Oh bowling
what fun,
bowling
bowling under the sun
huh
never heard of bowling out side
before but
sure we can try
for sure
I’ll get my shoes
and slip on my shorts
then we can go bowling
outside for sure.
We went bowling on our first date. There was not much time for talking. It was either your turn or mine. Our friends were a huge distraction. You asked me on another date. I was busy that night. You did not ask me out for a different night. I don’t ever find myself thinking about you. It was a great experience, but that was all.
Once I went bowling. I was only 7 at the time. It was a Sunday afternoon and Sam’s bowling ally wasn’t to busy. Just a couple of old people on a bowling team and about 3 families. I went with my older brother Tommy and we had a lot of fun there. We played 2 games. He won the first and then I won the second. We were about ready to play the third game when I had to go to the bathroom
I love bowling, it’s fun and easy. All you have to do it through a ball down a lane and hope for the best. That’s it and it’s that easy! What up said kayleigh.
soft cold nights dull with exhaustion
a brief grin
trapped in a moment
that night was special
wrapped in apathy
sweet bowling distraction
those shoes smelled weird
but it was kind of worth it
to see you smile.
My family loves bowling. I mean, we get down-right serious about bowling. Its become a family past time and there are lot of us so it really becomes the Olympics of the family when we all get together. We are a competitive bunch, too. I think we all enjoy it so much because old rivalries are renewed while new ones are made with each successive generation.
There was a bowling alley, haunted and hollowed on the inside. No one ever dared go inside, for it was told there were screamers and banshees that would shriek so loud you would be deaf by the time you could leave. I didn’t believe this story, so I decided I would go in the bowling alley for the night with my brother. This is what happened.
I hate it. Why bother throwing a twelve pound ball at a bunch of pins? It’s pointless to me, and I’d rather not try it. Maybe that’s why I hate it, because I am no good. No skills, no appreciation right? Besides, the alley always smells awful…
I did bowling yestreday. We need more options. I had a garage sale a few weeks ago and had on display a brand new bowling ball of high quality without the three holes drilled in and so able to be custom fitted. At some point, there were kids
Bowling for soup blared over the radio. GOT MY FIRST REAL 6 STRING. Lidsay hits the snooze button. Why her mother made her set an alarm in the summer was beyond her.
i sat back in my chair as my arch enemy got a full strike, again… how am i supposed to beat that record with out cheating. Whats the problem with cheating i asked myself, this is very serious. I suddenly had an idea as to how i would win. i would you my superpowers… i used my head as i rolled the ball towards the pins, they all fell but one stubborn one, i stared at it, and it fell.
The smiles, the laughter, the cheers and shouts. No real way to describe the feeling of sharing those victories, teasing the losses. The sense of unity, of familiar belonging, found only within the smallest of pleasures.
The last time I remember bowling is in my freshman year with my seminar group. That’s when I first met Daniel. I remember looking at him from across the room, watching him as he bowled and laughed when he didn’t hit all the pins. I never imagined that, almost two years later, I would be the one to make him laugh.
i sat back in my chair as my arch enemy got a full strike, again… how am i supposed to beat that record with out cheating. Whats the problem with cheating i asked myself, this is very serious. I suddenly had an idea as to how i would win. i would you my superpowers…
while bowling, you should watch out that you won’t slip, cause you’ll fall flat on your face and that hurts. your nose will start bleeding and your face will look weird, then you get a tampon in your nose and your nose is on its period. sad story
while bowling, you should watch out that you won’t slip, cause you’ll fall flat on your face and that hurts. your nose will start bleeding and your face will look weird, then you get a tampon in your nose and your nose is on its period. sad story
My heart felt like a set of bowling pins being struck by the ball when I saw her tears. At first I didn’t understand, but when I did, I wanted to slap myself like the hypocrite I am. She said it wasn’t my fault, but I wanted to slap myself again for coming up with an explanation. I promised myself I would never make her cry again, but I did.
Bowling is a thing I like to do with family and friends. I havn’t went out to bowl for a very long time. The last memory I have of me bowling, was with my mom and my in-laws. It was great Leons brothers and mopther joining my mother and sisters for a game of bowling and a night of fun. That was one of the fondest memories I have of my family. The part I really like is that everyone came together, because it rarely ever happens. I love looking at Leon and Dions faces when our entire family, the ones who are closest to us and we love the most, come together and enjoy the simple moment of coming together!
The ship tilted violently in the storm. Rocking like an old wooden chair, made from the children of great trees. It tipped and shot through the water, propelled and forced. Heavy as a bowling ball. And unstable as a pin.
I always like to have the third lane from the right. I pick up the blue swirly ball. My tennis shoes are a halr-size too big. The floor is slick. I toss the ball. I fall on my butt. I hear snickers.
“You are such a clutz,” he says.
“Shut-up,” I say.
My stomach starts rolling whenever I think of a bowling alley. Being inside one feels like being inside a Heironymus Bosh painting. I can tell half the people who’re there are in some sort of a hidden hell. I’m not a psychologist, but it seems that those pins for some, for some of them who return again and again and again ad infinitum to knock them down, are symbolic for something. Perhaps the pins are pins inside of the bowlers. Pins that pinned-up life goals that never actualized. Or pins that others pushed in them when the whole damn world seemed it was playing pin the tail on the donkey on their face, and knocking the physical ones down pushes these ones – the real ones inside of them – down past the layer of their psyche that can feel the pain. Yeah, you’re right. I know, maybe I’m projecting too far. But what I can say for certain is that the smell, the smoke, the sounds, the music, the dim light, the dim people, the repetition, the repetition of identical lanes, identical pins, identical pin placement, the rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling…ENOUGH! I have to stop. I hate going to bowling alleys, even in my mind. Bowling is such mindless activity, even just writing about it feels like mindless activity. Or…or maybe I’m the one who has some pins inside of me. What if in life, in certain cases, we stay away from places people and things for the same reasons, the hidden reasons, others go to them. No. No it can’t be. Next. Next word please…
Strike! Another strike goes down for the Anderson family team, securing the championship once again. The Thompson team leaves the alley, dejected. “It’s alright guys, we’ll beat them next year,” The dad says, even though he doesn’t believe it himself. Unlikely.
My stomach starts rolling whenever I think of a bowling alley. Being inside one feels like being inside a Heironymus Bosh painting. I can tell half the people who’re there are in some sort of a hidden hell. I’m not a psychologist, but it seems that those pins for some, for some of them who return again and again and again ad infinitum to knock them down, are symbolic for something. Perhaps the pins are pins inside of the bowlers. Pins that pinned-up life goals that never actualized. Or pins that others pushed in them when the whole damn world seemed it was playing pin the tail on the donkey on their face, and knocking the physical ones down pushes these ones – the real ones inside of them – down past the layer of their psyche that can feel the pain. Yeah, you’re right. I know, maybe I’m projecting too far. But what I can say for certain is that the smell, the smoke, the sounds, the music, the dim light, the dim people, the repetition, the repetition of identical lanes, identical pins, identical pin placement, the rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling…ENOUGH! I have to stop. I hate going to bowling alleys, even in my mind. Bowling is such mindless activity, even just writing about it feels like mindless activity. Or…or maybe I’m the one who has some pins inside of me. What if in life, in certain cases, we stay away from places people and things for the same reasons, the hidden reasons, others go them. No, no it can’t be. Next. Next word please…
This Friday night I will be bowling” she thinks, “not sitting in the hospital” her brother had broken his arm. Again. And ruined her thursday night plans, as if they included much.
My stomach starts rolling whenever I think of a bowling alley. Being inside one feels like being inside a Heironymus Bosh painting. I can tell half the people who’re there are in some sort of a hidden hell. I’m not a psychologist, but it seems that those pins for some, for some of them who return again and again and again ad infinitum to knock them down, are symbolic for something. Perhaps the pins are pins inside of the bowlers. Pins that pinned-up life goals that never actualized. Or pins that others pushed in them when the whole damn world seemed it was playing pin the tail on the donkey on their face, and knocking the physical ones down pushes these ones – the real ones inside of them – down past the layer of their psyche that can feel the pain. Yeah, you’re right. I know, maybe I’m projecting too far. But what I can say for certain is that the smell, the smoke, the sounds, the music, the dim light, the dim people, the repetition, the repetition of identical lanes, identical pins, identical pin placement, the rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling…ENOUGH! I have to stop. I hate going to bowling alleys, even in my mind. Bowling is such mindless activity, even just writing about it feels like mindless activity. Or, or maybe I’m the one who has some pins inside of me. No, it can’t be. Next word please…
Fog billowed out through the street, clouding over the harsh glare of the rusted streetlights as they shone buoyantly over the sea of midnight moisture. Nearly chocked by the thickness of the air, he made his way down the street. An old neon sign flickered in the distance, matching the crumbling rhythm of his heels as he strode forward in an almost maddened dash out of the night. Keeping his hat in place with his free hand, he ducked into their old bar. Placing his bag on the stool next to him, he released a sigh and waited for Johnny to notice.
“Strike!”, his voice boomed. He turned his arms in the air gloating his victory. His eyes met mine and the corner of his mouth turned up in a sneer. “Beat that”, he jeered as he walked back to high five his teammates. I took a deep breath in and stood up. You can do this I told myself as I carefully choose my ball. Blue had been lucky for be so far, hopefully it wouldn’t fail me now. I lifted the ball up balancing it carefully upon my three fingers. Slowly I turned towards the lane blocking out all the noise around me. It was just me, the ball, and the pins. I could do this. I stepped towards the lane. I closed my eyes, took one last deep breath and swung my arm back. My eyes shoot open, i propelled forward, the ball flew from my hand and sped away down the lane.
Two minutes on the clock and Sarah was down by 9 points. She jogged towards the strip of polished wood, tossing her personalized ball in a curve down the left side of the alley.
The seconds seemed to move ever so slowly. The crowd seemed to be holding its breath.
Then, a crash. The crowd cheered and the building dissolved around her, the crowd engulfing their team. They’d won, just barely.
A strike.
I sat in the hard, plastic seat, grumbling under my breath. Glaring up and down the lanes, watching people hurl their bowling balls down the lanes and striking the pins. I don’t know why I even came, to be quite honest. I wish I hadn’t. I probably seem like such a sourpuss… But nobody could ever estimate how much I loathe bowling.
I suck at bowling but I still love it. There’s something about looking like a complete idiot in the company of others who look like complete idiots that’s just so much fun.
balls rold down a lane and then hit pins. white pins. its not always easy, but bumbers help. even though using bumpers is “lame” and you look “weak”. No biggie. but its fun to be in the dimmed alley with all the neon lights glowing and shining on your face
Oh bowling
what fun,
bowling
bowling under the sun
huh
never heard of bowling out side
before but
sure we can try
for sure
I’ll get my shoes
and slip on my shorts
then we can go bowling
outside for sure.
~bowling~
We went bowling on our first date. There was not much time for talking. It was either your turn or mine. Our friends were a huge distraction. You asked me on another date. I was busy that night. You did not ask me out for a different night. I don’t ever find myself thinking about you. It was a great experience, but that was all.
Once I went bowling. I was only 7 at the time. It was a Sunday afternoon and Sam’s bowling ally wasn’t to busy. Just a couple of old people on a bowling team and about 3 families. I went with my older brother Tommy and we had a lot of fun there. We played 2 games. He won the first and then I won the second. We were about ready to play the third game when I had to go to the bathroom
I love bowling, it’s fun and easy. All you have to do it through a ball down a lane and hope for the best. That’s it and it’s that easy! What up said kayleigh.
soft cold nights dull with exhaustion
a brief grin
trapped in a moment
that night was special
wrapped in apathy
sweet bowling distraction
those shoes smelled weird
but it was kind of worth it
to see you smile.
My family loves bowling. I mean, we get down-right serious about bowling. Its become a family past time and there are lot of us so it really becomes the Olympics of the family when we all get together. We are a competitive bunch, too. I think we all enjoy it so much because old rivalries are renewed while new ones are made with each successive generation.
There was a bowling alley, haunted and hollowed on the inside. No one ever dared go inside, for it was told there were screamers and banshees that would shriek so loud you would be deaf by the time you could leave. I didn’t believe this story, so I decided I would go in the bowling alley for the night with my brother. This is what happened.
I have never bowled once in my life. i’m surprised i even know what it is. oh well.. once more no words to say.
I hate it. Why bother throwing a twelve pound ball at a bunch of pins? It’s pointless to me, and I’d rather not try it. Maybe that’s why I hate it, because I am no good. No skills, no appreciation right? Besides, the alley always smells awful…
I did bowling yestreday. We need more options. I had a garage sale a few weeks ago and had on display a brand new bowling ball of high quality without the three holes drilled in and so able to be custom fitted. At some point, there were kids
Bowling for soup blared over the radio. GOT MY FIRST REAL 6 STRING. Lidsay hits the snooze button. Why her mother made her set an alarm in the summer was beyond her.
We went bowling, during which I proceeded to trip and slide all the way down the lane, crashing into the pins head first.
i sat back in my chair as my arch enemy got a full strike, again… how am i supposed to beat that record with out cheating. Whats the problem with cheating i asked myself, this is very serious. I suddenly had an idea as to how i would win. i would you my superpowers… i used my head as i rolled the ball towards the pins, they all fell but one stubborn one, i stared at it, and it fell.
The smiles, the laughter, the cheers and shouts. No real way to describe the feeling of sharing those victories, teasing the losses. The sense of unity, of familiar belonging, found only within the smallest of pleasures.
The last time I remember bowling is in my freshman year with my seminar group. That’s when I first met Daniel. I remember looking at him from across the room, watching him as he bowled and laughed when he didn’t hit all the pins. I never imagined that, almost two years later, I would be the one to make him laugh.
i sat back in my chair as my arch enemy got a full strike, again… how am i supposed to beat that record with out cheating. Whats the problem with cheating i asked myself, this is very serious. I suddenly had an idea as to how i would win. i would you my superpowers…
while bowling, you should watch out that you won’t slip, cause you’ll fall flat on your face and that hurts. your nose will start bleeding and your face will look weird, then you get a tampon in your nose and your nose is on its period. sad story
while bowling, you should watch out that you won’t slip, cause you’ll fall flat on your face and that hurts. your nose will start bleeding and your face will look weird, then you get a tampon in your nose and your nose is on its period. sad story
My heart felt like a set of bowling pins being struck by the ball when I saw her tears. At first I didn’t understand, but when I did, I wanted to slap myself like the hypocrite I am. She said it wasn’t my fault, but I wanted to slap myself again for coming up with an explanation. I promised myself I would never make her cry again, but I did.
I am just not trying hard enough, am I?
Bowling is a thing I like to do with family and friends. I havn’t went out to bowl for a very long time. The last memory I have of me bowling, was with my mom and my in-laws. It was great Leons brothers and mopther joining my mother and sisters for a game of bowling and a night of fun. That was one of the fondest memories I have of my family. The part I really like is that everyone came together, because it rarely ever happens. I love looking at Leon and Dions faces when our entire family, the ones who are closest to us and we love the most, come together and enjoy the simple moment of coming together!
is smashing all obstacles in your path.
The ship tilted violently in the storm. Rocking like an old wooden chair, made from the children of great trees. It tipped and shot through the water, propelled and forced. Heavy as a bowling ball. And unstable as a pin.
I always like to have the third lane from the right. I pick up the blue swirly ball. My tennis shoes are a halr-size too big. The floor is slick. I toss the ball. I fall on my butt. I hear snickers.
“You are such a clutz,” he says.
“Shut-up,” I say.
My stomach starts rolling whenever I think of a bowling alley. Being inside one feels like being inside a Heironymus Bosh painting. I can tell half the people who’re there are in some sort of a hidden hell. I’m not a psychologist, but it seems that those pins for some, for some of them who return again and again and again ad infinitum to knock them down, are symbolic for something. Perhaps the pins are pins inside of the bowlers. Pins that pinned-up life goals that never actualized. Or pins that others pushed in them when the whole damn world seemed it was playing pin the tail on the donkey on their face, and knocking the physical ones down pushes these ones – the real ones inside of them – down past the layer of their psyche that can feel the pain. Yeah, you’re right. I know, maybe I’m projecting too far. But what I can say for certain is that the smell, the smoke, the sounds, the music, the dim light, the dim people, the repetition, the repetition of identical lanes, identical pins, identical pin placement, the rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling…ENOUGH! I have to stop. I hate going to bowling alleys, even in my mind. Bowling is such mindless activity, even just writing about it feels like mindless activity. Or…or maybe I’m the one who has some pins inside of me. What if in life, in certain cases, we stay away from places people and things for the same reasons, the hidden reasons, others go to them. No. No it can’t be. Next. Next word please…
Strike! Another strike goes down for the Anderson family team, securing the championship once again. The Thompson team leaves the alley, dejected. “It’s alright guys, we’ll beat them next year,” The dad says, even though he doesn’t believe it himself. Unlikely.
My stomach starts rolling whenever I think of a bowling alley. Being inside one feels like being inside a Heironymus Bosh painting. I can tell half the people who’re there are in some sort of a hidden hell. I’m not a psychologist, but it seems that those pins for some, for some of them who return again and again and again ad infinitum to knock them down, are symbolic for something. Perhaps the pins are pins inside of the bowlers. Pins that pinned-up life goals that never actualized. Or pins that others pushed in them when the whole damn world seemed it was playing pin the tail on the donkey on their face, and knocking the physical ones down pushes these ones – the real ones inside of them – down past the layer of their psyche that can feel the pain. Yeah, you’re right. I know, maybe I’m projecting too far. But what I can say for certain is that the smell, the smoke, the sounds, the music, the dim light, the dim people, the repetition, the repetition of identical lanes, identical pins, identical pin placement, the rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling…ENOUGH! I have to stop. I hate going to bowling alleys, even in my mind. Bowling is such mindless activity, even just writing about it feels like mindless activity. Or…or maybe I’m the one who has some pins inside of me. What if in life, in certain cases, we stay away from places people and things for the same reasons, the hidden reasons, others go them. No, no it can’t be. Next. Next word please…
This Friday night I will be bowling” she thinks, “not sitting in the hospital” her brother had broken his arm. Again. And ruined her thursday night plans, as if they included much.
My stomach starts rolling whenever I think of a bowling alley. Being inside one feels like being inside a Heironymus Bosh painting. I can tell half the people who’re there are in some sort of a hidden hell. I’m not a psychologist, but it seems that those pins for some, for some of them who return again and again and again ad infinitum to knock them down, are symbolic for something. Perhaps the pins are pins inside of the bowlers. Pins that pinned-up life goals that never actualized. Or pins that others pushed in them when the whole damn world seemed it was playing pin the tail on the donkey on their face, and knocking the physical ones down pushes these ones – the real ones inside of them – down past the layer of their psyche that can feel the pain. Yeah, you’re right. I know, maybe I’m projecting too far. But what I can say for certain is that the smell, the smoke, the sounds, the music, the dim light, the dim people, the repetition, the repetition of identical lanes, identical pins, identical pin placement, the rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling…ENOUGH! I have to stop. I hate going to bowling alleys, even in my mind. Bowling is such mindless activity, even just writing about it feels like mindless activity. Or, or maybe I’m the one who has some pins inside of me. No, it can’t be. Next word please…
green, old people, happy, at peace says me an old person myself. Pretty green. Pins and needles for Columbine.
When we went bowling, he didn’t pick up a ball. He simply swayed his hands and all the pins fell in awe.
Fog billowed out through the street, clouding over the harsh glare of the rusted streetlights as they shone buoyantly over the sea of midnight moisture. Nearly chocked by the thickness of the air, he made his way down the street. An old neon sign flickered in the distance, matching the crumbling rhythm of his heels as he strode forward in an almost maddened dash out of the night. Keeping his hat in place with his free hand, he ducked into their old bar. Placing his bag on the stool next to him, he released a sigh and waited for Johnny to notice.
it means “to strike or hit with heavy blows”
“Strike!”, his voice boomed. He turned his arms in the air gloating his victory. His eyes met mine and the corner of his mouth turned up in a sneer. “Beat that”, he jeered as he walked back to high five his teammates. I took a deep breath in and stood up. You can do this I told myself as I carefully choose my ball. Blue had been lucky for be so far, hopefully it wouldn’t fail me now. I lifted the ball up balancing it carefully upon my three fingers. Slowly I turned towards the lane blocking out all the noise around me. It was just me, the ball, and the pins. I could do this. I stepped towards the lane. I closed my eyes, took one last deep breath and swung my arm back. My eyes shoot open, i propelled forward, the ball flew from my hand and sped away down the lane.
Two minutes on the clock and Sarah was down by 9 points. She jogged towards the strip of polished wood, tossing her personalized ball in a curve down the left side of the alley.
The seconds seemed to move ever so slowly. The crowd seemed to be holding its breath.
Then, a crash. The crowd cheered and the building dissolved around her, the crowd engulfing their team. They’d won, just barely.
A strike.
I sat in the hard, plastic seat, grumbling under my breath. Glaring up and down the lanes, watching people hurl their bowling balls down the lanes and striking the pins. I don’t know why I even came, to be quite honest. I wish I hadn’t. I probably seem like such a sourpuss… But nobody could ever estimate how much I loathe bowling.
“Take the skinheads bowling…”, is playing in the background, while I ask the girl of my dreams out on a date!
I suck at bowling but I still love it. There’s something about looking like a complete idiot in the company of others who look like complete idiots that’s just so much fun.
Booze helps.
balls rold down a lane and then hit pins. white pins. its not always easy, but bumbers help. even though using bumpers is “lame” and you look “weak”. No biggie. but its fun to be in the dimmed alley with all the neon lights glowing and shining on your face
When I was a small child and it thundered, my father used to say that the angels were bowling. He was old fashioned like that.
bowling is a lame sport, it really requires little to no streingth flexibility or stamina, all of which are key parts in any sport.