ohmygosh i have seen like three people write about iron already and i am so sick of it its just stupid iron doesn’t this website talk about anything else?! i want a word that isn’t iron make me talk about like pi or cards or something more interesting like waterbuffalos, i dont know just anything.
Iron. Strong, versatile. Used to make many things that are conveint for us, but also many things that can destroy us. Iron make the beams that support our buildings, but also the guns that kill our children.
is a metal… yeah im done
ok never mind i have to keep typing i guess. iron iron… ummm, i don’t know. OH you can iron yuour clothes, so it can be a verb. i guess. i don’t really like, it. OH some people are iron deficient. that sucks for them.
every man should learn to properly iron and take care of his own clothes. put the effort into getting the wrinkles out of your shirts and pants, and your image will be better for it. don’t rely on mom or the wife to do it for you.
iron is good for you. It is one of the core elements. It is also a metal. You can also use an iron to press your clothes. When you say the word “iron,” you can be talking about several things. When you say “iron,” what are you thinking about?
Myles always insists on doing the ironing. I always try and talk him out of it, but he smiles and tells me how he’s used to burns and I can never think of anything to say. He makes me feel so guilty.
steel is a very hard matter. it seems it pertains to men. so steel is like teeth and bare hand that men should take care not to use them too often. better to be a woman than a man tough.
iron clad men fill the screen as you grip my hand tighter, watching the bright lights with your mouth slightly ajar. i grip your hand back, hoping that you are secretly watching me. i nudge your leg a little with my foot and you flinch slightly. i smile to myself. even after all these years, iron clad men are not more interesting than me.
Something in your blood; it makes it red. Strong. “Iron sharpens iron”, in the Bible. Nori, a kind of Japanese paste; made of seaweed, indeed. I think…
It was the iron in the lake that made me cold. I don’t know how it got there of it was even there. But I felt it; felt it like the waves crashing onto my skin. It was a repetitive dream of waves coming and going.
It tasted like iron, rusted iron. He spat the blood from his mouth and glared into the older man’s face.
“What do you want from me?” he snarled.
“You know what I want.” The man smirked. “Nothing more than your body, nothing less than you…”
“Well you can’t have me!”
He thrashed against the chains but did not prevail. If anything, the man’s smirk grew wider.
“Ah ah ah… you know fighting against it would do you no good….”
as if we were birds (canaries, or magpies) as if we had our young hands again (veins hidden under skin, crayon wax hidden under nails) as if we could see the colors that bees do, as if we could wish and know it would come true (as if we wrote prayers like poems) as if we were birds–
The metal inside of things, it’s strong, but it also keeps my clothes from being too wrinkled, although I usually don’t bother with actual ironing any more. I remember the iron gate at the back of my school, always locked against the intruders who might want to hurt me or my playmates.
first thought is “I Ron, like it’s a name. Thank it’s hot, where don’t touch or you’ll be burned. Next, I think about housework and moping around the house doing things I’m not actually sure I want to do.
Then, well, maybe it’s time to go to a movie to avoid such things. Should I see Iron Weed, I think that’s a movie LOL – ah, yes, it definitely is.
So, if I iron now, I won’t have to later, then I’ll have more time to do things like type on this keyboard. Rhyming with keyboard is, bored. the word iron is fairly boring, don’t you think?
When will this end. My arms are getting tired. Man, my brain works overtime, especially with something so mundane as Iron, and of course, there’ s Iron Man. With that handsome fellow, whats-his-name…
iron is an element in the periodic table, also known as fe. it is a coppery color similar to the color of a penny. it rusts due to oxidation. despite this, it is very strong and makes up a lot of buildings and structures in the world. people also need iron to live. a lack of iron is called anemia, and it can be helped with vitamin supplements.
The iron in my blood is too high. The doctor’s told me that it is apparently ” Life threatening.” I’m not sure what that means. I suppose it threats my life, but what good is fear if fear be in every thought? Besides, fear can only be a verb if you let it. I will not let it. I refuse. I will not focus on that which causes fear.
I NEVER iron my shirts. sometimes sandy does. I wonder if I have enough iron in my blood. I think iron is what makes blood red. Or maybe that’s not right. I better get back to my ironing
The flat iron clattered to the floor and for a second the girls just stared at each other, mouths formed into four identical O’s of shock – and then Marcie started screaming, which set the rest of them off. “My hand, goddamn, my hand!” Marcie shrieked. “I’ll get some ice,” yelled Bridgette and ran to do just that.
one thing i always hated, and still hate to this day is ironing. i really see no need in it, and avoid it at all costs…cursing it’s hiss and teflon coated bottom, and at the same time praising the powers that be for nature’s own cordless wonder…steam. ahhhhh men.
its an element. chemists use it. used to build buildings, its hard shinnnny and reaallly stron. iron ore mills make it. used for cars in detroit and clevelnd.
The strength of a structure around you, despite the smoldering sky.
It rose so high and gleamed with self-worth
The concrete cracking, the windows shattered, but the iron standing strong.
The cold touch was something I didn’t prefer. I liked the warmth – the warm breeze, the hot sun, the beautiful beach. This place was nothing like home. This place was a prison of metal, hot and cold, icy to the touch and grating to my ears. This place wasn’t home. It wasn’t even close. Yet I’d have to call it that. I’d have to learn to call it that. Because my home is destroyed. It’s dead and burned and gone, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I can only hide here, in this fortress of metal, and hope to eventually… love it? How could I when it’s so cold, so heartless? No, this isn’t a home. Definitely not. It’s just a prison.
Iron can be used to take wrinkles outr of clothes.
Iron can be used to make thungs or blendedinto steel.
Iron is one of the things that helped launch advnaced agriculture.
Running through my blood, it spreads.
Strong like the waves of water pushing.
Taste…
The sweet scent of salt pours all over me.
Rinse the sky of it’s graveness and greediness.
Give some to me. I’ll give some to you.
Red, right, and ready…
Dipping, dripping down onto the sandy swarms of destruction.
“She must be made of iron,” I heard them say, though their words meant no praise. For she was too much iron, too little flesh. And she could not be broken, could not be bent. “She must be made of iron,” I heard them say, though their words left a dent.
The cold touch was something I didn’t prefer. I liked the warmth – the warm breeze, the hot sun, the beautiful beach. This place was nothing like home. This place was a prison of metal, hot and cold, icy to the touch and grating to my ears. This place wasn’t home. It wasn’t even close. Yet I’d have to call it that. I’d have to learn to call it that. Because my home is destroyed.
She placed the iron on the table and thought to herself, ‘I wonder what kind of punishment I could inflict on this house with that.’ Picking the iron up and looking around the room she stood, thinking about where she could touch the heat to first.
There were the walls…always so plain and bland. Walls she had hated since she moved into this dreadful house that he had wanted so badly. She could touch the iron to the walls in various places, makes various designs. Then there were the floors. Shiny, polished hard wood floors he had paid hundreds of dollars to have laid when they moved into the house. A few swipes of the iron across those floors and they would be ruined.
She extended her arm in front of her, looking deeply at the length of it, the jewelry she wore that he had bought for her on their last anniversary. The little tattoo she got on her forearm on a dare that weekend in Panama Beach. Which would hurt him more? Ruining the room in which she stood….the room she had begun to loathe, or ruining her body?
Realization hit like a car hitting a brick wall at 80MPH. It was the surroundings that would hurt him the most. The perfect world that he had paid so much for. The perfect world that he had forced her into. Forced her to keep a smile on her face everyday when all she wanted to do was scream, scratch his eyes out, throw something….die.
She slid down the perfectly painted wall to the floor with a thud. She took one last look at her olive skin as she pressed the iron against it. ‘Hmm,’ she thought to herself, ‘this doesn’t even seem to hurt me…no wonder he wouldn’t care.’
I think that there is a time when we all have two cents. Just two cents in our pockets. And it’s a little sad, kinda strange.
But anyway, it makes us all a little confused.
It makes me confused.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that we walk across the earth at night with two eyes like crows ready to perch on your arm.
It’s a different gander.
I don’t have a iron-clad armor around my heart anymore. I used to, after a death of a ex-boyfriend’s suicide – and it was like that for several months. Now though, I’ve cushioned my heart, keeping it protected and taking it off only if I am in love. That hasn’t happened for a long time.
She placed the iron on the table and thought to herself, ‘I wonder what kind of punishment I could inflict on this house with that.’ Picking the iron up and looking around the room she stood, thinking about where she could touch the heat to first.
There were the walls…always so plain and bland. Walls she had hated since she moved into this dreadful house that he had wanted so badly. She could touch the iron to the walls in various places, makes various designs. Then there were the floors. Shiny, polished hard wood floors he had paid hundreds of dollars to have laid when they moved into the house. A few swipes of the iron across those perfect floors and they would be ruined.
She extended her arm in front of her, looking deeply at the length of it, the jewelry she wore that he had bought for her on their 1st wedding anniversary. The little tattoo she got on her forearm on a dare that weekend in Panama Beach. Which would hurt him more? Ruining the room in which she stood….the room she had begun to loathe, or ruining her body?
Realization hit like a car hitting a brick wall at 80MPH. It was the surroundings that would hurt him the most. The perfect world that he had paid so much for. The perfect world that he had forced her into. Forced her to keep a smile on her face everyday when all she wanted to do was scream, scratch his eyes out, throw something….die.
She slid down the perfectly painted wall to the floor with a thud. She took one last look at her olive skin as she pressed the iron against it. ‘Hmm,’ she thought to herself, ‘this doesn’t even seem to hurt me…no wonder he wouldn’t care.’
Oh, dear. I already wrote about Iron, but it appears as though they want me to again. But I wasted time writing this lovely segment, so now I can’t. How tragic. Well, I’ll take this opportunity to ask this- how are you tonight?
Iron is a word that has so many connotations that it is impossible to pick just one in sixty seconds. Unless it is the colour of rust that denotes its slow deterioration.
Do I want to iron my shirts? NO! Why not? BECAUSE I AM DON’T!!! Seriously, who irons clothing? Obsessives about the non-wrinkled state of clothing? Give me a heck of a break. When time’s gotta be filled finding the food, making the food, preparing the food, eating the food, digesting the food, excreting the food, thinking about the food, what all has time for IRONING!? Not this fella.
Iron. Makes me think about hemoglobin! Is that weird? I guess it is. I don’t know. It also makes me think about the little iron tablets mom keeps on the dining room table, the purple one with the purple letters coincidentally the same as the color on this page. How funny!
As I ironed out my wrinkly clothes, they seemed to stare back to me asking why I would apply such intense heat to them, as if to ask “What did I do to deserve this?” I feel a bit guilty, but I have a job interview tomorrow and I need a crisp shirt to appear worthy and deserving of the job.
I didn;t care what I had to do to catch his attention. The flat iron was my best friend. I was going to see him friday, so why was I freaking out? Hello-o!! This was my first date!
A quality of the man who has strength inside of him, not vulnerable to the invasion of every emotion, every desire, and every temptation; but is firm and determined to stick to his principles. He has the strength of iron.
He frowned down at the bands, cool metal biting into his limbs; these ever-present signs of man’s conquest impeded his movement and kept him rooted to the ground. How he longed to glide through the air, wings outstretched as he surveyed the land below – words could not describe the want that accompanied the searing pain of the iron.
For now he would bide his time, waiting for the day that the iron would rust and the men would perish under his flames.
ohmygosh i have seen like three people write about iron already and i am so sick of it its just stupid iron doesn’t this website talk about anything else?! i want a word that isn’t iron make me talk about like pi or cards or something more interesting like waterbuffalos, i dont know just anything.
Iron. Strong, versatile. Used to make many things that are conveint for us, but also many things that can destroy us. Iron make the beams that support our buildings, but also the guns that kill our children.
is a metal… yeah im done
ok never mind i have to keep typing i guess. iron iron… ummm, i don’t know. OH you can iron yuour clothes, so it can be a verb. i guess. i don’t really like, it. OH some people are iron deficient. that sucks for them.
Iron bars hold my soul.
Hidden from the world
From all but you.
Iron bars hold your needs,
And all it gives you is me…
Is it worth it?
(
every man should learn to properly iron and take care of his own clothes. put the effort into getting the wrinkles out of your shirts and pants, and your image will be better for it. don’t rely on mom or the wife to do it for you.
iron is good for you. It is one of the core elements. It is also a metal. You can also use an iron to press your clothes. When you say the word “iron,” you can be talking about several things. When you say “iron,” what are you thinking about?
Myles always insists on doing the ironing. I always try and talk him out of it, but he smiles and tells me how he’s used to burns and I can never think of anything to say. He makes me feel so guilty.
steel is a very hard matter. it seems it pertains to men. so steel is like teeth and bare hand that men should take care not to use them too often. better to be a woman than a man tough.
iron clad men fill the screen as you grip my hand tighter, watching the bright lights with your mouth slightly ajar. i grip your hand back, hoping that you are secretly watching me. i nudge your leg a little with my foot and you flinch slightly. i smile to myself. even after all these years, iron clad men are not more interesting than me.
Something in your blood; it makes it red. Strong. “Iron sharpens iron”, in the Bible. Nori, a kind of Japanese paste; made of seaweed, indeed. I think…
It was the iron in the lake that made me cold. I don’t know how it got there of it was even there. But I felt it; felt it like the waves crashing onto my skin. It was a repetitive dream of waves coming and going.
It tasted like iron, rusted iron. He spat the blood from his mouth and glared into the older man’s face.
“What do you want from me?” he snarled.
“You know what I want.” The man smirked. “Nothing more than your body, nothing less than you…”
“Well you can’t have me!”
He thrashed against the chains but did not prevail. If anything, the man’s smirk grew wider.
“Ah ah ah… you know fighting against it would do you no good….”
as if we were birds (canaries, or magpies) as if we had our young hands again (veins hidden under skin, crayon wax hidden under nails) as if we could see the colors that bees do, as if we could wish and know it would come true (as if we wrote prayers like poems) as if we were birds–
we climbed that iron fence.
The metal inside of things, it’s strong, but it also keeps my clothes from being too wrinkled, although I usually don’t bother with actual ironing any more. I remember the iron gate at the back of my school, always locked against the intruders who might want to hurt me or my playmates.
first thought is “I Ron, like it’s a name. Thank it’s hot, where don’t touch or you’ll be burned. Next, I think about housework and moping around the house doing things I’m not actually sure I want to do.
Then, well, maybe it’s time to go to a movie to avoid such things. Should I see Iron Weed, I think that’s a movie LOL – ah, yes, it definitely is.
So, if I iron now, I won’t have to later, then I’ll have more time to do things like type on this keyboard. Rhyming with keyboard is, bored. the word iron is fairly boring, don’t you think?
When will this end. My arms are getting tired. Man, my brain works overtime, especially with something so mundane as Iron, and of course, there’ s Iron Man. With that handsome fellow, whats-his-name…
iron is an element in the periodic table, also known as fe. it is a coppery color similar to the color of a penny. it rusts due to oxidation. despite this, it is very strong and makes up a lot of buildings and structures in the world. people also need iron to live. a lack of iron is called anemia, and it can be helped with vitamin supplements.
The iron in my blood is too high. The doctor’s told me that it is apparently ” Life threatening.” I’m not sure what that means. I suppose it threats my life, but what good is fear if fear be in every thought? Besides, fear can only be a verb if you let it. I will not let it. I refuse. I will not focus on that which causes fear.
I NEVER iron my shirts. sometimes sandy does. I wonder if I have enough iron in my blood. I think iron is what makes blood red. Or maybe that’s not right. I better get back to my ironing
The flat iron clattered to the floor and for a second the girls just stared at each other, mouths formed into four identical O’s of shock – and then Marcie started screaming, which set the rest of them off. “My hand, goddamn, my hand!” Marcie shrieked. “I’ll get some ice,” yelled Bridgette and ran to do just that.
one thing i always hated, and still hate to this day is ironing. i really see no need in it, and avoid it at all costs…cursing it’s hiss and teflon coated bottom, and at the same time praising the powers that be for nature’s own cordless wonder…steam. ahhhhh men.
its an element. chemists use it. used to build buildings, its hard shinnnny and reaallly stron. iron ore mills make it. used for cars in detroit and clevelnd.
The strength of a structure around you, despite the smoldering sky.
It rose so high and gleamed with self-worth
The concrete cracking, the windows shattered, but the iron standing strong.
The cold touch was something I didn’t prefer. I liked the warmth – the warm breeze, the hot sun, the beautiful beach. This place was nothing like home. This place was a prison of metal, hot and cold, icy to the touch and grating to my ears. This place wasn’t home. It wasn’t even close. Yet I’d have to call it that. I’d have to learn to call it that. Because my home is destroyed. It’s dead and burned and gone, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I can only hide here, in this fortress of metal, and hope to eventually… love it? How could I when it’s so cold, so heartless? No, this isn’t a home. Definitely not. It’s just a prison.
Iron can be used to take wrinkles outr of clothes.
Iron can be used to make thungs or blendedinto steel.
Iron is one of the things that helped launch advnaced agriculture.
Running through my blood, it spreads.
Strong like the waves of water pushing.
Taste…
The sweet scent of salt pours all over me.
Rinse the sky of it’s graveness and greediness.
Give some to me. I’ll give some to you.
Red, right, and ready…
Dipping, dripping down onto the sandy swarms of destruction.
iron man. iron woman. iron seems to represent invincibility. but is those people are really as strong as iron? i doubt it.
“She must be made of iron,” I heard them say, though their words meant no praise. For she was too much iron, too little flesh. And she could not be broken, could not be bent. “She must be made of iron,” I heard them say, though their words left a dent.
The cold touch was something I didn’t prefer. I liked the warmth – the warm breeze, the hot sun, the beautiful beach. This place was nothing like home. This place was a prison of metal, hot and cold, icy to the touch and grating to my ears. This place wasn’t home. It wasn’t even close. Yet I’d have to call it that. I’d have to learn to call it that. Because my home is destroyed.
She placed the iron on the table and thought to herself, ‘I wonder what kind of punishment I could inflict on this house with that.’ Picking the iron up and looking around the room she stood, thinking about where she could touch the heat to first.
There were the walls…always so plain and bland. Walls she had hated since she moved into this dreadful house that he had wanted so badly. She could touch the iron to the walls in various places, makes various designs. Then there were the floors. Shiny, polished hard wood floors he had paid hundreds of dollars to have laid when they moved into the house. A few swipes of the iron across those floors and they would be ruined.
She extended her arm in front of her, looking deeply at the length of it, the jewelry she wore that he had bought for her on their last anniversary. The little tattoo she got on her forearm on a dare that weekend in Panama Beach. Which would hurt him more? Ruining the room in which she stood….the room she had begun to loathe, or ruining her body?
Realization hit like a car hitting a brick wall at 80MPH. It was the surroundings that would hurt him the most. The perfect world that he had paid so much for. The perfect world that he had forced her into. Forced her to keep a smile on her face everyday when all she wanted to do was scream, scratch his eyes out, throw something….die.
She slid down the perfectly painted wall to the floor with a thud. She took one last look at her olive skin as she pressed the iron against it. ‘Hmm,’ she thought to herself, ‘this doesn’t even seem to hurt me…no wonder he wouldn’t care.’
I think that there is a time when we all have two cents. Just two cents in our pockets. And it’s a little sad, kinda strange.
But anyway, it makes us all a little confused.
It makes me confused.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that we walk across the earth at night with two eyes like crows ready to perch on your arm.
It’s a different gander.
I don’t have a iron-clad armor around my heart anymore. I used to, after a death of a ex-boyfriend’s suicide – and it was like that for several months. Now though, I’ve cushioned my heart, keeping it protected and taking it off only if I am in love. That hasn’t happened for a long time.
She placed the iron on the table and thought to herself, ‘I wonder what kind of punishment I could inflict on this house with that.’ Picking the iron up and looking around the room she stood, thinking about where she could touch the heat to first.
There were the walls…always so plain and bland. Walls she had hated since she moved into this dreadful house that he had wanted so badly. She could touch the iron to the walls in various places, makes various designs. Then there were the floors. Shiny, polished hard wood floors he had paid hundreds of dollars to have laid when they moved into the house. A few swipes of the iron across those perfect floors and they would be ruined.
She extended her arm in front of her, looking deeply at the length of it, the jewelry she wore that he had bought for her on their 1st wedding anniversary. The little tattoo she got on her forearm on a dare that weekend in Panama Beach. Which would hurt him more? Ruining the room in which she stood….the room she had begun to loathe, or ruining her body?
Realization hit like a car hitting a brick wall at 80MPH. It was the surroundings that would hurt him the most. The perfect world that he had paid so much for. The perfect world that he had forced her into. Forced her to keep a smile on her face everyday when all she wanted to do was scream, scratch his eyes out, throw something….die.
She slid down the perfectly painted wall to the floor with a thud. She took one last look at her olive skin as she pressed the iron against it. ‘Hmm,’ she thought to herself, ‘this doesn’t even seem to hurt me…no wonder he wouldn’t care.’
Oh, dear. I already wrote about Iron, but it appears as though they want me to again. But I wasted time writing this lovely segment, so now I can’t. How tragic. Well, I’ll take this opportunity to ask this- how are you tonight?
Iron is a word that has so many connotations that it is impossible to pick just one in sixty seconds. Unless it is the colour of rust that denotes its slow deterioration.
Do I want to iron my shirts? NO! Why not? BECAUSE I AM DON’T!!! Seriously, who irons clothing? Obsessives about the non-wrinkled state of clothing? Give me a heck of a break. When time’s gotta be filled finding the food, making the food, preparing the food, eating the food, digesting the food, excreting the food, thinking about the food, what all has time for IRONING!? Not this fella.
Iron. Makes me think about hemoglobin! Is that weird? I guess it is. I don’t know. It also makes me think about the little iron tablets mom keeps on the dining room table, the purple one with the purple letters coincidentally the same as the color on this page. How funny!
As I ironed out my wrinkly clothes, they seemed to stare back to me asking why I would apply such intense heat to them, as if to ask “What did I do to deserve this?” I feel a bit guilty, but I have a job interview tomorrow and I need a crisp shirt to appear worthy and deserving of the job.
I didn;t care what I had to do to catch his attention. The flat iron was my best friend. I was going to see him friday, so why was I freaking out? Hello-o!! This was my first date!
A quality of the man who has strength inside of him, not vulnerable to the invasion of every emotion, every desire, and every temptation; but is firm and determined to stick to his principles. He has the strength of iron.
He frowned down at the bands, cool metal biting into his limbs; these ever-present signs of man’s conquest impeded his movement and kept him rooted to the ground. How he longed to glide through the air, wings outstretched as he surveyed the land below – words could not describe the want that accompanied the searing pain of the iron.
For now he would bide his time, waiting for the day that the iron would rust and the men would perish under his flames.