fell off again
in $3500 increments
scattered like stardust
across a national park
moonscape
but we all know
there’s no beauty
in self inflicted failure
The classic red wagon, a symbol of childhood and innocence. Perhaps the wagon wasn’t red, maybe it was blue or green or whatever colour resonated with your younger self. The squeaking of the wagon’s wheels over the cragged dents and dips of the neighbourhood sidewalk. A magical train or plane, a bringer of drinks and food, a wagon was whatever the imagination dreamed it to be. The wagon: a symbol of youth.
A wagon is a very fun outdoor object it is used for so many things such as gardening pulling heavy objects an many, more I love wagons because u can play with them also me and my brother and sisters won a wagon in a sweepstake. and we play with it all the time.
The wheels of the wagon squeaked as Joey dragged it along behind him. He was getting out of breath. Here comes the steep hill. His sister’s wailing cry was getting louder as she ran toward him. He found his second wind. He glanced back to make sure that none of his Transformers had fallen out. Bumblebee was leaning out the side of the wagon but everyone was still there.
It was red with a yellow handle
and the plastic wheels pocketed from stones and rough surfaces
But boy,
did that thing take us to the moon
or across to the west
It carried valiant warriors with scraped knees
Sailed the seven surging seas
Until one day our gangly limbs no longer fit
And it was left
to accumulate dust and spider webs
then sold for $3 at a garage sale
The wagon carried her secrets. she covered them with a blanket—the thick one from her grandmoters bed. though covered she feared the wind would be the secret’s revelaer—peeling the banket back with a gust. she feared
Bandwagon. In the simplest terms, it should be defined as being sheep; being on board with something because everyone else does it. As much as we make fun of animals, we aren’t so different. In fact, we are exactly the same. We do because we see others do. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a means of survival.
The terrain stretched on into the very horizon, as though it were infinite, spilling over the earth as long as one was still traveling. The wagon creaked and wavered over holes and piles, rocks and logs, the oxen trudging towards the unknown infinity of the horizon. Life awaited beyond.
Dysentery. That’s what they called it. Not rightly sure I had any idea what it meant. But hell, I knew what it did. Wife in the ground in Dakota. Son in the ground in Nebraska. Two hundred miles to Oregon and the only thing I have to my name is a damn empty wagon and, you guessed it, dysentery.
She dipped the paint brush hurriedly and dripped the deep purple all over the sidewalk as she swung her arm with a flourish. Her father watched carefully but didn’t say anything about it.
the wagon was heavier than expected. she loaded it to the brim with all she thouht was necessary—nmot taking into the account the fact thgat she would have to carry it all with her. what necessary immediately chagned. now she was forced with the taks of unloaded those things little by little that served les purpose
Hop on the wagon, boys, and we’ll go fishing until the sun sets. Keep your rods steady and your lines intact and your reels always a-spinning. We’ll meet your sister when it’s dark out and share a six pack by the cabin. Then before the mosquitoes bite, we’ll slip into bed and do it all again tomorrow.
Your sister has a better cast and a stronger grip than all of you combined. See if you can catch a larger trout than she does, but I’ll bet my gold tooth that she can’t be beat!
my head hurts
and my body aches;
i’ve been walking alongside this wagon
for far too long.
would you pass me the water jug?
i see a fresh spring
over the hill.
maybe we can bathe
and drink and cool down.
The wagon was large, brown, plain wood. It was a bit old, splinters snapping off the sides, the inish not quite as smooth as it might have been when it was first built. Chris looked at it skeptically. She had never ridden in anything so dingy and unsophisticated in her enitre life.
It sat on the only bare patch of grass, its corners splintered at its decades of service, its perimeter might have been well-varnished then, but had long suffered the effects of the beating sun. It might have once carted goods for a peddler, transported villagers to a nearby town, or even ferried a ragtag
bunch of thieves and other rotten eggs for their reckoning. This wagon was a history in its making and operation – she would have to bid at least 10 grand for it!
fell off again
in $3500 increments
scattered like stardust
across a national park
moonscape
but we all know
there’s no beauty
in self inflicted failure
The classic red wagon, a symbol of childhood and innocence. Perhaps the wagon wasn’t red, maybe it was blue or green or whatever colour resonated with your younger self. The squeaking of the wagon’s wheels over the cragged dents and dips of the neighbourhood sidewalk. A magical train or plane, a bringer of drinks and food, a wagon was whatever the imagination dreamed it to be. The wagon: a symbol of youth.
A wagon is a very fun outdoor object it is used for so many things such as gardening pulling heavy objects an many, more I love wagons because u can play with them also me and my brother and sisters won a wagon in a sweepstake. and we play with it all the time.
The wheels of the wagon squeaked as Joey dragged it along behind him. He was getting out of breath. Here comes the steep hill. His sister’s wailing cry was getting louder as she ran toward him. He found his second wind. He glanced back to make sure that none of his Transformers had fallen out. Bumblebee was leaning out the side of the wagon but everyone was still there.
It was red with a yellow handle
and the plastic wheels pocketed from stones and rough surfaces
But boy,
did that thing take us to the moon
or across to the west
It carried valiant warriors with scraped knees
Sailed the seven surging seas
Until one day our gangly limbs no longer fit
And it was left
to accumulate dust and spider webs
then sold for $3 at a garage sale
The wagon carried her secrets. she covered them with a blanket—the thick one from her grandmoters bed. though covered she feared the wind would be the secret’s revelaer—peeling the banket back with a gust. she feared
He pulled his wagon across the streets and across the railway line and down into the valley up to the old man’s house.
Bandwagon. In the simplest terms, it should be defined as being sheep; being on board with something because everyone else does it. As much as we make fun of animals, we aren’t so different. In fact, we are exactly the same. We do because we see others do. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a means of survival.
The terrain stretched on into the very horizon, as though it were infinite, spilling over the earth as long as one was still traveling. The wagon creaked and wavered over holes and piles, rocks and logs, the oxen trudging towards the unknown infinity of the horizon. Life awaited beyond.
Dysentery. That’s what they called it. Not rightly sure I had any idea what it meant. But hell, I knew what it did. Wife in the ground in Dakota. Son in the ground in Nebraska. Two hundred miles to Oregon and the only thing I have to my name is a damn empty wagon and, you guessed it, dysentery.
Hello!
Hello!
She dipped the paint brush hurriedly and dripped the deep purple all over the sidewalk as she swung her arm with a flourish. Her father watched carefully but didn’t say anything about it.
The wagon jumped in front of me and spilled a lot of oranges on the way down. Guess that’s how life rolls sometimes. Unexpectant..
I have a green wagon at home. I used to have a red one, but it broke, however I used to ride in it all of the time.
the wagon was heavier than expected. she loaded it to the brim with all she thouht was necessary—nmot taking into the account the fact thgat she would have to carry it all with her. what necessary immediately chagned. now she was forced with the taks of unloaded those things little by little that served les purpose
Hop on the wagon, boys, and we’ll go fishing until the sun sets. Keep your rods steady and your lines intact and your reels always a-spinning. We’ll meet your sister when it’s dark out and share a six pack by the cabin. Then before the mosquitoes bite, we’ll slip into bed and do it all again tomorrow.
Your sister has a better cast and a stronger grip than all of you combined. See if you can catch a larger trout than she does, but I’ll bet my gold tooth that she can’t be beat!
my head hurts
and my body aches;
i’ve been walking alongside this wagon
for far too long.
would you pass me the water jug?
i see a fresh spring
over the hill.
maybe we can bathe
and drink and cool down.
The wagon was large, brown, plain wood. It was a bit old, splinters snapping off the sides, the inish not quite as smooth as it might have been when it was first built. Chris looked at it skeptically. She had never ridden in anything so dingy and unsophisticated in her enitre life.
It sat on the only bare patch of grass, its corners splintered at its decades of service, its perimeter might have been well-varnished then, but had long suffered the effects of the beating sun. It might have once carted goods for a peddler, transported villagers to a nearby town, or even ferried a ragtag
bunch of thieves and other rotten eggs for their reckoning. This wagon was a history in its making and operation – she would have to bid at least 10 grand for it!