I tripped and fell. Time was running out but no matter how much i wanted to I couldn’t stop to pick the gravel out of my scraped up knees. I shoved my weight against the ground and continued on in search of that one thing that I was in search of.
Gravel is a really weird thing. What’s in gravel? What kind of stuff goes into gravel? More impiortantly, who the heck is making and producing and packaging gravel? COuld you imagine the embarrassment of being a gravel packager? God, that must be humilitatin. To spend 40 years carting little rocks around and then die. And become gravel.
When I was a little kid I used to go to this park called gravel. it was filled with gravel. it had a swing set and one slide.
I Lived on that playground.
all day all night
Those were the days.
Gravel makes you lose your grip. Instead of solid footing you gain a surface that can shift under your weight and send you a direction you don’t want to go. And the more you fight it the worse is gets. Better to just remove the gravel before it’s too late.
it’s under my feet and i’m sucking it in
it kisses my shoes like an overzealous school boy
all tongue and no soul and that’s how
I know something must be upside down
it’s playing to the tune of apple trees
cause it’s only unbroken in the suburbs
where the only broken things
cannot be seen.
I sat down on the ground, gravel was surrounding the little piece on side walk. I picked up a tiny stone and rolled it in my fingers. The gravel was all kinds of black and Grey.
The gravel below crunched with the weight of the soldier’s footsteps. Looking behind him, he could discern the bloody scene that he left behind. Bodies strewn across the ground, blood sinking into the dirt. He looked ahead of him toward the horizon and the rising sun. He was alive. For now.
I’ve already written for this word… you see, I wrote about a woman running from her rapist, or whatever the reader decides to come up with haha. That’s just the way I am… perhaps I could try for a poem with it, but I decided not to… more like a blog… I’m good at those; blogs.. I write a lot of them. Wanna see? http://zhaniswolf.wordpress.com for my poetry, http://allpoetry.com/zhanis%20wolf =D
The rocks felt hard against her bare feet. She was unsure as she ran; unsure where to run. She only knew to run. And run she did. Her auburn hair flew behind her, and she repeatedly looked over her shoulder, scared that the man would come after her. She couldn’t see him; couldn’t hear him, but she knew he was following her.
the rocks were small and smooth. It lined the drive in a row of colors, gray, red , white, and black. Shades of brown interspersed throughout the path.
It feels so good on my feet, like a massage of days gone by when mom would rub my feet. each small piece offers its own relief and warms my sole with each step – I only want to moan and sigh with pleasure as the ache eases itself from me.
Oh the gravel is wonderful and I’m glad the path is long and the sun is beating down from the noon sky so it is nearly burning hot. It brings a smile to my lips so much so that I reach down to grab up a hand full of rocks. The burning, the searing, they serve to bring me warmth, pleasure, relief. I am happy to be free of my pain.
crunch. it’s the first sound I can think of, at least. Maybe I just like sounds. Then again, I can see the rocks, I can see the crunch, not really hear it. I imagine someone falling into gravel being grated by it…I mean the stuff is, well…it’s rocks, and. Dear God am I overthinking this idea of gravel? I feel like gravel is the thing that rips you open.
The pain beneath my feet reminded me of the reality of earth.
The air above a reminder of the infinite. But always I am grounded by the scraping grey substance glinting in the sunlight.
Perhaps dust to dust, gravel to gravel, till I am just something to lie beneath it.
Can you feel me?
Gravel is little rocks and their usually gray and purple, they are sometimes sharp. I once cut both my feet on the gravel in my drive way when I was five. My mom had to carry me into the house.
Dusty grave, the dead and zombies! Scary, makes me think of Thriller. What was tat guy’s name? Oh yeah Vincent Price, cool dude! There are all kinds of graves moseleums and crypts.
The gravel road could only lead to one place at the end of a dead end road. The old Miller place had been abandoned for years, yet there was a lot of activity going on at all hours of the day or night.
gravel dirt he’s shoveling out the dirt from the truck with the ammonia smell. you know what to do if i pass out, right? call nine one one and this was in the days when the sun was heating up until the afternoon rains to wash all of the rocks away the wagons are stumbling thoughtlessly down the hill with children in them steering
gravel crunch under your feet. you look up and see the beautiful night sky (or some of it). you take a deep breath and breathe the ocean air. a smile can’t help but fall upon your lips.
it crunches beneath my bare toes. I run. Faster. faster than life. Faster than bad memories. Faster than the tears that stream out the tips of the lemons of my eyes. My feet dig deep. Carrying me far away. Far away from the place that made me want to run.
gravel is hard. it is normally greay and really hurts my feet. gravel is small rocks all crush up. the word is kinda ugly, sand is much nicer of a smooshed rock and much nicer of a work
gravel under my soles. Gravel, who would have thought of gravel today. After two days of constant snow? And then one whole day of rain. Gravel was the last thing on my mind. I was thinking of other things, as i walked to school. I was looking forward to it
I walked up the driveway that you tore up in your eagerness for a prize. I could be upset at the labour that your casual disdain has presented me, but instead I will be thankful fora distraction from his otherwise horribly inactive life I am living
the side walk was slowly deteriorating. That was life on the wild side. I sighed. Did you know, father, that the state of the infrastructure in America will be that of a third world country in 5 years? This has to change. This gravel is the beginning of the end.
a film of fog hovered low over the gravel road and she couldn’t see twelve feet in front of her.
the car sputtered onwards, dangerously lurching into the unknown while the trees curtained above her. she couldn’t help but to think, well, maybe this is like heaven.
I wanted to go home, I had recently gotten into a fight with my cousin over a hacky sack. Which resulted in me getting a very bad bruise on my elbow when I hit the gravel. When I showed I was hurt, my cousine maternal side kicked in.
“Don’t worry I’ll take the fall…so to speak, when your mom gets angry at you…”
I fell in the gravel today. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I tore up my knee pretty bad. (That’s going to leave a scar!) That’s the thing for a person who does not have good balance. I am always stumbling and running into stuff. My coffee tables keep a never ending supply of scars on my knees.
HE ran down the driveway, chasing after the small ball that had rolled under the pick up truck. The small child let out an exasperated sigh as he bent down to reach under the truck. He knees dug into the gravel and as he writhed, fishing for the ball, leaving small scratches and let out small drops of blood.
The gravel road stretched further and further away. He imagined what it might look like if her car were driving away on it, then glanced behind his shoulder just in time to see her pull up.
yes, this should be interesting. release the pent up bottle rocket eye sores from my chest. can’t beat the sunday afternoon heat. love is colder than ice and i’m in orbit trying to learn to breathe without air. suffocation seems a bit more familiar than i would have expected. listen sour, hears so familiar.
The gravel was hard between my teeth. It was like diamonds on glass except a little less fancy. I knew I should just stay down, but the stupid pride in me made me stand up tall to fight back. My darn pride, what the hell was I thinking.
Gravel is wonderful for many different things. I can’t say I’m a fan of picking it out of my wounds though, as I did after crashing my motorcycle once when I was young.
The last time I skinned my knee was in a state park in Minnesota.
Ignoring my mother’s insistence that I stop running, I ignored her.
Kept running blissfully down this gravel path through the pines.
Sure enough, I tripped over a large root peaking from the ground.
It stung a lot. The pebbles and sand in the wound mixed in with the blood.
I tripped and fell. Time was running out but no matter how much i wanted to I couldn’t stop to pick the gravel out of my scraped up knees. I shoved my weight against the ground and continued on in search of that one thing that I was in search of.
Gravel is a really weird thing. What’s in gravel? What kind of stuff goes into gravel? More impiortantly, who the heck is making and producing and packaging gravel? COuld you imagine the embarrassment of being a gravel packager? God, that must be humilitatin. To spend 40 years carting little rocks around and then die. And become gravel.
dirt mud… remove.. irritant. irrational. practical yet ugly. deterred. underrated. over rated. insane. gray. lifeless. molecule, atom. apart. total whole. used. inside. outside.
It’s not coming off my damn shoe. It just sticks to my old vans
When I was a little kid I used to go to this park called gravel. it was filled with gravel. it had a swing set and one slide.
I Lived on that playground.
all day all night
Those were the days.
I can hear the sound of the tires of the jeep backing up over the jeep.
I tell dad that he has a few feet left to go.
Gravel makes you lose your grip. Instead of solid footing you gain a surface that can shift under your weight and send you a direction you don’t want to go. And the more you fight it the worse is gets. Better to just remove the gravel before it’s too late.
Bumps in the road.
it’s under my feet and i’m sucking it in
it kisses my shoes like an overzealous school boy
all tongue and no soul and that’s how
I know something must be upside down
it’s playing to the tune of apple trees
cause it’s only unbroken in the suburbs
where the only broken things
cannot be seen.
i love the sound the car makes whe driving across the gravel in our driveway. It’s such a comforting sound
Gravel hard rocky shit ouchie to thee bottom feet. I dont fucking know. whats this for again? lol
I sat down on the ground, gravel was surrounding the little piece on side walk. I picked up a tiny stone and rolled it in my fingers. The gravel was all kinds of black and Grey.
The gravel below crunched with the weight of the soldier’s footsteps. Looking behind him, he could discern the bloody scene that he left behind. Bodies strewn across the ground, blood sinking into the dirt. He looked ahead of him toward the horizon and the rising sun. He was alive. For now.
I’ve already written for this word… you see, I wrote about a woman running from her rapist, or whatever the reader decides to come up with haha. That’s just the way I am… perhaps I could try for a poem with it, but I decided not to… more like a blog… I’m good at those; blogs.. I write a lot of them. Wanna see? http://zhaniswolf.wordpress.com for my poetry, http://allpoetry.com/zhanis%20wolf =D
The rocks felt hard against her bare feet. She was unsure as she ran; unsure where to run. She only knew to run. And run she did. Her auburn hair flew behind her, and she repeatedly looked over her shoulder, scared that the man would come after her. She couldn’t see him; couldn’t hear him, but she knew he was following her.
the rocks were small and smooth. It lined the drive in a row of colors, gray, red , white, and black. Shades of brown interspersed throughout the path.
It feels so good on my feet, like a massage of days gone by when mom would rub my feet. each small piece offers its own relief and warms my sole with each step – I only want to moan and sigh with pleasure as the ache eases itself from me.
Oh the gravel is wonderful and I’m glad the path is long and the sun is beating down from the noon sky so it is nearly burning hot. It brings a smile to my lips so much so that I reach down to grab up a hand full of rocks. The burning, the searing, they serve to bring me warmth, pleasure, relief. I am happy to be free of my pain.
the gravel over the grave represented the grating, rocky feeling that was left in my heart
crunch. it’s the first sound I can think of, at least. Maybe I just like sounds. Then again, I can see the rocks, I can see the crunch, not really hear it. I imagine someone falling into gravel being grated by it…I mean the stuff is, well…it’s rocks, and. Dear God am I overthinking this idea of gravel? I feel like gravel is the thing that rips you open.
The pain beneath my feet reminded me of the reality of earth.
The air above a reminder of the infinite. But always I am grounded by the scraping grey substance glinting in the sunlight.
Perhaps dust to dust, gravel to gravel, till I am just something to lie beneath it.
Can you feel me?
Gravel is little rocks and their usually gray and purple, they are sometimes sharp. I once cut both my feet on the gravel in my drive way when I was five. My mom had to carry me into the house.
Dusty grave, the dead and zombies! Scary, makes me think of Thriller. What was tat guy’s name? Oh yeah Vincent Price, cool dude! There are all kinds of graves moseleums and crypts.
The gravel road could only lead to one place at the end of a dead end road. The old Miller place had been abandoned for years, yet there was a lot of activity going on at all hours of the day or night.
gravel dirt he’s shoveling out the dirt from the truck with the ammonia smell. you know what to do if i pass out, right? call nine one one and this was in the days when the sun was heating up until the afternoon rains to wash all of the rocks away the wagons are stumbling thoughtlessly down the hill with children in them steering
gravel crunch under your feet. you look up and see the beautiful night sky (or some of it). you take a deep breath and breathe the ocean air. a smile can’t help but fall upon your lips.
it crunches beneath my bare toes. I run. Faster. faster than life. Faster than bad memories. Faster than the tears that stream out the tips of the lemons of my eyes. My feet dig deep. Carrying me far away. Far away from the place that made me want to run.
gravel is hard. it is normally greay and really hurts my feet. gravel is small rocks all crush up. the word is kinda ugly, sand is much nicer of a smooshed rock and much nicer of a work
gravel under my soles. Gravel, who would have thought of gravel today. After two days of constant snow? And then one whole day of rain. Gravel was the last thing on my mind. I was thinking of other things, as i walked to school. I was looking forward to it
I walked up the driveway that you tore up in your eagerness for a prize. I could be upset at the labour that your casual disdain has presented me, but instead I will be thankful fora distraction from his otherwise horribly inactive life I am living
the side walk was slowly deteriorating. That was life on the wild side. I sighed. Did you know, father, that the state of the infrastructure in America will be that of a third world country in 5 years? This has to change. This gravel is the beginning of the end.
a film of fog hovered low over the gravel road and she couldn’t see twelve feet in front of her.
the car sputtered onwards, dangerously lurching into the unknown while the trees curtained above her. she couldn’t help but to think, well, maybe this is like heaven.
surface made of rocks.
I wanted to go home, I had recently gotten into a fight with my cousin over a hacky sack. Which resulted in me getting a very bad bruise on my elbow when I hit the gravel. When I showed I was hurt, my cousine maternal side kicked in.
“Don’t worry I’ll take the fall…so to speak, when your mom gets angry at you…”
The gravel was as pitch dark as the night, and with the exception of the moonlight and the blood which it was shinning upon, everything was normal.
I fell in the gravel today. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I tore up my knee pretty bad. (That’s going to leave a scar!) That’s the thing for a person who does not have good balance. I am always stumbling and running into stuff. My coffee tables keep a never ending supply of scars on my knees.
HE ran down the driveway, chasing after the small ball that had rolled under the pick up truck. The small child let out an exasperated sigh as he bent down to reach under the truck. He knees dug into the gravel and as he writhed, fishing for the ball, leaving small scratches and let out small drops of blood.
The gravel road stretched further and further away. He imagined what it might look like if her car were driving away on it, then glanced behind his shoulder just in time to see her pull up.
yes, this should be interesting. release the pent up bottle rocket eye sores from my chest. can’t beat the sunday afternoon heat. love is colder than ice and i’m in orbit trying to learn to breathe without air. suffocation seems a bit more familiar than i would have expected. listen sour, hears so familiar.
The gravel was hard between my teeth. It was like diamonds on glass except a little less fancy. I knew I should just stay down, but the stupid pride in me made me stand up tall to fight back. My darn pride, what the hell was I thinking.
Gravel is wonderful for many different things. I can’t say I’m a fan of picking it out of my wounds though, as I did after crashing my motorcycle once when I was young.
The last time I skinned my knee was in a state park in Minnesota.
Ignoring my mother’s insistence that I stop running, I ignored her.
Kept running blissfully down this gravel path through the pines.
Sure enough, I tripped over a large root peaking from the ground.
It stung a lot. The pebbles and sand in the wound mixed in with the blood.