Pour me out the best of people. That will sustain the planet. That will sustain the Intelligence of the Planet. That will sustain civility. That will sustain society.
Rain pours. It’s raining right now. It’s so cold and wet. It makes me want to cry. It’s like the sky is crying, but sometimes it is beautiful. It can be magical in some cases, but it is usually bad.
I love baking, sometimes with my mother, always with music playing. I love the way flour feels when it puffs up on my face, I love cracking eggs, I love the sweet satisfaction when the oven timer rings. The food hardly even matters, it’s the leading up to it part I love.
I poured out the contents of the messy potion, cursing at the useless pile of mush that now lay in the garbage can before me. I swirled some new ingredients into the cauldron and mixed, counting the strokes to make sure the potion was executed perfectly. This had to be done without any hitches. The spell was so volatile that even half an inch of stirring in the wrong direction would result in failure. I had to keep reminding myself to breath otherwise I would become lightheaded and lose focus.
When one pours their heart and soul into something, you’ll notice it within the blink of an eye. Whether it be the amazing quality that comes with the love they have put in it, or simply the proud expression the person has on their face, showing off what they have made to the whole world.
Pouring sucks. You think its all cool and stuff, then you try to make cereal. You pour the cereal in a bowl. Okay. Cool. Then you try to pour in the milk, and its not cool anymore cause you POURED MILK ALL OVER THE FRIGGIN COUNTER….
She stood on top of the wall, her black armor standing out against all of the plain silver of the common knights.
“Pour the oil!” She yelled in a loud, commanding voice.
Boiling vats of oil and tar were quickly poured over the tops of the walls, falling onto screaming attackers below.
The rain always comes down heavy here. For living in The Sunshine state, it rains a hell of a lot. I like the rain, don’t get me wrong, but I hate the storm that always comes along with it. It lights up the whole sky and as beautiful as it is, it’s terrifying as well. To know destruction is out there
She poured her heart out to him, tore at his clothes, and beat his chest. But none of that moved him. All it did was make him push her away and turn his back to her. He didn’t love her, and nothing she could say or do would change that. She couldn’t force him to feel something that simply wasn’t there.
I poured my heart out to him. He only wanted to know so much but I couldn’t help but let him know everything. Just thinking about holding it in, I feel that much free-er on the inside. Flustered and embarrassed, yet content.
Out from my eyes. Tears drop drip splash. The rain coming down doesn’t compare. Out from my eyes pours waterfalls and rivers. Oceans and Seas don’t have the volume needed to contain these tears.
I poured the liquour into a smooth cabinet. THe floor was pouring out onto the steel rainmaker. It poured rain all over my and my own creation. THe world poured all over me and washed me pouring down the hill. IT was a day to pour and a ouring to remember forever. Let us pour.
I have begun to pour out my inner thoughts to a group of stranger that witch I know nothing about and find my self …healed by the simple action of sharing my inner thoughts
very rainy, like recently we’ve been having weird weather where one minute it just spits and the next it pours down torrential style! No going out in this weather because you can’t plan anything decent with random showers its better at home,…
Pour out the water. This word makes me see a pitcher in my mind. It’s nice. It’s on a table. The window is open. There is a breeze. It looks out onto the ocean like in the opening credits of Cinema Paradiso. I’m thirsty. I wish my life were more like that film, and I don’t.
“Elsa!” The screech came from inside the house. I flinched, spilling the lemonade I was pouring all over my feet. I braced myself for the inevitable as she came running out of the house, brandishing a golf club.
Routine check-ups left him feeling off kilter and the bottoms of his feet sticky. It was odd to hear a woman’s voice after so long, so long, so long. She poured words onto his sticky toes like tumbling cheerios for breakfast.
He poured her a glass of water, though she didn’t take it. It sat there in between them, watching, waiting for something to happen.
“I’ve missed you,” he finally said. She snapped her head up to look at him. He was staring intently at the table.
The rain pours down on her, filling her with a sense of completion, a sense of almost sadness.
(She remembers what it was like to be young and carefree, to watch the rain and feel no sense of kinship with it, only a sort of acceptance of it; she remembers being young, and she remembers loving the rain, dancing in it.
She doesn’t dance anymore.)
She walks around and the water droplets slip through her fingers like sand through an hourglass (and oh, she hates how she thinks like that, thinks in metaphors now instead of reality) and she smiles, pretending she doesn’t care.
“Pour some sugar on me!!” sang John to the radio. “John,” said Sherlock as he entered the kitchen, “really?? at this time in the morning? what are you doing?” “dancing round the kitchen Sherlock, I’m just dancing round the kitchen.”
The rain is pouring down like cats and dogs on a hot summer afternoon. It feels like a cold draft has just assaulted my face, and I can’t explain the feelings of despair that have washed over me. I know it sounds silly, but I loved her, I really did love her with all of my heart and soul. How could she leave me high and dry in the rain? Why?
When you pour a liquid into another glass, some of the little particles stay behind, I wonder how many times you’d have to pour before the glasses all appeared to be empty ?
i like to pour milk with cerial its a magic feeling i get
it tastes well creamy and it looks so white and clean
i just remembered that guy off man vs food drank loads of milk with chillie…..mmmm milk
Pour. I would pour water into the cup and give it to you. And with giving it to you I was giving you more than you thought. In that cup of water I was giving you my heart, my soul, everything I am and all that I do. And you just drank it, and went on your way. pour.
YAY, drinking! It makes to beautifull sound in the world. The anitcipation. The calamity. The suspense. Love it. It’s great to pour a drink. I gives us a sense of abundancy and control. Thena gain, we spill. Excessively. Goddamn, the waste. Alchol. Yumyum
Бедный. Бедняжка. Бедный умственно – первое; “денежно”, то бишь материально – второе. Странно или нет, что оно приходит мне в голову в этом порядке? Я человек избалованный, жизнь моя легка. Многие сказали бы, что я сижу на шее родителей. Класс интеллигенции, причём интеллигенции еврейской.
Am Sonntag bin ich in Pour gewesen. Das ist eine französische Kleinstadt am Atlantik. Dort leben viele Fischer- und Töpferfamilien. Das ganze Jahr über riecht es nach Salzwasser, nach Algen und nach Fisch. Es ist immer windig und ziemlich kühl.
Pour. I poured my feeling out to him. Tears poured down my face. He poured the whiskey down the drain, in an attempt to get sober. She poured her soul into her efforts. He poured disappointment onto her shoulders.
Pour me out the best of people. That will sustain the planet. That will sustain the Intelligence of the Planet. That will sustain civility. That will sustain society.
to fill the glass with the respectable amount of wine which honor the owner and blesses him in the full power
Rain pours. It’s raining right now. It’s so cold and wet. It makes me want to cry. It’s like the sky is crying, but sometimes it is beautiful. It can be magical in some cases, but it is usually bad.
I love baking, sometimes with my mother, always with music playing. I love the way flour feels when it puffs up on my face, I love cracking eggs, I love the sweet satisfaction when the oven timer rings. The food hardly even matters, it’s the leading up to it part I love.
I poured out the contents of the messy potion, cursing at the useless pile of mush that now lay in the garbage can before me. I swirled some new ingredients into the cauldron and mixed, counting the strokes to make sure the potion was executed perfectly. This had to be done without any hitches. The spell was so volatile that even half an inch of stirring in the wrong direction would result in failure. I had to keep reminding myself to breath otherwise I would become lightheaded and lose focus.
Pouring rain. I’m reading my favorite book. Drinking tea. Storm. Wind. Sadness. The rain pours harder and harder. I’m tired.
When one pours their heart and soul into something, you’ll notice it within the blink of an eye. Whether it be the amazing quality that comes with the love they have put in it, or simply the proud expression the person has on their face, showing off what they have made to the whole world.
Why does oneword always want to make me write about pour? I’ve already written about pour. It’s not fair. I want a new word.
Pouring sucks. You think its all cool and stuff, then you try to make cereal. You pour the cereal in a bowl. Okay. Cool. Then you try to pour in the milk, and its not cool anymore cause you POURED MILK ALL OVER THE FRIGGIN COUNTER….
Pour your heart out. Women do it all the time, everyday. Men never do.
She stood on top of the wall, her black armor standing out against all of the plain silver of the common knights.
“Pour the oil!” She yelled in a loud, commanding voice.
Boiling vats of oil and tar were quickly poured over the tops of the walls, falling onto screaming attackers below.
“Let’s talk about Sandy,” said Gregory, as he poured me another glass of Riesling.
The sweetness of the wine was able to reduce my headache somewhat, and I paused to rub my temples with two of the fingers on my left hand.
“What’s there to talk about?”
Gregory didn’t change his expression. “You haven’t spoken to her in four days. There has to be a reason why.”
The rain always comes down heavy here. For living in The Sunshine state, it rains a hell of a lot. I like the rain, don’t get me wrong, but I hate the storm that always comes along with it. It lights up the whole sky and as beautiful as it is, it’s terrifying as well. To know destruction is out there
She poured her heart out to him, tore at his clothes, and beat his chest. But none of that moved him. All it did was make him push her away and turn his back to her. He didn’t love her, and nothing she could say or do would change that. She couldn’t force him to feel something that simply wasn’t there.
I poured my heart out to him. He only wanted to know so much but I couldn’t help but let him know everything. Just thinking about holding it in, I feel that much free-er on the inside. Flustered and embarrassed, yet content.
its pouring outside. im sitting by the window looking outside. the streets are wet. i can see the reflection of the street lamps on the pavement.
A word that when writen in another spelling, is bad. But this could mean to Pour you heart and soul into something.
Out from my eyes. Tears drop drip splash. The rain coming down doesn’t compare. Out from my eyes pours waterfalls and rivers. Oceans and Seas don’t have the volume needed to contain these tears.
I poured the liquour into a smooth cabinet. THe floor was pouring out onto the steel rainmaker. It poured rain all over my and my own creation. THe world poured all over me and washed me pouring down the hill. IT was a day to pour and a ouring to remember forever. Let us pour.
I have begun to pour out my inner thoughts to a group of stranger that witch I know nothing about and find my self …healed by the simple action of sharing my inner thoughts
very rainy, like recently we’ve been having weird weather where one minute it just spits and the next it pours down torrential style! No going out in this weather because you can’t plan anything decent with random showers its better at home,…
Pour out the water. This word makes me see a pitcher in my mind. It’s nice. It’s on a table. The window is open. There is a breeze. It looks out onto the ocean like in the opening credits of Cinema Paradiso. I’m thirsty. I wish my life were more like that film, and I don’t.
“Elsa!” The screech came from inside the house. I flinched, spilling the lemonade I was pouring all over my feet. I braced myself for the inevitable as she came running out of the house, brandishing a golf club.
no shoes, dirt streets…. metal roofs. gangs
Routine check-ups left him feeling off kilter and the bottoms of his feet sticky. It was odd to hear a woman’s voice after so long, so long, so long. She poured words onto his sticky toes like tumbling cheerios for breakfast.
I poured out my love to you in words that came from deep in my soul. My beloved is mine and I am his..
I poured out my love to you in words that came from deep in my soul. My beloved is mine and I am him..
He poured her a glass of water, though she didn’t take it. It sat there in between them, watching, waiting for something to happen.
“I’ve missed you,” he finally said. She snapped her head up to look at him. He was staring intently at the table.
The rain pours down on her, filling her with a sense of completion, a sense of almost sadness.
(She remembers what it was like to be young and carefree, to watch the rain and feel no sense of kinship with it, only a sort of acceptance of it; she remembers being young, and she remembers loving the rain, dancing in it.
She doesn’t dance anymore.)
She walks around and the water droplets slip through her fingers like sand through an hourglass (and oh, she hates how she thinks like that, thinks in metaphors now instead of reality) and she smiles, pretending she doesn’t care.
“Pour some sugar on me!!” sang John to the radio. “John,” said Sherlock as he entered the kitchen, “really?? at this time in the morning? what are you doing?” “dancing round the kitchen Sherlock, I’m just dancing round the kitchen.”
glide around town
The rain is pouring down like cats and dogs on a hot summer afternoon. It feels like a cold draft has just assaulted my face, and I can’t explain the feelings of despair that have washed over me. I know it sounds silly, but I loved her, I really did love her with all of my heart and soul. How could she leave me high and dry in the rain? Why?
When you pour a liquid into another glass, some of the little particles stay behind, I wonder how many times you’d have to pour before the glasses all appeared to be empty ?
i like to pour milk with cerial its a magic feeling i get
it tastes well creamy and it looks so white and clean
i just remembered that guy off man vs food drank loads of milk with chillie…..mmmm milk
Pour. I would pour water into the cup and give it to you. And with giving it to you I was giving you more than you thought. In that cup of water I was giving you my heart, my soul, everything I am and all that I do. And you just drank it, and went on your way. pour.
YAY, drinking! It makes to beautifull sound in the world. The anitcipation. The calamity. The suspense. Love it. It’s great to pour a drink. I gives us a sense of abundancy and control. Thena gain, we spill. Excessively. Goddamn, the waste. Alchol. Yumyum
Бедный. Бедняжка. Бедный умственно – первое; “денежно”, то бишь материально – второе. Странно или нет, что оно приходит мне в голову в этом порядке? Я человек избалованный, жизнь моя легка. Многие сказали бы, что я сижу на шее родителей. Класс интеллигенции, причём интеллигенции еврейской.
Am Sonntag bin ich in Pour gewesen. Das ist eine französische Kleinstadt am Atlantik. Dort leben viele Fischer- und Töpferfamilien. Das ganze Jahr über riecht es nach Salzwasser, nach Algen und nach Fisch. Es ist immer windig und ziemlich kühl.
trickling trinket dazzling twirling
waltzing in air, under the winds unfurling
Rain. Healing rainy watershed.
Pour. I poured my feeling out to him. Tears poured down my face. He poured the whiskey down the drain, in an attempt to get sober. She poured her soul into her efforts. He poured disappointment onto her shoulders.