Arthur was deft in all his movements.
Deft in flicking the blade that ended his life.
Deft in jumping off the building that ultimately killed him.
Deft in playing with his lover’s heart like a toy.
He enjoyed it.
As she looked back over her time with him, she was surprised at just how deft he was at the art of deception. She would have to review her entire life, everything he ever told her about herself, to find the real truth.
what am i deft at?
let me list:
doodling
writing
singing
languages
sports
i can’t list anymore
but at least i wrote down a list..
hey! maybe i’m deft at writing lists or something!
what am i deft at?
let me list:
doodling
writing
singing
languages
sports
i can’t list anymore
but at least i wrote down a list..
hey! maybe i’m deft at writing lists or something!
Deft. That reminds me of “Deaf” I’m not deaf.. Omygosh I just remembered this is timed and I got distracted omg what do I do what do I dooooo. GOD I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!! I KEEP MAKING TYPOS, SAMMI HELP OHMYGOSH HELPPPPPPP.
His fingers are long and slender. Is that why he’s such a deft thief, I wonder idly. He can move his hands in ways that seem almost inhuman, flitting in and out of pockets before anyone can even realize what has happened.
Jamie’s deft hands pulled open the desk’s drawers as his eyes scanned the contents within. Nothing important. Like a bird, he froze and listened intently for any approaching sound, but all was silent. He turned from the desk to a wall of meticulously alphabetized files. Jamie hurried along it until he came to the W’s. Woods. Woods. There. Julie. Julie Woods. Fingers trembling, he grabbed the file, labeled with his sister’s name. He stared at it for a second then lurched forward to put it back.
But innocence is not bliss; innocence is torture. Knowledge and whatever emotions and consequences it brings is infinitely better than doubting, trusting, hoping, denying, torture of uncertainty.
Slowly, Jamie opened the dusty manilla folder.
The worker had the most deft hands I had ever seen. It was like he was doing a ballet with his large, grease coated hands. I couldn’t tear my eyes away; it was mesmerizing. I wish I had thought to also look at his face…
He walked down the hall. His tie was too tight and his gun felt heavy but he knew what he had to do. He walked into the big office and pulled his tie out as he pointed the gun. Turn up the damn air conditioning!! Drew deftly typed the last word before he deleted the words. No need to get fired just cause he thought his boss was a tight ass.
One world is about expirencing different cultures, tasting great food and enjoying the best of ef every place. Great aliance for experincing the best of the world. Keep growing.
It wasn’t that she was clumsy, exactly, she had her moments of grace. She noticed others walking across the stage and envied them their calm. She was just not deft at hiding her lack of practice, and while she made the distance it was as if each step was the first, There was no flow in her untrained movements. Even smiling took effort.
The time rift opened up, millions of floating white creatures spilling from it. Ghosts of another world, Meg thought, strangely calm despite what was happening. The creatures, the spirits, were making a terrible, mangled sound.
She cradled the metal pitcher in her hand, the milk shushing up the sides in rising hot froth which lifted over the mug, a small pool of black pitch and sweet crema, deftly swept up into a marbled velvet foam.
Deft, it slant rhymes with “depth.” A depth of knowledge, understanding, talent. It’s what we should strive for, to find and nurture the best of ourselves, whatever our skills and attributes are. To live a lukewarm life of being unfulfilled? It’s a waste of our given breaths.
It was the way she played the violin that made her so unique. She stood out so much from the other players. It wasn’t something that you could learn. It was part of her. Part of her from when she was born. The deft use of her movements and breathing. It made the music come to life.
Archer deftly spun the string around the spool, unraveling it from the wood and watching as it disappeared into the machine. As he happily sewed his new pair of slacks, he was aware of his uncle staring at him.
“You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can,” Archer remarked cheerfully. “I’m doing it now.”
What is deft
i dont even know what that means
I’m going to look it up. HOLD ON
adj. deft·er, deft·est
Quick and skillful; adroit.
OKAY
Foxes are deft and the first thing i think of when i see foxes is Fantastic Mr. Fox
I love that story
The movie was great too.
THE END.
His deft hands felt her body, searching for the bullet wound. He was very efficient in his job. Seven years of serving in the Army as a medic made efficiency a must. He located the tiny hole, and, with a Swiss Army knife, dug the bullet from her arm, making the girl cry out in pain. Johnson bandaged the wound and tied the strip of cloth around it to contain the bleeding as best he could.
he’s more than a simple mechanic; he’s an engineer. but sometimes it’s nice, kneeling by an older model of the fighter jet he designed and making simple repairs. his hands know their way around an engine, and would be deft and sure in their movements even if he were asleep; blindfolded; concussed; bleeding from three places with a bomb ticking in the background – not to brag, or anything.
lately he’s been strung tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment, what with the whole success/failure of an entire war riding on his skinny shoulders. but right now, despite the certainty that tomorrow will only bring new horrors, and despite the fact that if he looks up he’ll find himself not in his pristine lab but the under-equipped workshop they’d slapped together for him two weeks ago – right now, he’s… okay. he feels confident again, doing work that no one in the world can do as well as he can. and he’s okay. he will be okay.
It wasn’t as though any of it would matter really. That was the thing that had me so weighted down. Sure, I could fill out these little question forums every day, and it wouldn’t make any difference. No one cared what the answer to the questions was. Not now. They probably never would. When I left this world, I wouldn’t leave that big of a mark on it. Even then, I doubt that anyone would take the time or consideration to go through these things and see what type of a person I really was. It’s the downside of being so chill. You move through life so soundlessly, no one ever really notices.
The movement of her hands was assured, her fingers deft and agile as they looped the rope in and out of itself until the Goddess herself would have had trouble following the trail. She sat back on her heels, eyes caressing the rope with the familiarity of a lover.
“Should I leave you two alone?” I asked dryly.
I though I saw the corners of her mouth turn up in the slightest of smiles but she didn’t answer and, with a final tug, she pulled away, seemingly satisfied with her handiwork.
I handed him the screwdriver. “What’s this?” “A screwdriver?” “Yeah, but that’s not what I need. I need a Philip’s head.” “What’s the difference?” He winced and shook his head.
Deft? cleft, weft, bereft, theft, left, right up down a clown in a gown love no me more i am who you said, who she said. she said i hate ties. i am so so so so something. i am a ulmthing blumthing bumthing, wum thing. WUM! how many wums have YOU seen in your life. i’ve seen ten.
Hidden talent can not be smelt
nor dealt with in a reasonable way
why oh why does jealousy get all over your dress
and hands
and chin
but you don’t use a napkin
to clear it away and accept
there is always someone better
smarter
laughter
pain
you can try to lose it
but you won’t gain
Deft she was not. Nor graceful. Nor beautiful by contemporary, bottomless standards. But she had girt. A soft smile. A deep gaze. And expanding embrace of the dance floor. So I said hello.
The deft way she turned her calamity into opportunity was a shining moment.
On the road free from the small minded routine of her mountain life,…feeling larger,
creative, and reflective.
His hands on the guitar, his fingers sliding across the neck of it, tips skipping along the frets of it, pulling strings gently. My strings are pulled, mister, look at me and forget the smoothness of that guitar for a day. Look at me and consider the roughness of my hands, the scars on my skin.
she’s thinking of the night they kissed and she’s remembering how quickly his lips moved against hers and how his hand grabbed her at just the right spot on her side
she’s reliving how much she wanted him and then she’s got him and the sheets are tangled and the only light is the moon and he tells her how hot she makes him and then all she wants is to be gone and she’s ready to leave and that word hot makes her feel feverish like the name and she thinks he feels vile things rising up her throat from her stomach
I am the sun that shines through
i am the light the creates your shadow
following with def movements
i align with the idea
that maybe one day
the sun shall cast my shadow
and you will follow mine
as i followed yours
through the windy road called life
to somewhere beautiful
i’m deft. I do not listen. I just think. And think. Inside my head, there are sounds. There are voices and colors. I’m deft, and i don’t even notice it.
Arthur was deft in all his movements.
Deft in flicking the blade that ended his life.
Deft in jumping off the building that ultimately killed him.
Deft in playing with his lover’s heart like a toy.
He enjoyed it.
As she looked back over her time with him, she was surprised at just how deft he was at the art of deception. She would have to review her entire life, everything he ever told her about herself, to find the real truth.
The art is in the warp and weft. Tis deft.
what am i deft at?
let me list:
doodling
writing
singing
languages
sports
i can’t list anymore
but at least i wrote down a list..
hey! maybe i’m deft at writing lists or something!
what am i deft at?
let me list:
doodling
writing
singing
languages
sports
i can’t list anymore
but at least i wrote down a list..
hey! maybe i’m deft at writing lists or something!
Deft. That reminds me of “Deaf” I’m not deaf.. Omygosh I just remembered this is timed and I got distracted omg what do I do what do I dooooo. GOD I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!! I KEEP MAKING TYPOS, SAMMI HELP OHMYGOSH HELPPPPPPP.
His fingers are long and slender. Is that why he’s such a deft thief, I wonder idly. He can move his hands in ways that seem almost inhuman, flitting in and out of pockets before anyone can even realize what has happened.
Jamie’s deft hands pulled open the desk’s drawers as his eyes scanned the contents within. Nothing important. Like a bird, he froze and listened intently for any approaching sound, but all was silent. He turned from the desk to a wall of meticulously alphabetized files. Jamie hurried along it until he came to the W’s. Woods. Woods. There. Julie. Julie Woods. Fingers trembling, he grabbed the file, labeled with his sister’s name. He stared at it for a second then lurched forward to put it back.
But innocence is not bliss; innocence is torture. Knowledge and whatever emotions and consequences it brings is infinitely better than doubting, trusting, hoping, denying, torture of uncertainty.
Slowly, Jamie opened the dusty manilla folder.
The worker had the most deft hands I had ever seen. It was like he was doing a ballet with his large, grease coated hands. I couldn’t tear my eyes away; it was mesmerizing. I wish I had thought to also look at his face…
He walked down the hall. His tie was too tight and his gun felt heavy but he knew what he had to do. He walked into the big office and pulled his tie out as he pointed the gun. Turn up the damn air conditioning!! Drew deftly typed the last word before he deleted the words. No need to get fired just cause he thought his boss was a tight ass.
One world is about expirencing different cultures, tasting great food and enjoying the best of ef every place. Great aliance for experincing the best of the world. Keep growing.
It wasn’t that she was clumsy, exactly, she had her moments of grace. She noticed others walking across the stage and envied them their calm. She was just not deft at hiding her lack of practice, and while she made the distance it was as if each step was the first, There was no flow in her untrained movements. Even smiling took effort.
The time rift opened up, millions of floating white creatures spilling from it. Ghosts of another world, Meg thought, strangely calm despite what was happening. The creatures, the spirits, were making a terrible, mangled sound.
No longer daft, the dapper door-boy dealt deftly.
She cradled the metal pitcher in her hand, the milk shushing up the sides in rising hot froth which lifted over the mug, a small pool of black pitch and sweet crema, deftly swept up into a marbled velvet foam.
Deft, it slant rhymes with “depth.” A depth of knowledge, understanding, talent. It’s what we should strive for, to find and nurture the best of ourselves, whatever our skills and attributes are. To live a lukewarm life of being unfulfilled? It’s a waste of our given breaths.
It was the way she played the violin that made her so unique. She stood out so much from the other players. It wasn’t something that you could learn. It was part of her. Part of her from when she was born. The deft use of her movements and breathing. It made the music come to life.
Archer deftly spun the string around the spool, unraveling it from the wood and watching as it disappeared into the machine. As he happily sewed his new pair of slacks, he was aware of his uncle staring at him.
“You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can,” Archer remarked cheerfully. “I’m doing it now.”
“It’s a woman’s job.”
“Only because you don’t have the skill.”
What is deft
i dont even know what that means
I’m going to look it up. HOLD ON
adj. deft·er, deft·est
Quick and skillful; adroit.
OKAY
Foxes are deft and the first thing i think of when i see foxes is Fantastic Mr. Fox
I love that story
The movie was great too.
THE END.
His deft hands felt her body, searching for the bullet wound. He was very efficient in his job. Seven years of serving in the Army as a medic made efficiency a must. He located the tiny hole, and, with a Swiss Army knife, dug the bullet from her arm, making the girl cry out in pain. Johnson bandaged the wound and tied the strip of cloth around it to contain the bleeding as best he could.
he’s more than a simple mechanic; he’s an engineer. but sometimes it’s nice, kneeling by an older model of the fighter jet he designed and making simple repairs. his hands know their way around an engine, and would be deft and sure in their movements even if he were asleep; blindfolded; concussed; bleeding from three places with a bomb ticking in the background – not to brag, or anything.
lately he’s been strung tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment, what with the whole success/failure of an entire war riding on his skinny shoulders. but right now, despite the certainty that tomorrow will only bring new horrors, and despite the fact that if he looks up he’ll find himself not in his pristine lab but the under-equipped workshop they’d slapped together for him two weeks ago – right now, he’s… okay. he feels confident again, doing work that no one in the world can do as well as he can. and he’s okay. he will be okay.
It wasn’t as though any of it would matter really. That was the thing that had me so weighted down. Sure, I could fill out these little question forums every day, and it wouldn’t make any difference. No one cared what the answer to the questions was. Not now. They probably never would. When I left this world, I wouldn’t leave that big of a mark on it. Even then, I doubt that anyone would take the time or consideration to go through these things and see what type of a person I really was. It’s the downside of being so chill. You move through life so soundlessly, no one ever really notices.
The movement of her hands was assured, her fingers deft and agile as they looped the rope in and out of itself until the Goddess herself would have had trouble following the trail. She sat back on her heels, eyes caressing the rope with the familiarity of a lover.
“Should I leave you two alone?” I asked dryly.
I though I saw the corners of her mouth turn up in the slightest of smiles but she didn’t answer and, with a final tug, she pulled away, seemingly satisfied with her handiwork.
I handed him the screwdriver. “What’s this?” “A screwdriver?” “Yeah, but that’s not what I need. I need a Philip’s head.” “What’s the difference?” He winced and shook his head.
Aliens moved…deft?
The fox cubs play fighting in the meadow, in the shade of the chicken coop. Vixen waits her chance to procure dinner. Practice makes perfect.
Deft? cleft, weft, bereft, theft, left, right up down a clown in a gown love no me more i am who you said, who she said. she said i hate ties. i am so so so so something. i am a ulmthing blumthing bumthing, wum thing. WUM! how many wums have YOU seen in your life. i’ve seen ten.
I really don’t know what this word means, but I really wish I did. I would come up with something clever and witty to say. Oh, it means quick…
I don’t know what that means pleas
Hidden talent can not be smelt
nor dealt with in a reasonable way
why oh why does jealousy get all over your dress
and hands
and chin
but you don’t use a napkin
to clear it away and accept
there is always someone better
smarter
laughter
pain
you can try to lose it
but you won’t gain
Deft she was not. Nor graceful. Nor beautiful by contemporary, bottomless standards. But she had girt. A soft smile. A deep gaze. And expanding embrace of the dance floor. So I said hello.
The deft way she turned her calamity into opportunity was a shining moment.
On the road free from the small minded routine of her mountain life,…feeling larger,
creative, and reflective.
Jacob sat just a tad too close to the attractive girl.”You are quite beautiful,”he said.
His hands on the guitar, his fingers sliding across the neck of it, tips skipping along the frets of it, pulling strings gently. My strings are pulled, mister, look at me and forget the smoothness of that guitar for a day. Look at me and consider the roughness of my hands, the scars on my skin.
Carl was an expert journeyman tree trimmer.He was quite deft with a chainsaw.
she’s thinking of the night they kissed and she’s remembering how quickly his lips moved against hers and how his hand grabbed her at just the right spot on her side
she’s reliving how much she wanted him and then she’s got him and the sheets are tangled and the only light is the moon and he tells her how hot she makes him and then all she wants is to be gone and she’s ready to leave and that word hot makes her feel feverish like the name and she thinks he feels vile things rising up her throat from her stomach
more deft than not, larry wanted to relax
on the couch and stay drunk. Oh well Larry.
I am the sun that shines through
i am the light the creates your shadow
following with def movements
i align with the idea
that maybe one day
the sun shall cast my shadow
and you will follow mine
as i followed yours
through the windy road called life
to somewhere beautiful
i’m deft. I do not listen. I just think. And think. Inside my head, there are sounds. There are voices and colors. I’m deft, and i don’t even notice it.
what is it deft? what the meaning of it? i got it… it is when you cannot listen to other people and more worst