You are the anchor that keeps my life on its steady course. Without you I do not know where I would be. Yes Lord you are the one I am talking to you are the one whose praises I sing. Yes Lord, yes Lord, yes Lord. Amen.
The ship dropped its anchor. The ramp at the rear end of the ship creaked open. Men dressed in shorts and sleeveless shirts pulled a large, wooden container of fish out with the help of a car. The catch was enormous. The men made enough money to take the next two months off from work; this made their wives particularly happy.
you are like an anchor, my love.
i can never move on unless you let me,
our relationship is the stormy see where you take me captive, and refuse to let me go.
She walked across the ship as she bit her lip, looking down at the ship’s deck. She momentarily looked up and saw a man leaning over the side of the ship, looking at the ship’s anchor. She walked up behind him, and leaned on him, her elbow on his shoulder. He looked up for a second and immediately looked back down at the water, seeming not to care about her presence.
We use anchors to hold us in place, keep us from drifting with the tides. But what if our anchors are chaining us to a place of stagnation? What if we need to move on, change, and grow, but we’re anchored down forever?
The anchor was heavy and covered in moss. Why was it here? What was the purpose? It was only 5 inches tall but weighed a couple of kilos. Maybe it meant something. Their quest had taken them this far, so why shouldn’t this be a clue? They were going to find the sceptre, they knew it. But what did this have to do with it? They didn’t know, and they were unsure that they ever would.
tied to hold me down and keep in the mud … dragging me to the end of my life and keeping me in a place of remorse and solitude to live my life alone and isolated
I need to anchor my soul to where it belongs, to its Divine Creator, and detach it from the materiality of this world. May be then it would find peace.
She grasps at the anchor in her mind, trying to hold on, to keep her control. -Stone cold fox.- She remembered, and grasps onto it. She could not lose herself, could not let hope raise its ever so weary head only to be disappointed again. But at the same time, as his lips touched hers, so soft, gentle, tender, she couldn’t help but want what he seemed to be offering. Something real. But no… he was not hers to take that from.
anchors away. that’s what he said whenever his ship left dock. well, at least, that’s what i am told by my mother who tells me stories about my dad all the time. i have never met him. he died at sea just before i was born.
The last thing i want is to be an anchor. She has the opportunity of a lifetime. A scholarship at Oxford!!! but i just can’t let her go. before she came along my life has no meaning. i cannot go back to that. i simply can’t.
anchor’s are attached to ships, they keep them in place. they provide stability for something that is unstable. they battle through the deepest depths of the oceans to ensure the people’s safety aboard.
her love pulled me down down down into the depths of the sea,
a stone that got heavier with time
the pressure intense and constricting,
felt like i would implode,
still, she loved me.
i always wanted to travel to this enchanted place, this locus of mystery. where the forests and ruins ring with ancient spells and the wisdom of eons of human misery and sufferance. someday, maybe, i’ll be able to go there. to see the magic happen for myself, in that place where time possibly stands still.
angkor wat.
Without an anchor, a balloon is free to drift off into the sky, up into the known and unknown of space. Physically, of course, at some point, the balloon reaches a level of higher pressure on the inside than on the outside that it bursts but that’s a pessimistic way of looking at the metaphor.
All you were given was a conclusion, no process I guess. There was no anchorage, just a floating perfection made of [something unknown], using [materials unknown]. We rejected this framed perfection. With no clue of how to create one of our own we questioned if it was even this that we wanted. We answered with truth, imperfections that we had dragged around on chains were noted, appreciated, tacked to the walls and the ceilings and the floors. We made art not to tie our feelings to conclusions, but to anchor us to our previous selves and track the motions of new waves.
It fell to the sea bed. Carrying what looked like a clump of seaweed. What actually was a briefcase. A briefcase to special to destroy and to dangerous to keep. It fell and fell until there was nowhere left to fall.
It hit the botton. The heavy metal thing. Holding the boat that floated just off shore in place. She watched and waited for the sign. The sign that told her to go. To run. To find him.
the anchor sunk soundless dragging with it the pain of his past. it took away the burden that had been on his shoulder for so long. in reality, the anchor took with it the body of a woman, wedding ring still on her finger.
the anchor fell and with it, the body of a young woman was dragged along. there was a soft splash before bubbles rose tot he surface of the relatively calm, dark water. Silence reigned as the anchor sunk lower until it settled at the bottom of the ocean.
He threw the anchor over board. They had fished this part of the lake many times and he knew there were plenty of fish in that spot. There were two other spots he wanted to hit before he finished and he wanted to make the most of his time on the water.
Center my black sun cour in the center of the sea and set the controls straight for the sun but burn up in the atmosphere and launch me as a free agent into the heart of the sun so i can make love to the moon her pale face lucid in my third eye third why? third never die but only taste sky when I gnosh it down hear the sound touch the ground but float instead till the lamb is red with pure intention invention maybe ascension
The thing most people think of when the word anchor is introduced to mind is pirates and piracy. I certainly do. However, being a descendant of Bartholomew Roberts, I suppose my anchor comes with more fury and more swords and maybe just a bit more tea.
Hell. Who knows.
The anchor sat on the lawn, once used but now forgotten. some grass had grown around the bottom, climbing up. Birds used it now, sitting, and watching. I liked seeing it from my room. Its prominence in the garden seemed fitting.
sometimes it really feels thr is some anchor holding me on… when the world jus forces to run away.. an anchor that i call my folks.. the only motivation that keeps me, forces me to keep goin.
The sea tore apart the underbelly of the boat like the teeth of a bread knife rip through a loaf of bread. There were crew members catapulted from starboard to port. Finally, the chain became loose and the anchor plummeted to the sea bed.
heavy thing
You are the anchor that keeps my life on its steady course. Without you I do not know where I would be. Yes Lord you are the one I am talking to you are the one whose praises I sing. Yes Lord, yes Lord, yes Lord. Amen.
The ship dropped its anchor. The ramp at the rear end of the ship creaked open. Men dressed in shorts and sleeveless shirts pulled a large, wooden container of fish out with the help of a car. The catch was enormous. The men made enough money to take the next two months off from work; this made their wives particularly happy.
I have an anchor.
It comes along with me,
to haul me closer to the sea,
as I have found a spot,
a destination..
I am waiting for.
By the water, we lived. There was a beach, and a huge, rusting anchor on it. Or, that’s what I remember.
Love is a anchor that keep us steady in life.
I’ve been weighed down recently,
By poverty and sickness,
Or the thought thereof.
I haven’t been able to pull my self off the ground.
So I’m back on the horse,
And trying to find passion again.
I’m bobbing in the middle of a great blue sea,
and can’t think of the beauty.
It’s time to start trying again.
you are like an anchor, my love.
i can never move on unless you let me,
our relationship is the stormy see where you take me captive, and refuse to let me go.
She walked across the ship as she bit her lip, looking down at the ship’s deck. She momentarily looked up and saw a man leaning over the side of the ship, looking at the ship’s anchor. She walked up behind him, and leaned on him, her elbow on his shoulder. He looked up for a second and immediately looked back down at the water, seeming not to care about her presence.
So there I was, minding my own business on my way to school, right? Just swimming along and thinking about how shadowy the surface looked today when
BAM
Right in front of my face a huge thing fell nearly crushing me! I’ve never been so scared in my life.
The anchor weighed the dead body down. He had to make sure it stayed that way. Not wanting the body to rise from the depths.
We use anchors to hold us in place, keep us from drifting with the tides. But what if our anchors are chaining us to a place of stagnation? What if we need to move on, change, and grow, but we’re anchored down forever?
i dont know lol sorry what is that?? omg what a shame, help me! God give me some brains!!
The anchor was heavy and covered in moss. Why was it here? What was the purpose? It was only 5 inches tall but weighed a couple of kilos. Maybe it meant something. Their quest had taken them this far, so why shouldn’t this be a clue? They were going to find the sceptre, they knew it. But what did this have to do with it? They didn’t know, and they were unsure that they ever would.
There are bridges covering waters, rapids, rushing sounds. The wood is unstable, but better than below.
She’s rushed downstream. She’s grappling for rocks, for safety and strength. Shame the water’s rising. Shame she’s without anchor.
tied to hold me down and keep in the mud … dragging me to the end of my life and keeping me in a place of remorse and solitude to live my life alone and isolated
I need to anchor my soul to where it belongs, to its Divine Creator, and detach it from the materiality of this world. May be then it would find peace.
She grasps at the anchor in her mind, trying to hold on, to keep her control. -Stone cold fox.- She remembered, and grasps onto it. She could not lose herself, could not let hope raise its ever so weary head only to be disappointed again. But at the same time, as his lips touched hers, so soft, gentle, tender, she couldn’t help but want what he seemed to be offering. Something real. But no… he was not hers to take that from.
anchors away. that’s what he said whenever his ship left dock. well, at least, that’s what i am told by my mother who tells me stories about my dad all the time. i have never met him. he died at sea just before i was born.
The last thing i want is to be an anchor. She has the opportunity of a lifetime. A scholarship at Oxford!!! but i just can’t let her go. before she came along my life has no meaning. i cannot go back to that. i simply can’t.
anchor’s are attached to ships, they keep them in place. they provide stability for something that is unstable. they battle through the deepest depths of the oceans to ensure the people’s safety aboard.
The anchor sinking by the boat is like my life. The water waiting quietly to swallow me whole. What becomes of the anchor? What will become of me?
her love pulled me down down down into the depths of the sea,
a stone that got heavier with time
the pressure intense and constricting,
felt like i would implode,
still, she loved me.
i always wanted to travel to this enchanted place, this locus of mystery. where the forests and ruins ring with ancient spells and the wisdom of eons of human misery and sufferance. someday, maybe, i’ll be able to go there. to see the magic happen for myself, in that place where time possibly stands still.
angkor wat.
Without an anchor, a balloon is free to drift off into the sky, up into the known and unknown of space. Physically, of course, at some point, the balloon reaches a level of higher pressure on the inside than on the outside that it bursts but that’s a pessimistic way of looking at the metaphor.
All you were given was a conclusion, no process I guess. There was no anchorage, just a floating perfection made of [something unknown], using [materials unknown]. We rejected this framed perfection. With no clue of how to create one of our own we questioned if it was even this that we wanted. We answered with truth, imperfections that we had dragged around on chains were noted, appreciated, tacked to the walls and the ceilings and the floors. We made art not to tie our feelings to conclusions, but to anchor us to our previous selves and track the motions of new waves.
It fell to the sea bed. Carrying what looked like a clump of seaweed. What actually was a briefcase. A briefcase to special to destroy and to dangerous to keep. It fell and fell until there was nowhere left to fall.
It hit the botton. The heavy metal thing. Holding the boat that floated just off shore in place. She watched and waited for the sign. The sign that told her to go. To run. To find him.
OMG I really like the hat! I do believe many of us
need pieces that happen to be a little bizarre and to choose
from.
the anchor sunk soundless dragging with it the pain of his past. it took away the burden that had been on his shoulder for so long. in reality, the anchor took with it the body of a woman, wedding ring still on her finger.
the anchor fell and with it, the body of a young woman was dragged along. there was a soft splash before bubbles rose tot he surface of the relatively calm, dark water. Silence reigned as the anchor sunk lower until it settled at the bottom of the ocean.
I really don’t know what this word means. Is is somehow connected with arrows?
If it is, than I probably wrote smth related to the theme
He threw the anchor over board. They had fished this part of the lake many times and he knew there were plenty of fish in that spot. There were two other spots he wanted to hit before he finished and he wanted to make the most of his time on the water.
Center my black sun cour in the center of the sea and set the controls straight for the sun but burn up in the atmosphere and launch me as a free agent into the heart of the sun so i can make love to the moon her pale face lucid in my third eye third why? third never die but only taste sky when I gnosh it down hear the sound touch the ground but float instead till the lamb is red with pure intention invention maybe ascension
sea water brother paintings wind cloudspeople ship people on ship running dolce & gabbana blue and red
The thing most people think of when the word anchor is introduced to mind is pirates and piracy. I certainly do. However, being a descendant of Bartholomew Roberts, I suppose my anchor comes with more fury and more swords and maybe just a bit more tea.
Hell. Who knows.
ship and mister Bob Dylan are about this surely,
but are you anchored to? and will you still be when you die?
Hi hi hi :)
The anchor sat on the lawn, once used but now forgotten. some grass had grown around the bottom, climbing up. Birds used it now, sitting, and watching. I liked seeing it from my room. Its prominence in the garden seemed fitting.
sometimes it really feels thr is some anchor holding me on… when the world jus forces to run away.. an anchor that i call my folks.. the only motivation that keeps me, forces me to keep goin.
The sea tore apart the underbelly of the boat like the teeth of a bread knife rip through a loaf of bread. There were crew members catapulted from starboard to port. Finally, the chain became loose and the anchor plummeted to the sea bed.