but her children, my cousins, were waiting with her there. I will be seeing her tomorrow as well.

      Liked by 1 person

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