Of ALL places to get stuck in – a barrel. He wasn’t even NEAR the barrel, or, he hadn’t planned to be… then footsteps and without thinking, he’d scurried over and jumped inside, down down onto a bit pile of fruit. Apples, smelt like. And he was so small that for all his jumping, he couldn’t reach the top. So… now what?
There was a barrel left behind the kitchen alone. the kid was living inside it like a dog. but the cruel mother of kid hated the barrel as she was scared to his own kid to death for a reason.
The squirrel lie motionless in the barrel full of water. He looked peaceful, like he was only sleeping. But he was dead.
It was cold and had been raining, he was attracted to the water that had collected in the open container. His usual agility had failed him when he peered too far over the rim and fell in and drowned.
Now he floated, lifeless and motionless as decay set in more slowly than usual, hampered by the chilly water.
barrel rolls and is thunderous when made of tin. johmmy loved to roll a thunderous barrel
dowm Tomlinson’s hill in the wee small hours. He got something outa dat- the wee divil.
loved havin the folks curse the daylights outa him. must’ve done. can ya see him gettin
up be dead of night and puttin on his wee socks so’s he’d make not a sound…
He was some kind of kinat if you ax me.
barrel rolls and is thunderous when made of tin. johmmy loved to roll a thunderous barrel
dowm Tomlinson’s hill in the wee small hours. He got something outa dat- the wee divil.
loved havin the folks curse the daylights outa him. must’ve done. can ya see him gettin
up be dead of night and puttin on his wee socks so’s he’d make not a sound…
He was some kind of kinat if you ax me.
barrel rolls and is thunderous when made of tin. johmmy loved to roll a thunderous barrel
dowm Tomlinson’s hill in the wee small hours. He got something outa dat- the wee divil.
loved havin the folks curse the daylights outa him. must’ve done. can ya see him gettin
up be dead of night and puttin on his wee socks so’s he’d make not a sound…
He was some kind of kinat if you ax me.
I was staring down the barrel of his gun while he pulled out his phone, waiting for the next set of instructions from some mystery big-shot hitman on the other end. “Wow,” I thought, “If I’m
He came barreling through the door.
“I thought you’d left–gone to the airport,” I stuttered.
“I couldn’t go,” he said, out of breath. “I couldn’t leave without you.”
These men look mad. Once a year they run around the streets of a small village in Devon with flaming tar barrels on their shoulders. You see them in the pubs the next day – burns over their necks, hands and face. They compare them but rarely complain. They relish being part of a village tradition and spend all year preparing the barrels just for that one evening.
let me stare down it. please try and scare me
scare me from me
its all i know
maybe if you shake it out
i’ll know which way to go
let me stare down it
show me fear
The fish is in the barrel, the barrel on the wheelbarrow and the old man cannot push it because the street is too steep. How can he do ? Will he ask for help
A barrel floating through the sea,
with messages of the people to those they
think are far away.
Hopefully it reaches them,
the people close their eyes and envision
that note with words written, I miss you,
in the hands of the people thought long forgotten.
Barrels. Such evil and foul “creatures”. My leader has turned us against the barrels. The barrels have betrayed us countless times. Why? We don’t know. They just won’t leave us be. They want a war, well they are going to get what they wanted to happen. Our leader is a good man. A good hardworking man. A Swedish man, one who’s not afraid to fight to protect his loyal followers. He is some what a hero to all of us, his followers. He makes us laugh. What we wouldn’t do for just that little bit of laughter he brings to the table. Ah, laughter is what its all about. In a world of sadness and horrible people, laughter makes it worth it in a way. We just want to be happy right? Well laughter makes us happy. Since laughter makes us happy, and all we want is to be happy, doesn’t it make sense to protect that little sliver of laughter we oh so badly crave? Sometimes its not even the laughter that makes it all worth it though. Just the fact that we can help out a good man.
A barrel of fish. A barrel of monkeys. Toy Story. Was it one or two when the monkeys hung themselves out the wondow to find Buzz. Number 1 I think. I wish I was a kid again watching Toy Story on VHS…sometimes.
monkeys are measured.
wine spilled.
gallons spreading.
the gleam of a colt 45.
Glaring at me.
Scared that the last thing I see
is the shooter, the outlaw,
the smoking chamber of a gun.
Round and round, the world spinning and the colors meshing together like a Jackson Pollock painting. My head imitates this look, but the feeling worsens. It’s impending, my crash. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to be rolled down a hill in a barrel.
Once you’ve reached the bottom of the barrel, you cannot escape its structure alone. Trapped inside you must call, and reach for a helping hand with no hesitation. Then you will be free.
A barrel of love
A barrel of strength
A barrel of laughs
A barrel of length
between you and that girl
between me and you
between us all
and all the crazy things we do.
A barrel is a lot.
Don’t let yourself get caught
up in barrels.
Savor the wine in them.
Barrel. The barrel was at my feet. Someone had knocked it over. I leaned over to see what the contents were. But it was dark. Had monkeys escaped? Had it been been filled with gunpowder?
On the sea
A place for provisions
A feast for a pirate soul
A fight from scurvy;
In a room
A silent hall
For toys; adventures
Perhaps more
Any other space;
It is simply, a barrel.
Who knew?
I kicked open the barrel that lay in front of me. Many provisions spilled onto the deck of the ship.
“It seems like enough,” I noted, nodding to the quartermaster, “but who will know until we run out? I demand seventeen more barrels soon.”
a barrel of nothing rolled down the hill it kept rolling until it hit a tree and smashed apart. pieces of it flew in all directions and the ring that held it together continued to roll.. it rolled and rolled and continued to roll.
Looking down the sight, I catch a small glimpse of the blue in his eyes. He really has the most beautiful colour hair and skin. Shame I have to kill him but it’ s my job. No regrets.
I kicked the barrel sullenly. It was empty. No treasure. No gold. No pearls, no diamonds, no rubies and sapphires and riches beyond your wildest dreams. just an empty, rotting, wooden barrel that was falling apart. it smelled like disappointment and seaweed.
a barrel is made of wood. it has been uised in past to store gunpowder and liquor. pirates and sailors in olden times used it. it proved a sole help in times of crisis when a ship sinks.
One day as I was walking into the barn my parents own there sat a barrel, not like the big blue ones that usually littered the arena, a wooden barrel, like a wine barrel. I stared at it for a moment, wondering the significance, and walked over to it and felt the wood under my hand.
i went down to take a barrel for our kitchen. but in the basement i couldn;t find one. so i went to the store to buy one. there….i couldn’t take my eyes of something else,something different than what i came in for.
I dont wanna write write now so im doing this and a tooky went into the bathroom and was clubbed with a bottle and now he has a lump on his head and when he went to the carpenter’s store he saw the light and then a big bumble bee stung him on the head and he died.
As I am walking back up from the sparkling fireworks I fall down to the snow.
I try to stop myself but I cant. I barel down the cold snow screaming as I go.
Of ALL places to get stuck in – a barrel. He wasn’t even NEAR the barrel, or, he hadn’t planned to be… then footsteps and without thinking, he’d scurried over and jumped inside, down down onto a bit pile of fruit. Apples, smelt like. And he was so small that for all his jumping, he couldn’t reach the top. So… now what?
There was a barrel left behind the kitchen alone. the kid was living inside it like a dog. but the cruel mother of kid hated the barrel as she was scared to his own kid to death for a reason.
The squirrel lie motionless in the barrel full of water. He looked peaceful, like he was only sleeping. But he was dead.
It was cold and had been raining, he was attracted to the water that had collected in the open container. His usual agility had failed him when he peered too far over the rim and fell in and drowned.
Now he floated, lifeless and motionless as decay set in more slowly than usual, hampered by the chilly water.
um barril de pólvora no lugar do coração, e uma ideia prestes a explodir.
barrel rolls and is thunderous when made of tin. johmmy loved to roll a thunderous barrel
dowm Tomlinson’s hill in the wee small hours. He got something outa dat- the wee divil.
loved havin the folks curse the daylights outa him. must’ve done. can ya see him gettin
up be dead of night and puttin on his wee socks so’s he’d make not a sound…
He was some kind of kinat if you ax me.
barrel rolls and is thunderous when made of tin. johmmy loved to roll a thunderous barrel
dowm Tomlinson’s hill in the wee small hours. He got something outa dat- the wee divil.
loved havin the folks curse the daylights outa him. must’ve done. can ya see him gettin
up be dead of night and puttin on his wee socks so’s he’d make not a sound…
He was some kind of kinat if you ax me.
barrel rolls and is thunderous when made of tin. johmmy loved to roll a thunderous barrel
dowm Tomlinson’s hill in the wee small hours. He got something outa dat- the wee divil.
loved havin the folks curse the daylights outa him. must’ve done. can ya see him gettin
up be dead of night and puttin on his wee socks so’s he’d make not a sound…
He was some kind of kinat if you ax me.
I was staring down the barrel of his gun while he pulled out his phone, waiting for the next set of instructions from some mystery big-shot hitman on the other end. “Wow,” I thought, “If I’m
He came barreling through the door.
“I thought you’d left–gone to the airport,” I stuttered.
“I couldn’t go,” he said, out of breath. “I couldn’t leave without you.”
These men look mad. Once a year they run around the streets of a small village in Devon with flaming tar barrels on their shoulders. You see them in the pubs the next day – burns over their necks, hands and face. They compare them but rarely complain. They relish being part of a village tradition and spend all year preparing the barrels just for that one evening.
let me stare down it. please try and scare me
scare me from me
its all i know
maybe if you shake it out
i’ll know which way to go
let me stare down it
show me fear
A barrel of monkeys!!!!!!!! Oh how I miss my barrel. All my monkey’s have disappeared. It saddens me.
The fish is in the barrel, the barrel on the wheelbarrow and the old man cannot push it because the street is too steep. How can he do ? Will he ask for help
she slammed into me like a car crash,
and stayed to see the wreck.
kissed to cut me with broken glass,
took photographs when she saw blood.
and when she left it was a hurricane,
never looking back at the damage.
still my heart’s uncovered,
still every good memory scattered.
beware of the girls you’ll meet
who know nothing
but to crush, and to crush,
and to crush.
A barrel floating through the sea,
with messages of the people to those they
think are far away.
Hopefully it reaches them,
the people close their eyes and envision
that note with words written, I miss you,
in the hands of the people thought long forgotten.
Tradition. Memories. Hiding. Smiling face inside.
Monkeys in a barrel, 50 to the dozen
twenty dozen in the barrel
pop em right in the oven.
Barrels. Such evil and foul “creatures”. My leader has turned us against the barrels. The barrels have betrayed us countless times. Why? We don’t know. They just won’t leave us be. They want a war, well they are going to get what they wanted to happen. Our leader is a good man. A good hardworking man. A Swedish man, one who’s not afraid to fight to protect his loyal followers. He is some what a hero to all of us, his followers. He makes us laugh. What we wouldn’t do for just that little bit of laughter he brings to the table. Ah, laughter is what its all about. In a world of sadness and horrible people, laughter makes it worth it in a way. We just want to be happy right? Well laughter makes us happy. Since laughter makes us happy, and all we want is to be happy, doesn’t it make sense to protect that little sliver of laughter we oh so badly crave? Sometimes its not even the laughter that makes it all worth it though. Just the fact that we can help out a good man.
A barrel of fish. A barrel of monkeys. Toy Story. Was it one or two when the monkeys hung themselves out the wondow to find Buzz. Number 1 I think. I wish I was a kid again watching Toy Story on VHS…sometimes.
His soul was a barrel of quarrel filled with sorrow.
monkeys are measured.
wine spilled.
gallons spreading.
the gleam of a colt 45.
Glaring at me.
Scared that the last thing I see
is the shooter, the outlaw,
the smoking chamber of a gun.
Round and round, the world spinning and the colors meshing together like a Jackson Pollock painting. My head imitates this look, but the feeling worsens. It’s impending, my crash. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to be rolled down a hill in a barrel.
Once you’ve reached the bottom of the barrel, you cannot escape its structure alone. Trapped inside you must call, and reach for a helping hand with no hesitation. Then you will be free.
A barrel of love
A barrel of strength
A barrel of laughs
A barrel of length
between you and that girl
between me and you
between us all
and all the crazy things we do.
A barrel is a lot.
Don’t let yourself get caught
up in barrels.
Savor the wine in them.
Barrel. The barrel was at my feet. Someone had knocked it over. I leaned over to see what the contents were. But it was dark. Had monkeys escaped? Had it been been filled with gunpowder?
On the sea
A place for provisions
A feast for a pirate soul
A fight from scurvy;
In a room
A silent hall
For toys; adventures
Perhaps more
Any other space;
It is simply, a barrel.
Who knew?
I kicked open the barrel that lay in front of me. Many provisions spilled onto the deck of the ship.
“It seems like enough,” I noted, nodding to the quartermaster, “but who will know until we run out? I demand seventeen more barrels soon.”
a barrel of nothing rolled down the hill it kept rolling until it hit a tree and smashed apart. pieces of it flew in all directions and the ring that held it together continued to roll.. it rolled and rolled and continued to roll.
Looking down the sight, I catch a small glimpse of the blue in his eyes. He really has the most beautiful colour hair and skin. Shame I have to kill him but it’ s my job. No regrets.
I kicked the barrel sullenly. It was empty. No treasure. No gold. No pearls, no diamonds, no rubies and sapphires and riches beyond your wildest dreams. just an empty, rotting, wooden barrel that was falling apart. it smelled like disappointment and seaweed.
a barrel is made of wood. it has been uised in past to store gunpowder and liquor. pirates and sailors in olden times used it. it proved a sole help in times of crisis when a ship sinks.
Barrels are big things to keep everything inside and prevent from leaking sometimes something has to leak out this barrel or it will explode
i was not in the required position yet, i needed to improve my pose. i wanted to look like a barrel. brown. or blue.
One day as I was walking into the barn my parents own there sat a barrel, not like the big blue ones that usually littered the arena, a wooden barrel, like a wine barrel. I stared at it for a moment, wondering the significance, and walked over to it and felt the wood under my hand.
i went down to take a barrel for our kitchen. but in the basement i couldn;t find one. so i went to the store to buy one. there….i couldn’t take my eyes of something else,something different than what i came in for.
A barrel carries stuff like liquids. It is oval-shaped and is sometimes wood.
I dont wanna write write now so im doing this and a tooky went into the bathroom and was clubbed with a bottle and now he has a lump on his head and when he went to the carpenter’s store he saw the light and then a big bumble bee stung him on the head and he died.
THE END
Olfaction way of carrying goods. Drinks like root beer and soda. in a sean by the docks on the ocean side!
Olfaction way of carrying goods. Drinks root beer and
As I am walking back up from the sparkling fireworks I fall down to the snow.
I try to stop myself but I cant. I barel down the cold snow screaming as I go.