The sound of the cannon reminded me of why I was here. I stepped slowly onto the platform and looked at the people below me. They had no idea of what would go on later today, and I prayed that most of them never would. This wasn’t something was particularly proud of, it wasn’t exactly a story I’d be telling my grandchildren.
Cannon? or canon? anyway, i have a canon dslr, and i love it to bits. i made this black and white setting with high contrast, so it looks pretty cool. heehee.
She heard a faint blow of a confetti cannon from the parade down the street. She stopped to watch it. “so much glee they have”, she thought longingly. She spotted a man with green knee socks walking in the parade. She suddenly plunged into a flashback. She was up in her room, writing a letter to Billy when she heard a bang. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the painful cry of agony “Collette!!!” The rest was a blur of piercing screams,blood spewing, and a flash of green……
fodder; our troops in Iraq, A-ghan and elsewhere. The tragedy is we see them as so, and they know they are so, but they love to go and do, anyway. One day, we’ll take them back home and we’ll all get along, but till then… my hat is off to them.
cannon is war and poverty. It creates death hate and resentment but can also entertain and amuse, try chucking a clown in it and watching him sail over your heads. It bangs and screams and shouts and wrecks havoc in the most beautiful and damned places on earth.
the ghosts,white whisps with semi-familar faces,whizzed by as if shot out of a cannon;whoa-ing all the way.the click clink clack sounds grew harsher and more menacing,as if something was climbing up the valley wall
Every morning when we leave the car we begin to walk our separate ways. However, we are walking to the same place. Why are the mornings so distant for us when the nights are so damn close? We have the same objective, same destination, same needs. We are not so different.
I already wrote on this one. Before I joined. I wrote about war and peace. And I figured if I could speak about peace publicly from one simple word, I was on a website that I would like. So I will continue to use these one-words to figure out what’s really racking my brain. Force out what has to be said. What I have to confess. Maybe something good will come out of this. Who knows.
Not unlike a cannon through the trees, the owl glides silently. The branches reach out to snag at his feathers and impede his flight pattern, but it’s to no avail. He is a well oiled machine, nothing can stop him. He scouts with his eyes, nothing can see what he sees. Nothing has that ability.
He snags the mouse by the tip of his tail just before he can disappear beneath the ground.
war and castles with soldiers shooting arrows at an incoming army. cannon fodder; war food. soldiers and war poetry anbout being given to the country as an obkject of war without any fasmilial attachment/or care for your personal life. cannon printers but without one of the ‘n’
You’re a loose cannon. You’re the guy who walks down the street with a knife pulled, and you threaten people with rearranging their mentalities. You smile and your dark eyes show your soul. You can make them do that, y’know. S’what scared me, the first time I really looked into them. That I realized you were capable of blowing my word to bits with a few shards of shrapnel from the cannon that was your soul. If that’s not too cheesy to say. I think it might be. You’re just a dark hole, a black hole, a soul-less soul. Love you.
Cannon. Boom. Civil war. What an interesting weapon of war. Now we use everything from secrets to money to more secrets. Scary secrets. Why must we scare each other? Why can’t we realize we are all of the same flesh, the same mind, the same body? Every human twitches, smiles, loves, why should we look at each other with such hate for doing these things in a different way?
I’m reminded of pirates and wars. Civil war reenactments. We went to one when we were camping once, and they had a dance later that evening. We learned some old country dances, and it was so fun. My friend Jenna and I had to dance together, because there weren’t enough boys.
The cannon shot through the air, exploding just before the soldier’s feet. He was thrown back between the trees of the forest, only the smell of smoke and the frightened yells of his comrades were left in his ears as blackness covered his consciousness, like a veil upon a corpse.
The soldier awoke to the crackling of fire surrounding him. The air smelled of death, and everything was dark. There was no movement. Only the harsh sound of breathing and a faint heart beating reminded the soldier of being alive.
Explosions. Rippiing people to peices. Young boys getting their legs sawed off in a muddy,bloody battlefield while fully concious &¬hing but a turniquet &&a shot of whiskey.
It hit me like a cannon ball, and I stopped suddenly.
“This is really real, isn’t it?”
“Well…”, he drawled, “What’s real, eh? Dreams, stories, myths… they are all real on some level. What YOU call reality is just one of those levels, neither more or less ‘real’ than any of the others. Each level simply SEEMS more real to its denizens. To another level, YOU are the imaginary one.”
I listen to cannoball by damien rice and I am fourteen.
I am far from the clutter that is about to befall me when I hit 16 or 17 or 18.
I am truly pure.
a cannon is not an ink jet capsule. it shoots clowns and weird looking guys with moustaches. it has three n’s in the word, a fact that can confuddle one. i am done.
And as the last cannon exploded, the sound resounded off around our ears. Everyone else was staring off at the fireworks, but all I could notice was how they were reflected in your eyes.
The thunder of the cannon boomed, the trees crashing down the field as more men fell to the hideous gun. Blood drained into the stream at the bottom, a horrific sight to behold.
I so much hoped that I would not get cannon again. I don’t know anything about cannons. They shoot. They make noise. It’s a camera label. Pirates have them…
cannon. this is a horrible word. but it just reminds me of today, how we watched avatar. at the end at least when they were in war. and in world history we were talking about world war one… so I guess that would be it. I don’t really have anything else.
cannon as in bombs? wow, that is really random. boom goes the dinamite. hehehe. i spelt dynamite wrong. i really dont understND THe point of this website. it makes NO SENSE. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. fjsld. thank you for your time. oh, wow. i hit refresh and it started over again. ugggg. poop! dkslskdhjlfhghgljhgojhofohkihlkhlkhkskksjhkjjklsldkfjsldskdfjsldkfjsldkfjslkjfslkjfsljflsjf;adksgjalgnkalnvhkvjghmjghthgfhugrhtuttiutiriuhgjfh,xmmcnkdjfhhjfhgjfhjjjhhhjjjhjhjhaglsdkdky you will get a sentimental feeling when you here.
It felt like a cannon reverberating in my ears. They were just words, but their meaning was deadly. I felt as if I had been cut to the bone and I cried out in pain.
cannons. they hurt
cannons. they steal.
cannons. they delete. ugh. thayt wa terrible what was i thinking?
i mean what if a cannon hit you? that is a question to ponder. not writing random words about cannons.
A cannon came in from the back of the house. It shattered my china that my grandmother gave me. As it’s power busted through the remaining walls of my house all I could think about was, where was that fork I dropped?
…and then Jack swung from the upper deck of them ship, knocking down a few of the workers on the ship on his way down. He shoved the dirty man with a black beard out of his way, and fired the cannon, sending a flaming cannonball soaring through the air, on it’s way to do some damage (if not to destroy) the enemy ship.
I heard the cannon fire, I jumped over the wall and ran through the field. The cannon boomed again and I ran faster. I knew I was being chase whether or not I could see them. But I ran. Why did they have a cannon? They were terrible at aiming and would never hit me. But I carried on running.
Patterson Park was a wonderful world of mystery. It had what appeared to be acres of grass and gardens, baseball diamonds, a swimming pool, a Chinese pagoda, a band shell, and large iron cannons on the top of a hill, no doubt to defend this veritable paradise from the hordes who would understandably covet our Eden.
bomb o my god
fire war terror innocent people dieing terror one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen.
The sound of the cannon reminded me of why I was here. I stepped slowly onto the platform and looked at the people below me. They had no idea of what would go on later today, and I prayed that most of them never would. This wasn’t something was particularly proud of, it wasn’t exactly a story I’d be telling my grandchildren.
Cannon? or canon? anyway, i have a canon dslr, and i love it to bits. i made this black and white setting with high contrast, so it looks pretty cool. heehee.
She heard a faint blow of a confetti cannon from the parade down the street. She stopped to watch it. “so much glee they have”, she thought longingly. She spotted a man with green knee socks walking in the parade. She suddenly plunged into a flashback. She was up in her room, writing a letter to Billy when she heard a bang. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the painful cry of agony “Collette!!!” The rest was a blur of piercing screams,blood spewing, and a flash of green……
fodder; our troops in Iraq, A-ghan and elsewhere. The tragedy is we see them as so, and they know they are so, but they love to go and do, anyway. One day, we’ll take them back home and we’ll all get along, but till then… my hat is off to them.
cannon is war and poverty. It creates death hate and resentment but can also entertain and amuse, try chucking a clown in it and watching him sail over your heads. It bangs and screams and shouts and wrecks havoc in the most beautiful and damned places on earth.
пушка. фотоаппараты неплохой работы. фотографии. можно сделать. или нельзя сделать. бах! бах! там та рам! наполеон побит! редуты взорваны!
the ghosts,white whisps with semi-familar faces,whizzed by as if shot out of a cannon;whoa-ing all the way.the click clink clack sounds grew harsher and more menacing,as if something was climbing up the valley wall
Every morning when we leave the car we begin to walk our separate ways. However, we are walking to the same place. Why are the mornings so distant for us when the nights are so damn close? We have the same objective, same destination, same needs. We are not so different.
I already wrote on this one. Before I joined. I wrote about war and peace. And I figured if I could speak about peace publicly from one simple word, I was on a website that I would like. So I will continue to use these one-words to figure out what’s really racking my brain. Force out what has to be said. What I have to confess. Maybe something good will come out of this. Who knows.
Not unlike a cannon through the trees, the owl glides silently. The branches reach out to snag at his feathers and impede his flight pattern, but it’s to no avail. He is a well oiled machine, nothing can stop him. He scouts with his eyes, nothing can see what he sees. Nothing has that ability.
He snags the mouse by the tip of his tail just before he can disappear beneath the ground.
war and castles with soldiers shooting arrows at an incoming army. cannon fodder; war food. soldiers and war poetry anbout being given to the country as an obkject of war without any fasmilial attachment/or care for your personal life. cannon printers but without one of the ‘n’
You’re a loose cannon. You’re the guy who walks down the street with a knife pulled, and you threaten people with rearranging their mentalities. You smile and your dark eyes show your soul. You can make them do that, y’know. S’what scared me, the first time I really looked into them. That I realized you were capable of blowing my word to bits with a few shards of shrapnel from the cannon that was your soul. If that’s not too cheesy to say. I think it might be. You’re just a dark hole, a black hole, a soul-less soul. Love you.
Cannon. Boom. Civil war. What an interesting weapon of war. Now we use everything from secrets to money to more secrets. Scary secrets. Why must we scare each other? Why can’t we realize we are all of the same flesh, the same mind, the same body? Every human twitches, smiles, loves, why should we look at each other with such hate for doing these things in a different way?
a cannon on the pirate ships
a cannon in the wars
ancient cannons and now hi-tech cannons
all killers of innocent people young and old
I’m reminded of pirates and wars. Civil war reenactments. We went to one when we were camping once, and they had a dance later that evening. We learned some old country dances, and it was so fun. My friend Jenna and I had to dance together, because there weren’t enough boys.
The cannon shot through the air, exploding just before the soldier’s feet. He was thrown back between the trees of the forest, only the smell of smoke and the frightened yells of his comrades were left in his ears as blackness covered his consciousness, like a veil upon a corpse.
The soldier awoke to the crackling of fire surrounding him. The air smelled of death, and everything was dark. There was no movement. Only the harsh sound of breathing and a faint heart beating reminded the soldier of being alive.
Cannon.
BOOM
POW
Explosions. Rippiing people to peices. Young boys getting their legs sawed off in a muddy,bloody battlefield while fully concious &¬hing but a turniquet &&a shot of whiskey.
It hit me like a cannon ball, and I stopped suddenly.
“This is really real, isn’t it?”
“Well…”, he drawled, “What’s real, eh? Dreams, stories, myths… they are all real on some level. What YOU call reality is just one of those levels, neither more or less ‘real’ than any of the others. Each level simply SEEMS more real to its denizens. To another level, YOU are the imaginary one.”
Those cannons could sink a ship, man! They are so large and powerful looking! But no, seriously, nice cannons. . .
Cannon. Pirates. Argh. Birds, sea. Camera. Gun. Shot, load, shot again. Pictures of pirates out at sea.
I listen to cannoball by damien rice and I am fourteen.
I am far from the clutter that is about to befall me when I hit 16 or 17 or 18.
I am truly pure.
a cannon is not an ink jet capsule. it shoots clowns and weird looking guys with moustaches. it has three n’s in the word, a fact that can confuddle one. i am done.
And as the last cannon exploded, the sound resounded off around our ears. Everyone else was staring off at the fireworks, but all I could notice was how they were reflected in your eyes.
The thunder of the cannon boomed, the trees crashing down the field as more men fell to the hideous gun. Blood drained into the stream at the bottom, a horrific sight to behold.
i already got this word. ugg. BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!! i got the pirates, they are dead now. i killed them. i am now going to leave. good bye.
I so much hoped that I would not get cannon again. I don’t know anything about cannons. They shoot. They make noise. It’s a camera label. Pirates have them…
cannon. this is a horrible word. but it just reminds me of today, how we watched avatar. at the end at least when they were in war. and in world history we were talking about world war one… so I guess that would be it. I don’t really have anything else.
cannon as in bombs? wow, that is really random. boom goes the dinamite. hehehe. i spelt dynamite wrong. i really dont understND THe point of this website. it makes NO SENSE. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. fjsld. thank you for your time. oh, wow. i hit refresh and it started over again. ugggg. poop! dkslskdhjlfhghgljhgojhofohkihlkhlkhkskksjhkjjklsldkfjsldskdfjsldkfjsldkfjslkjfslkjfsljflsjf;adksgjalgnkalnvhkvjghmjghthgfhugrhtuttiutiriuhgjfh,xmmcnkdjfhhjfhgjfhjjjhhhjjjhjhjhaglsdkdky you will get a sentimental feeling when you here.
It felt like a cannon reverberating in my ears. They were just words, but their meaning was deadly. I felt as if I had been cut to the bone and I cried out in pain.
Shoot. Maybe it will take down the star.
cannons. they hurt
cannons. they steal.
cannons. they delete. ugh. thayt wa terrible what was i thinking?
i mean what if a cannon hit you? that is a question to ponder. not writing random words about cannons.
A cannon came in from the back of the house. It shattered my china that my grandmother gave me. As it’s power busted through the remaining walls of my house all I could think about was, where was that fork I dropped?
not really sure what to write here..hmm..
(:
I don’t really know anything about cannons so,I’m not gonna write :P
ohhhhh…it’s just an amazing place.i love it so much. :))
thank u.
alice
BOOM!!!
…and then Jack swung from the upper deck of them ship, knocking down a few of the workers on the ship on his way down. He shoved the dirty man with a black beard out of his way, and fired the cannon, sending a flaming cannonball soaring through the air, on it’s way to do some damage (if not to destroy) the enemy ship.
I heard the cannon fire, I jumped over the wall and ran through the field. The cannon boomed again and I ran faster. I knew I was being chase whether or not I could see them. But I ran. Why did they have a cannon? They were terrible at aiming and would never hit me. But I carried on running.
Patterson Park was a wonderful world of mystery. It had what appeared to be acres of grass and gardens, baseball diamonds, a swimming pool, a Chinese pagoda, a band shell, and large iron cannons on the top of a hill, no doubt to defend this veritable paradise from the hordes who would understandably covet our Eden.
Life is great when one has to think that you have a cannon, to wake you, to the reality of life. A cannon wakes us all to life and the beauty of it