I know a guy, in fact he’s my youngest son, who gathered and sold pine cones on ebay. He was the pineconeguy and he made a bunch of money. They were sugar pines which are the large cones. People love them and buy them. He picked them when he was a timber faller and had his buddies pick them too.
A cone is something you can play with. I remember as a child we went to a playground so we could play with cones. It was really fun. I hope one day I will go back and do it all over. I can do it. I know I can. I need to trust myself some more.
May Belle looked up into her dad’s face with a gap-toothed grin, sprinkles spread like a rainbow across her flushed cheeks. The day was hot, the sun beating down on the cheap fair like it was the Sahara and not Kansas, but she didn’t care.
cones of visable sight differ in different animals. i wish i could see in 16 cone spectrum like a mantis shrimp then a rainbow or even my dimily lit room would like a acid trip. life would be brilliant
She didn’t know it would be so brutal. So full of torture. She thought it’d be over quickly; maybe they’d let her go. Maybe she could see him again. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
But her hopes were crushed as the device was revealed. The man behind the machine smiled maliciously. “Hope you’re ready for your treatment.”
The comedian put the traffic cone on his head. He was smiling on the outside, making everyone laugh, but on the inside, he was a mess. He rent was due, his girlfriend was pregnant. How was he going to make his big break happen?
It’s a shape. Round, but pointy. I don’t like it, I have to deal with it when I do maths.
Point is, cone reminds me of light. And I like light, a lot. Every kind of it.
But cone, alone, seems to be too pointy for me to like
An ice cream cone? Delicious! The cone of a volcano, ominous. A cone in geometry has a volume that is one third the volume of a cylinder with the same diameter and height. Loudspeakers and old fashioned hearing aids use cones to guide the sound in a particular direction. A cone is the shape of a funnel; one of the first times I remember using a funnel was to add gas to my go-cart.
The cone? Traffic Cone? Clown COne? COmical shape…..Pine cone?
Cylindrical cone…Geometrical figure……..Icecream cone…
So many ideas associated with a figure…all pop-up when I just think of this word…..
What else?…I think this website has a timer. It is pushing me to write but not helping in writing something great…..bunch of related words is what I came up with…I think there is a website issue….timer is not working apparently…..
A cone of a mountain….Snow-capped……Pointy……pointed at a blue heaven…..Spreads
Yes timer issue. had to go to compatibility view…..
A snow-capped mountain was looking bluish in the early morning air. Chirpy birds around…
Cone? How about ice cream cone? I really like to eat ice cream with the cone. Crunchy and yummy. Suddenly i feel that i travel back to my childhood. Little girl with ice cream cone.
It was much too hot outside, but of course, ice cream could make anything better. He knew it was my favorite thing in the world, and what better way to spend a daddy-daughter day out than walking through the little town looking at anything and everything new and exciting, or old and beautiful. My small cone tumbled out of my own hands, but were quickly recovered by his incredibly quick reflexes. I always joked that he was some sort of ninja in a past life, and he always gave me new reasons to believe it.
And then there was one. I had been scanning the landscape for hours and now I could seen it in the viewer, standing alone with bushes behind. My vision was focused as though looking down a cone until this patch of ground was the clear and sharp. Everything to the side blurred in my intent on the one spot, even the bushes behind that had been camouflaging it had receded.
I think of the cones on trees, like conifer (is that the word) of trees. I believe the cone is the “seed” of the tree. They fall and when they bury, they become another tree somehow. I remember this because it reminds me of my paper on Swimmer in the Secret Sea where I talked about the cones falling off the the trees and hitting the casket of the couple’s young child as the father pushed it down the hill. is the minute up?
The traffic cones pointed at the sky like admonishing fingers, and as she whooshed past them at eighty miles an hour they seemed to hiss at her: naughtynaughtynaughty.
Orange traffic cones around the muddy hole they dug. They left their orange hats in the truck. They’re still wearing their orange vests. Sitting in my booth in section six. They want orange juice. And eggs. And bacon, burn it a little. They like it like that.
The ice-cream cone was the bane of the snowman. It scooped up his children, it made them look good – fabulous – but for what price? They were made weak, they were _changed_, according to the tastes of the masses – the fake beauty, all the sauces, the sprinkles, the superficial shine that would last for only a couple minutes – tops – before they would be consumed, relentlessly, and be lost to the world. And yet, many of his children seeked that fate, wanted the glory of being desired, even for a second – the snowman could not reason with them, could not save them, and he cried, and cried, and cried.
An ice cream cone is one of the best things. I like Strawberry, with the true hunks of real strawberries hidden inside the ice cream, just waiting to be found. I have to eat it fast too, before it melts. I bite rather than lick, eating is so fast my kids are left with sticky hands and faces while I’m eating my cone.
cones can be any number of things – pine cones, ice cream cones, etc. ice cream is my favourite link. as a kid, i called it eye peam. kids, slothful of tongue, slow of cognition. wonder how they grow up into fully functioning adults.
on top of my head. My new found crown. They have outcasted me for I am not like the rest of them. I stand alone because I am alone. Yet I wear their labels with pride. I wear the party cone on my head, a beautiful lie. I am not celebrating.
She stared at it. Should she poke it? Was it safe? Where did it come from? She continued to stare at the small, purple cone sitting on the kitchen floor. It was glowing. She toed it and promptly screamed. It was moving.
It comes down in a cone. Invisible, but in a cone nonetheless. It wipes away everything, burning forests, boiling lakes, melting flesh, cracking stone. I read that in a text book somewhere, I think.
Alex grins at Maxx from across the white plastic table, fingers sticky and white from the melted icy treat dripping over his knuckles. Her eyes catch his for a moment before she glances away and smiles to herself. She can still feel his gaze on the back of her hot neck, and she can’t tell if it’s discomfort that floods her gut, or something… sweeter.
I am in a cone of shame right now. The walls of my room warp to wrap about my twisted method of deduction. I thought I had my logical reasons and I thought I would be able to speak freely and move along, but I am instead trapped in the downward funnel of my ever increasing agony. I am destined to be in pain because of my wreckless words and my thoughtless heart. I am in love and it hurts so so much.
The green slime oozed down the wall, forming a rivulet at the tip of a small channel. Koz leaned backward, letting the mooze flow freely into his gaping maw. His cone flickered green and yellow, and Misha laughed.
“Somebody’s happy,” she said.
Her iridescent wings made the faintest hint of a whisper as she touched down next to her fiance.
“Who knew the Coneheads and Elliptoids would ever have a love like ours?” Koz laughed. His third tentacle wrappped around her waist and drew her in. “Try it,” he said.
“No way! That stuff is nasty,” she said.
His cone flushed bright orange as Meesha’s floral scent reached his nostrils. “I never thought I’d have a partner who makes me miss being at home.”
Meesha stroked his cone, her gentle fingers lending her strength to his.
I sat in the shade of the Jacaranda tree. I was tired and sweat was in my eyes. It was hot. I had just climbed the furthest, nearly the top of my favourite tree. I heard the music. just a little note or two then louder it was I think .. I think yes .. the icecream van. Yaaaa. Quick run can we can we , OK, quick here it is. Pushing in the line. Waiting oh forever, hurry up. Wait it is my turn. The cone is finally in my hand my mouth is tingling as I take one enormous lick of the cold sweet soft lushious twirl of ice cream and ahh the day is now perfect. Back to my spot under the Jacaranda, with a sticky liquid running down my hand. A lick again and all is just great!
“Let’s just have a small cone,” Grandma said, “That won’t spoil your dinner.”
It was alway our little secret. Really, Grandma wanted a partner in crime. It was no fun to have ice cream alone. One had to share a treat to make having it really fun.
She held her son’s hand gently in hers, swinging it back and forth as they walked along the pier. He licked his ice cream cone tentatively and looked up at his mother, crinkling his nose. “What, you don’t like it?” she asked. “I like it,” her son said thoughtfully, taking another lick, “but why do good things always melt away so quickly?”
I cleared my throat. “You can have mine, if ya want,” I offered her my untouched cone, shyly ducking my head behind a curtain of dark hair.
She eyed the ice cream for what felt like forever, tilting her head to the side like my neighbors puppy did when he was confused. “I can’t take yours.”
I frowned, unable to understand why anyone would turn down ice cream. “We could share?” I offered.
“Okay,” She beamed then, eyes bright like the sky above us.
We were just kids but it didn’t matter then, just like it doesn’t now; I still know that’s the moment I fell in love with her.
I know a guy, in fact he’s my youngest son, who gathered and sold pine cones on ebay. He was the pineconeguy and he made a bunch of money. They were sugar pines which are the large cones. People love them and buy them. He picked them when he was a timber faller and had his buddies pick them too.
A cone is something you can play with. I remember as a child we went to a playground so we could play with cones. It was really fun. I hope one day I will go back and do it all over. I can do it. I know I can. I need to trust myself some more.
May Belle looked up into her dad’s face with a gap-toothed grin, sprinkles spread like a rainbow across her flushed cheeks. The day was hot, the sun beating down on the cheap fair like it was the Sahara and not Kansas, but she didn’t care.
cones of visable sight differ in different animals. i wish i could see in 16 cone spectrum like a mantis shrimp then a rainbow or even my dimily lit room would like a acid trip. life would be brilliant
the world could be ending
in the background,
but first,
your ice cream’s melting.
let me lick that bit
off your thumb.
She didn’t know it would be so brutal. So full of torture. She thought it’d be over quickly; maybe they’d let her go. Maybe she could see him again. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
But her hopes were crushed as the device was revealed. The man behind the machine smiled maliciously. “Hope you’re ready for your treatment.”
The comedian put the traffic cone on his head. He was smiling on the outside, making everyone laugh, but on the inside, he was a mess. He rent was due, his girlfriend was pregnant. How was he going to make his big break happen?
It’s a shape. Round, but pointy. I don’t like it, I have to deal with it when I do maths.
Point is, cone reminds me of light. And I like light, a lot. Every kind of it.
But cone, alone, seems to be too pointy for me to like
An ice cream cone? Delicious! The cone of a volcano, ominous. A cone in geometry has a volume that is one third the volume of a cylinder with the same diameter and height. Loudspeakers and old fashioned hearing aids use cones to guide the sound in a particular direction. A cone is the shape of a funnel; one of the first times I remember using a funnel was to add gas to my go-cart.
The cone? Traffic Cone? Clown COne? COmical shape…..Pine cone?
Cylindrical cone…Geometrical figure……..Icecream cone…
So many ideas associated with a figure…all pop-up when I just think of this word…..
What else?…I think this website has a timer. It is pushing me to write but not helping in writing something great…..bunch of related words is what I came up with…I think there is a website issue….timer is not working apparently…..
A cone of a mountain….Snow-capped……Pointy……pointed at a blue heaven…..Spreads
Yes timer issue. had to go to compatibility view…..
A snow-capped mountain was looking bluish in the early morning air. Chirpy birds around…
A careful lick smoothes the ball of strawberry ice cream threatening to melt over the edge of the cone.
Cone? How about ice cream cone? I really like to eat ice cream with the cone. Crunchy and yummy. Suddenly i feel that i travel back to my childhood. Little girl with ice cream cone.
It was much too hot outside, but of course, ice cream could make anything better. He knew it was my favorite thing in the world, and what better way to spend a daddy-daughter day out than walking through the little town looking at anything and everything new and exciting, or old and beautiful. My small cone tumbled out of my own hands, but were quickly recovered by his incredibly quick reflexes. I always joked that he was some sort of ninja in a past life, and he always gave me new reasons to believe it.
And then there was one. I had been scanning the landscape for hours and now I could seen it in the viewer, standing alone with bushes behind. My vision was focused as though looking down a cone until this patch of ground was the clear and sharp. Everything to the side blurred in my intent on the one spot, even the bushes behind that had been camouflaging it had receded.
I think of the cones on trees, like conifer (is that the word) of trees. I believe the cone is the “seed” of the tree. They fall and when they bury, they become another tree somehow. I remember this because it reminds me of my paper on Swimmer in the Secret Sea where I talked about the cones falling off the the trees and hitting the casket of the couple’s young child as the father pushed it down the hill. is the minute up?
The traffic cones pointed at the sky like admonishing fingers, and as she whooshed past them at eighty miles an hour they seemed to hiss at her: naughtynaughtynaughty.
Orange traffic cones around the muddy hole they dug. They left their orange hats in the truck. They’re still wearing their orange vests. Sitting in my booth in section six. They want orange juice. And eggs. And bacon, burn it a little. They like it like that.
pfff… it was so hot that day, i couldn’t have eaten enough ice cream. Forget the cone, just give the entire container, i will bury my face in it…
The ice-cream cone was the bane of the snowman. It scooped up his children, it made them look good – fabulous – but for what price? They were made weak, they were _changed_, according to the tastes of the masses – the fake beauty, all the sauces, the sprinkles, the superficial shine that would last for only a couple minutes – tops – before they would be consumed, relentlessly, and be lost to the world. And yet, many of his children seeked that fate, wanted the glory of being desired, even for a second – the snowman could not reason with them, could not save them, and he cried, and cried, and cried.
Cone shape on my head
Cone shape in my bed…a party hat, you drunken idiot!
Cone shape in my hand
globular ice cream in the sand.
Well, thanks.
Cone-shaped cups can never stand
Not even on a hollowed night stand
An ice cream cone is one of the best things. I like Strawberry, with the true hunks of real strawberries hidden inside the ice cream, just waiting to be found. I have to eat it fast too, before it melts. I bite rather than lick, eating is so fast my kids are left with sticky hands and faces while I’m eating my cone.
cones can be any number of things – pine cones, ice cream cones, etc. ice cream is my favourite link. as a kid, i called it eye peam. kids, slothful of tongue, slow of cognition. wonder how they grow up into fully functioning adults.
on top of my head. My new found crown. They have outcasted me for I am not like the rest of them. I stand alone because I am alone. Yet I wear their labels with pride. I wear the party cone on my head, a beautiful lie. I am not celebrating.
She stared at it. Should she poke it? Was it safe? Where did it come from? She continued to stare at the small, purple cone sitting on the kitchen floor. It was glowing. She toed it and promptly screamed. It was moving.
It comes down in a cone. Invisible, but in a cone nonetheless. It wipes away everything, burning forests, boiling lakes, melting flesh, cracking stone. I read that in a text book somewhere, I think.
I suppose the shape doesn’t matter, really.
I loved ice-cream cones when I was a child. The crunching sound it made when it crushed between my teeth made me wanting it more.
Alex grins at Maxx from across the white plastic table, fingers sticky and white from the melted icy treat dripping over his knuckles. Her eyes catch his for a moment before she glances away and smiles to herself. She can still feel his gaze on the back of her hot neck, and she can’t tell if it’s discomfort that floods her gut, or something… sweeter.
I am in a cone of shame right now. The walls of my room warp to wrap about my twisted method of deduction. I thought I had my logical reasons and I thought I would be able to speak freely and move along, but I am instead trapped in the downward funnel of my ever increasing agony. I am destined to be in pain because of my wreckless words and my thoughtless heart. I am in love and it hurts so so much.
down, down, down, and around.
To the base before falling flat.
Confused, moving images. I can’t put together a whole image of where I am.
Black, white, red, flashing around me.
The green slime oozed down the wall, forming a rivulet at the tip of a small channel. Koz leaned backward, letting the mooze flow freely into his gaping maw. His cone flickered green and yellow, and Misha laughed.
“Somebody’s happy,” she said.
Her iridescent wings made the faintest hint of a whisper as she touched down next to her fiance.
“Who knew the Coneheads and Elliptoids would ever have a love like ours?” Koz laughed. His third tentacle wrappped around her waist and drew her in. “Try it,” he said.
“No way! That stuff is nasty,” she said.
His cone flushed bright orange as Meesha’s floral scent reached his nostrils. “I never thought I’d have a partner who makes me miss being at home.”
Meesha stroked his cone, her gentle fingers lending her strength to his.
I sat in the shade of the Jacaranda tree. I was tired and sweat was in my eyes. It was hot. I had just climbed the furthest, nearly the top of my favourite tree. I heard the music. just a little note or two then louder it was I think .. I think yes .. the icecream van. Yaaaa. Quick run can we can we , OK, quick here it is. Pushing in the line. Waiting oh forever, hurry up. Wait it is my turn. The cone is finally in my hand my mouth is tingling as I take one enormous lick of the cold sweet soft lushious twirl of ice cream and ahh the day is now perfect. Back to my spot under the Jacaranda, with a sticky liquid running down my hand. A lick again and all is just great!
“Let’s just have a small cone,” Grandma said, “That won’t spoil your dinner.”
It was alway our little secret. Really, Grandma wanted a partner in crime. It was no fun to have ice cream alone. One had to share a treat to make having it really fun.
She held her son’s hand gently in hers, swinging it back and forth as they walked along the pier. He licked his ice cream cone tentatively and looked up at his mother, crinkling his nose. “What, you don’t like it?” she asked. “I like it,” her son said thoughtfully, taking another lick, “but why do good things always melt away so quickly?”
I cleared my throat. “You can have mine, if ya want,” I offered her my untouched cone, shyly ducking my head behind a curtain of dark hair.
She eyed the ice cream for what felt like forever, tilting her head to the side like my neighbors puppy did when he was confused. “I can’t take yours.”
I frowned, unable to understand why anyone would turn down ice cream. “We could share?” I offered.
“Okay,” She beamed then, eyes bright like the sky above us.
We were just kids but it didn’t matter then, just like it doesn’t now; I still know that’s the moment I fell in love with her.