The branches launched into the car like javelins, slicing the blue metal like butter. The driver was silent as he lurched forward, his head ricocheting off of the wheel. Rain and glass showered onto the seats like snow. The blue honda seemed to fold up as it encircled the sturdy trunk of the oak tree. It let out a final groan and the small car coughed up plumes of smoke, dressing the tree like an evening gown. The only sound left was the nasal wailing of the car alarm.
But soon others joined it.
“Aislinn!” The driver croaked, his blue eyes pooling with blurry tears. He jerked his shaking arms out of their trap between two branches and the wheel and tried to unbuckle his seatbelt. Sitting in the passenger seat with her slender shoulders slumped was a girl. Two long branches had shattered through the windshield and slivered into her lithe frame. Her eyes were shut, arms loose, and her brown-haired head lolled uselessly on her shoulder. The driver coughed and let out a cry. Blood pooled like a stream down the girl’s neck and also bubbled from a gash in her stomach, soaking into her striped t-shirt.
“Oh, God…” the driver gnawed on his lip, trying to focus. He couldn’t keep his head straight, everything seemed to merge together. Everything had been fine a second ago… Or had it? She had asked him… Asked him if he was sure he was okay to drive… And had he been? No. He had too much to drink at Jacob’s party. And then the roads had all merged, the lights of other cars turned into one giant beam. And he thought he was going right at it. So he grabbed the wheel, spun it like a top, and then he woke up with oak branches stabbing his torso.
“Aislinn? Answer me…” the boy slurred, coughing hot breath over her paled face. The girl was unresponsive, still draped like a rag doll in the seat. “C’mon, it’s me… It’s Jesse…”
Dirty, bloody fingers quavered and reached out to brush against her face. Rain pelted down through the broken windshield and began to fleck their clothes. Jesse let out a hoarse whimper, feeling salty tears join the raindrops and he fell back into his seat. His girlfriend was gone. She wasn’t coming back. God… All because of his own stupid mistake. His eyelids scrunched shut and he began to sob, shoulders trembling. His mind was still drowning in alcohol, but even now, the 17-year-old could see the desolation beginning to unfold.
The trees extended their branches
floral and green
I let them embrace me
In the tightest of hugs, they felt my salty tears
I am disgusted with my species
I can’t look at my own reflection
they listened to the troubles
streaming down my fleshy cheeks
The trees extended their branches
Branches on trees, trees in the yard, yards in the neighborhood, neighborhoods filled with kids, kids playing in their neighbor hoods, neighborhoods have yards, yards have trees, trees have branches.
Branches seem to exist everywhere in the universe. tree branches, the way family trees branch, the hierarchy or animals and plants everywhere, the way your thoughts branch, sports brackets look like branches too. seems like branches are the most convenient way of organizing things their is. Branches let us make connections from one starting point or trunk to the very farthest thought or idea that still relates to our main point.
The branches extent like limbs on a person out over the valley. This is the valley of the unknown. Perhaps the branches are my limbs, attempting to find some sort of security or sanctity amoung the valley. Maybe they are hoping to find nothing but my true self.
The branches whip at Tom’s face. It stings but he can’t stop running, he has to get far enough away to not put anyone in danger. The moon hangs heavy and full in the black velvet sky. It makes him feel more alive than sex and music and a million bloody mary’s.
There is but one leaf remaining in the naked branches of the tree outside my window. I wonder how long it can hold up with the wind brushing through it’s thin veins. Will it get to see the stars in the sky after the night has fallen?
He moved the branches out of the way, holding them high so the children could duck under his arm and continue up the path to the woods. “Keep close together!” He warned. “Pairs of two or three. Hold hands!”
The children did, with only a few mumbled complaints along the way, mostly between the guys having to hold hands with the girls, but none of them dared complain when he fixed them with a glare.
“You know what lurks on these mountaintops.” He said, sternly. “Do not remind me that I was talked into this trip against my better judgment!”
One grumbling group bowed their heads, properly chastised.
“They wouldn’t really, would they, Unk?” Garea ducked under his arm last and hung back to thread one of her fingers through a spare link on his belt.
“The trees come alive whenever they please.” He explained, slowing his step to adjust for her stride. “They do not care why and what for.” His soft voice held the faintest hint of steel. “When we reach camp, I will not have any of you straying about to explore. We will make camp and dinner and then take it from there.” The students grew quiet and watched him with worried eyes. “The trees will come alive.” He intoned. “Whether you are there to see them or not. You will not wander tonight–should you do so, your blood is not on my hands.”
The canopy above was a blessing, each leaf took a water-drop for me and each branch carried its weight. This downpour was a waterfall of gunfire, one of which, any of which, would have resulted in my end. What am I?
The branches brush against my window on a stormy night…but not in the scary sense most imagine. It is in a gentle, soothing way as if to say “I am here”.
I am grafted in to the most beautiful tree to ever grace this earth. It is the tree of Israel, and from it’s limbs much fruit has borne. like the olive tree, it grows up inside the trunk of a tree that is dying no matter what the other people do to it, it will endure and spring up again because the roots run deep. I am part of that tree and I am honored, but I do not take my place lightly, because if the original branches can wither and die, so can I.
of my soul. are a cliche. metaphors of trees and growing towards the sun. barren or blossomed. fallen down and rotting. wielded as weapons. weaved into baskets. of government.
The sapling swayed in the wind uncertain which way to grow it’s branches. They moved with mind of their own, hoping one day to be long and tall. Perhaps they would support nests. A lucky few may hold a rare treehouse. The sapling sighed with the wind as it silently took hold.
Branches of a tree are like roots of memories for the living life. They branch out endlessly and some would waver and break. Some stay strong in the face of strong wind, some just leave like you weren’t there. At the end of everything, that tree you have there is your life from when you were born, and it will be cut down by someone else to grow a new life.
Branches are on trees, they are part of banks, and they are part of families. Branches on a tree are brown. A family branch may bring good or bad memories depending on the family. You’ll want your bank to have a lot of branches so that you can bank where you want to..
Brachiate, bronchitis, limbs, arms, Greek mythology, Ophelia,
Family tree
Connects me to others
Stem and leaf plot
Birds sit on them
White hulls
Spiny parts
Tin cans
Floral
Please work
No more branches
Nobody types like this on an iPad
No resting of fingers
Big sneeze
Choo choo
We each come from the same tree, just different branches. We all contain the same anatomy, so why discriminate? We don’t have the same leaves but wouldn’t it be nice to share our leaves–our insights–and go with the flow?
Branches…branches remind me of family trees. Better yet, I was writing something even more related to the subject of family. It’s about my grandmother…who I wonder even knows me anymore. It’s a touchy subject I don’t want to get into just because it’s best for me and for everyone else in the family.
As if by some miracle my left arm would regain its strength, I returned to the fight scene in hopes to get my sister back. Even if it cost me the arm I would later miss. I could bare it more than missing Alma.
Tim’s connection to the family was of course, strained. Mud clotted on his boots would drag into the mansion after missions, which Alfred would silently comply to taking care of. Although it wasn’t as if he had suspected adversity in the teen in his distinct lack in communicative appreciation. Today was just a bit bleak, bad, not his good side. The Robin suit would need its customary amount of repairs to be applied here and there. The mask could be taken cared of later, there wasn’t much use for it when he was with father.
when we were younger
the world couldn’t seem to keep up with us
laughing til our cheeks hurt
hanging from tree branches
and never thinking about how much it could hurt if we fall
but now we’ve learned
now we stay close to the ground
Im just a branch that has fallen and been left behind by the others left to fall to the ground and only wonder what it would be like to be at the top. Until then all i can do is dream…
She made many branches in her tree of friends. She did everything she could to expand her horizons, go new places, meet new people. But when he came into her life, he cut off all of her branches she grew.
as the wind blew hard, the branches on the tree moved. i felt free out here. nature was my soundtrack. my friend. my companion. it’s all i needed, and all i will need. without that branch blowing, would i know i was alive? it’s life. we’re life. nature is our life.
I looked at the frail, snow covered branches. They were colorless, brittle things, almost dead on the outside. They reminded me of fingers crawling, itching for a way out of their own skin.
I couldn’t help it. His web was too large. His branches were too long. I couldn’t follow them. I couldn’t catch them in time. John. John was in danger. He could die. I couldn’t. I can’t let that happen.
Someone is going to die and it will not by my John.
It cannot be my John.
you reach out to move up, but all you end up doing is falling.
because it was just too high
because you just weren’t good enough
because you gave up
because everything just came crashing down
because you couldn’t
because it didn’t matter anymore
Monkeys swing on branches as well as I do!I get food from branches as well as I do!Monkeys sit on branches as well as I do!We have a lot of things in common with branches
The branches blew against the wind. resisting the pull it gave. threatening to break. it was was one of those days. the one where the horror movies get to you, and your startled by every sound, every creak every step.
The leaves shivered, and so the dapples shifted over her face. I still wonder about her. It’s been years since she’s been the little girl I needed to save, the one who couldn’t do anything, but still…
The branches of the tree have a strange flow to them. The tree is a willow, it is weeping. The branches slowly sway in the wind, an air of sadness but stability about them.
are not bare anymore. The old apple tee has flowers on it, can you imagine after every one said it was dead. I doubt there will the apples tho, it is possible. The tree was very prolific last year but we didn’t eat all the apples.
Branches come from trees. There are also branches of businesses. I had branches on my wall in university, and I would probably get a tattoo of branches with words for the stems. But then again I don’t like tattoos. Still branches are pretty…
The branches launched into the car like javelins, slicing the blue metal like butter. The driver was silent as he lurched forward, his head ricocheting off of the wheel. Rain and glass showered onto the seats like snow. The blue honda seemed to fold up as it encircled the sturdy trunk of the oak tree. It let out a final groan and the small car coughed up plumes of smoke, dressing the tree like an evening gown. The only sound left was the nasal wailing of the car alarm.
But soon others joined it.
“Aislinn!” The driver croaked, his blue eyes pooling with blurry tears. He jerked his shaking arms out of their trap between two branches and the wheel and tried to unbuckle his seatbelt. Sitting in the passenger seat with her slender shoulders slumped was a girl. Two long branches had shattered through the windshield and slivered into her lithe frame. Her eyes were shut, arms loose, and her brown-haired head lolled uselessly on her shoulder. The driver coughed and let out a cry. Blood pooled like a stream down the girl’s neck and also bubbled from a gash in her stomach, soaking into her striped t-shirt.
“Oh, God…” the driver gnawed on his lip, trying to focus. He couldn’t keep his head straight, everything seemed to merge together. Everything had been fine a second ago… Or had it? She had asked him… Asked him if he was sure he was okay to drive… And had he been? No. He had too much to drink at Jacob’s party. And then the roads had all merged, the lights of other cars turned into one giant beam. And he thought he was going right at it. So he grabbed the wheel, spun it like a top, and then he woke up with oak branches stabbing his torso.
“Aislinn? Answer me…” the boy slurred, coughing hot breath over her paled face. The girl was unresponsive, still draped like a rag doll in the seat. “C’mon, it’s me… It’s Jesse…”
Dirty, bloody fingers quavered and reached out to brush against her face. Rain pelted down through the broken windshield and began to fleck their clothes. Jesse let out a hoarse whimper, feeling salty tears join the raindrops and he fell back into his seat. His girlfriend was gone. She wasn’t coming back. God… All because of his own stupid mistake. His eyelids scrunched shut and he began to sob, shoulders trembling. His mind was still drowning in alcohol, but even now, the 17-year-old could see the desolation beginning to unfold.
The trees extended their branches
floral and green
I let them embrace me
In the tightest of hugs, they felt my salty tears
I am disgusted with my species
I can’t look at my own reflection
they listened to the troubles
streaming down my fleshy cheeks
The trees extended their branches
Branches on trees, trees in the yard, yards in the neighborhood, neighborhoods filled with kids, kids playing in their neighbor hoods, neighborhoods have yards, yards have trees, trees have branches.
Branches seem to exist everywhere in the universe. tree branches, the way family trees branch, the hierarchy or animals and plants everywhere, the way your thoughts branch, sports brackets look like branches too. seems like branches are the most convenient way of organizing things their is. Branches let us make connections from one starting point or trunk to the very farthest thought or idea that still relates to our main point.
The branches extent like limbs on a person out over the valley. This is the valley of the unknown. Perhaps the branches are my limbs, attempting to find some sort of security or sanctity amoung the valley. Maybe they are hoping to find nothing but my true self.
The branches whip at Tom’s face. It stings but he can’t stop running, he has to get far enough away to not put anyone in danger. The moon hangs heavy and full in the black velvet sky. It makes him feel more alive than sex and music and a million bloody mary’s.
There is but one leaf remaining in the naked branches of the tree outside my window. I wonder how long it can hold up with the wind brushing through it’s thin veins. Will it get to see the stars in the sky after the night has fallen?
He moved the branches out of the way, holding them high so the children could duck under his arm and continue up the path to the woods. “Keep close together!” He warned. “Pairs of two or three. Hold hands!”
The children did, with only a few mumbled complaints along the way, mostly between the guys having to hold hands with the girls, but none of them dared complain when he fixed them with a glare.
“You know what lurks on these mountaintops.” He said, sternly. “Do not remind me that I was talked into this trip against my better judgment!”
One grumbling group bowed their heads, properly chastised.
“They wouldn’t really, would they, Unk?” Garea ducked under his arm last and hung back to thread one of her fingers through a spare link on his belt.
“The trees come alive whenever they please.” He explained, slowing his step to adjust for her stride. “They do not care why and what for.” His soft voice held the faintest hint of steel. “When we reach camp, I will not have any of you straying about to explore. We will make camp and dinner and then take it from there.” The students grew quiet and watched him with worried eyes. “The trees will come alive.” He intoned. “Whether you are there to see them or not. You will not wander tonight–should you do so, your blood is not on my hands.”
Garea’s grip on his belt loop tightened.
my fingers like branches: they reach, but never touch
The canopy above was a blessing, each leaf took a water-drop for me and each branch carried its weight. This downpour was a waterfall of gunfire, one of which, any of which, would have resulted in my end. What am I?
The branches brush against my window on a stormy night…but not in the scary sense most imagine. It is in a gentle, soothing way as if to say “I am here”.
I am grafted in to the most beautiful tree to ever grace this earth. It is the tree of Israel, and from it’s limbs much fruit has borne. like the olive tree, it grows up inside the trunk of a tree that is dying no matter what the other people do to it, it will endure and spring up again because the roots run deep. I am part of that tree and I am honored, but I do not take my place lightly, because if the original branches can wither and die, so can I.
of my soul. are a cliche. metaphors of trees and growing towards the sun. barren or blossomed. fallen down and rotting. wielded as weapons. weaved into baskets. of government.
The sapling swayed in the wind uncertain which way to grow it’s branches. They moved with mind of their own, hoping one day to be long and tall. Perhaps they would support nests. A lucky few may hold a rare treehouse. The sapling sighed with the wind as it silently took hold.
Branches of a tree are like roots of memories for the living life. They branch out endlessly and some would waver and break. Some stay strong in the face of strong wind, some just leave like you weren’t there. At the end of everything, that tree you have there is your life from when you were born, and it will be cut down by someone else to grow a new life.
Branches are on trees, they are part of banks, and they are part of families. Branches on a tree are brown. A family branch may bring good or bad memories depending on the family. You’ll want your bank to have a lot of branches so that you can bank where you want to..
Brachiate, bronchitis, limbs, arms, Greek mythology, Ophelia,
Family tree
Connects me to others
Stem and leaf plot
Birds sit on them
White hulls
Spiny parts
Tin cans
Floral
Please work
No more branches
Nobody types like this on an iPad
No resting of fingers
Big sneeze
Choo choo
We each come from the same tree, just different branches. We all contain the same anatomy, so why discriminate? We don’t have the same leaves but wouldn’t it be nice to share our leaves–our insights–and go with the flow?
Branches…branches remind me of family trees. Better yet, I was writing something even more related to the subject of family. It’s about my grandmother…who I wonder even knows me anymore. It’s a touchy subject I don’t want to get into just because it’s best for me and for everyone else in the family.
Adjust to each step, turn a half mile, and sit.
Let the wind blow you to the left, then the right, then straight – until the path you have marked is the same once again. Face straight ahead
and move forward. Hesitate for a minute and the shadows will be at your tail, ready to
swallow your words.
As if by some miracle my left arm would regain its strength, I returned to the fight scene in hopes to get my sister back. Even if it cost me the arm I would later miss. I could bare it more than missing Alma.
“This is the path, I know it branches ahead just around the corner. There is a bridge and the path evens up just ahead.”
After cycling for hours I was back in familiar territory and within minutes of coffee and a rest.
Tim’s connection to the family was of course, strained. Mud clotted on his boots would drag into the mansion after missions, which Alfred would silently comply to taking care of. Although it wasn’t as if he had suspected adversity in the teen in his distinct lack in communicative appreciation. Today was just a bit bleak, bad, not his good side. The Robin suit would need its customary amount of repairs to be applied here and there. The mask could be taken cared of later, there wasn’t much use for it when he was with father.
when we were younger
the world couldn’t seem to keep up with us
laughing til our cheeks hurt
hanging from tree branches
and never thinking about how much it could hurt if we fall
but now we’ve learned
now we stay close to the ground
Im just a branch that has fallen and been left behind by the others left to fall to the ground and only wonder what it would be like to be at the top. Until then all i can do is dream…
The people you meet in life are like branches on a tree. Forever expanding… But sometimes those branches break…
the branches
She made many branches in her tree of friends. She did everything she could to expand her horizons, go new places, meet new people. But when he came into her life, he cut off all of her branches she grew.
as the wind blew hard, the branches on the tree moved. i felt free out here. nature was my soundtrack. my friend. my companion. it’s all i needed, and all i will need. without that branch blowing, would i know i was alive? it’s life. we’re life. nature is our life.
I looked at the frail, snow covered branches. They were colorless, brittle things, almost dead on the outside. They reminded me of fingers crawling, itching for a way out of their own skin.
I couldn’t help it. His web was too large. His branches were too long. I couldn’t follow them. I couldn’t catch them in time. John. John was in danger. He could die. I couldn’t. I can’t let that happen.
Someone is going to die and it will not by my John.
It cannot be my John.
It cannot.
you reach out to move up, but all you end up doing is falling.
because it was just too high
because you just weren’t good enough
because you gave up
because everything just came crashing down
because you couldn’t
because it didn’t matter anymore
even though it did
Monkeys swing on branches as well as I do!I get food from branches as well as I do!Monkeys sit on branches as well as I do!We have a lot of things in common with branches
The branches blew against the wind. resisting the pull it gave. threatening to break. it was was one of those days. the one where the horror movies get to you, and your startled by every sound, every creak every step.
The leaves shivered, and so the dapples shifted over her face. I still wonder about her. It’s been years since she’s been the little girl I needed to save, the one who couldn’t do anything, but still…
What if tomorrow’s the day I lose her?
I climbed to the highest of branches, but i was too scared to climb back down.
The branches of the tree have a strange flow to them. The tree is a willow, it is weeping. The branches slowly sway in the wind, an air of sadness but stability about them.
are not bare anymore. The old apple tee has flowers on it, can you imagine after every one said it was dead. I doubt there will the apples tho, it is possible. The tree was very prolific last year but we didn’t eat all the apples.
Branches come from trees. There are also branches of businesses. I had branches on my wall in university, and I would probably get a tattoo of branches with words for the stems. But then again I don’t like tattoos. Still branches are pretty…
Apples glooming red on the branches of the trees.
The harvest begins.
Walking through the forest, all alone.
My mind, quiet.