I was always impressed by kettles. I never owned one though. But in my friend’s house, it made weird whistle noises, and i always liked it. It felt homey and like, you know, that feeling that you arrived somewhere. I even drank tea in their house, even though I am not a huge tea lover, but they didn’t have coffee, so there was not a lot of choice….
I like kettle corn! It reminds me of the fair because it’s the only time of the year I get to eat kettle corn and let me tell you it is the absolute best. The colors and sounds of the fair amuse me. And the top of the ferris wheel has a great view of the cemetery. (no joke)
a kettle reminds me of tea. My mom’s favorite tea is earl gray. She drinks it all the time. i’m thinking of getting her a Kurig so that she can make herself one cup at a time. it would be a cool gift.
It’s the pot calling the kettle black
That is to say my method of attack,
And you can call me a hypocrite, when I spit in your face for crimes you’ve committed against your race.
But this is the only way any of us are going to change.
i feel black. the blackness of my heart is creeping through ravines and riverbeds. i cannot shake the everpresent shadow in my heart. for i know i am bad. too badly good and too badly gone to be saved. and i know i shall not judge. it has already been decided by the black night or god
The pot calling the kettle black. Or is it the other way around? I can’t remember what that means, but I think it’s something like “preaching to the choir”. *goes to look it up* No, they’re way different. Whoops. Now I’m embarrassed.
The kettle called the pot black. It’s interesting how things happen like that. We blame others for our own transgressions, and the things we hate most in others are the things we hate most in ourselves.
The whistle brought her back from her reverie, and she bustled up to lift the old kettle from the stove. Her cat followed, a grumpy cat-expression settled stubbornly upon its face.
We all watched in amazement with laughter. Giggling as the popcorn in the kettle bounced. Going up and down. Then it slowly stowed and we all went pop, pop, POP! We spun around and fell on the floor. Dancing and singing we grabbed the bowls and poured the popcorn.
‘No, just calling you a straight-out kettle. A stupid, tarnished, frothing kettle that whistles its own praises and refuses to acknowledge it’s powered by others’ flames.’
She slapped me, and my cheek burned as though she’d thrown boiling water on me.
Kettler-Räder sind beliebt. Die sind leicht und luftig und mühelos jede U-Bahn-Treppe hoch- und runterzutragen. Kettenräder, Kettensägen, Retterspäne, Wetterhähne. Sie drehen sich metallisch auf den Dächern und jeder schaut gern, aus welcher Richtung der Wind geflogen kommt.
i like kettles, they are fun to use. They make hot water which i then use for tea, coffee and other delicious savory foods. It starts with a K and ends with an E another word that does that is Kite.
The kettle whistled and I knew that was my cue. I didn’t think that this 1800’s getup would get us all the way to Regionals, but how things were going, I didn’t have a doubt.
Dirty kettle on the stove top. Stained from nearby frying pans. Hopefully it’s still clean on the inside. Who knows. Never cleaned it. Tea still tastes great. I love my kettle.
Words are stored in my memory of forgtton fun. they settle inside to remain still. the Kettle keeps everything safe, safe in the dark. safe from known harm of ones dismay and agony towards ones mind.
a tea kettle sits on the stove. brewing a perfect cup of tea for me right before I drift into a deep slumber, hoping to wake with a different life. As i pour the water out the steam hits my face creating an at home facial.
i boil water, i also use it for milk and other things, it brings me a sense of ecuador, all the things i did while we had that kettle, it was something new.
it’s strange how when i saw this word, i immediately thought of a black tea kettle. but when i read others’ responses, they thought of things “kettle of fish”. strange how the mind works.
i like tea. kettles make me think of tea. black tea, green tea. i like green tea. it’s healthy for you and has like no calories, right? but when you add honey it does. =( i like honey too.
trees line a hidden road behind my house. i go there to walk and think and look around at nature. i found a kettle during one of my treks. large, heavy and black i like to look at it and imagine the family that used to use it on a daily basis.
i could hear the kettle whistling while you took your habitual afternoon shower. just beyond the door i could smell the scent of your body wash and perfume — old kinds, the kinds of your grandmother, like lilacs and honeysuckle– and crept inside just a few feet to feel the heat rising from the tub, from the white laced bathroom in which you stood beneath waterfalls of heated water, calm. like a hillside sunset, you capture me.
The kettle whistled. Vera hadn’t realized that she had been watching it all this time. She was supposed to be picking out a tea bag and a mug. It seemed like the simplest of tasks were proving to be impossible since… that day. She sank to the ground, her back to the cupboards and closed her eyes. Eventually, the whistling faded to the background of her conscious and she drifted off.
“What the FUCK!”
Vera was abruptly awakened by her roommate coming into the kitchen from one of her classes and making her presence known. There was a puddle of water by her feet and her legs were disturbingly red. It looked like they were burnt.
i do not have a kettle. i need a kettle. i love kettles. i need a good kettle with a whistle to make my tea, but i do not particularly care at the moment, since it is far too hot outside to even desire tea. yet, i still need one.
whats there to write about a kettle?
all i can think of is… that “im a little teapot short and stout” song..
and tea
and boiling water…
kettle
theres kettle corn
fireplace…
cozy
warmth
He watched as she lifted the kettle above his hand. He could see the steam.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” she said.
“I’d jolly well hope not, sweetie,” he said.
Mmmmmm
It’s a pot calling the kettle black. It’s a broken heart looking back. It’s a kitten in a sack. It’s carrying a heavy pack. It’s the world with a crack. Everything feels like the end of yesterday and I’m holding on by a thread in this day and age.
The pot calling the kettle black is an all too often part of our society. People are quick to judge when they should look at themselves in the mirror before talking smack about others. If people werent so rude the world would be a better place.
“This is a fine kettle of fish”, he said as she told him that his son, aged 12, was not his but his brother’s. Now what to do? He pulled th trigger and again he fired a blank.
The kettle was whistling. Margorie rushed over to the stove and turned the heat off. She smiled in relief. She loved a good cup of tea before bed. Margorie took her mug into the living room, and curled up in the arm chair in front of the fire.
I was always impressed by kettles. I never owned one though. But in my friend’s house, it made weird whistle noises, and i always liked it. It felt homey and like, you know, that feeling that you arrived somewhere. I even drank tea in their house, even though I am not a huge tea lover, but they didn’t have coffee, so there was not a lot of choice….
I like kettle corn! It reminds me of the fair because it’s the only time of the year I get to eat kettle corn and let me tell you it is the absolute best. The colors and sounds of the fair amuse me. And the top of the ferris wheel has a great view of the cemetery. (no joke)
a kettle reminds me of tea. My mom’s favorite tea is earl gray. She drinks it all the time. i’m thinking of getting her a Kurig so that she can make herself one cup at a time. it would be a cool gift.
It’s the pot calling the kettle black
That is to say my method of attack,
And you can call me a hypocrite, when I spit in your face for crimes you’ve committed against your race.
But this is the only way any of us are going to change.
As the kettle began to steam the cat moved away from the big black stove, knowing the strange contraption would soon whistle.
its a pot for tea or coffee whatever it is it sure as hell holds a drink and 90% of the time its hot!
i feel black. the blackness of my heart is creeping through ravines and riverbeds. i cannot shake the everpresent shadow in my heart. for i know i am bad. too badly good and too badly gone to be saved. and i know i shall not judge. it has already been decided by the black night or god
The pot calling the kettle black. Or is it the other way around? I can’t remember what that means, but I think it’s something like “preaching to the choir”. *goes to look it up* No, they’re way different. Whoops. Now I’m embarrassed.
The kettle called the pot black. It’s interesting how things happen like that. We blame others for our own transgressions, and the things we hate most in others are the things we hate most in ourselves.
The whistle brought her back from her reverie, and she bustled up to lift the old kettle from the stove. Her cat followed, a grumpy cat-expression settled stubbornly upon its face.
I’m under a lot of pressure
building from within
feeling unable to release this
sitting in the fire
We all watched in amazement with laughter. Giggling as the popcorn in the kettle bounced. Going up and down. Then it slowly stowed and we all went pop, pop, POP! We spun around and fell on the floor. Dancing and singing we grabbed the bowls and poured the popcorn.
copper shinny and warm. Smooth beaten metal shaped to shape the flavors and aromas that fill this room. Home.
‘Calling the kettle black are you?’
‘No, just calling you a straight-out kettle. A stupid, tarnished, frothing kettle that whistles its own praises and refuses to acknowledge it’s powered by others’ flames.’
She slapped me, and my cheek burned as though she’d thrown boiling water on me.
Kettler-Räder sind beliebt. Die sind leicht und luftig und mühelos jede U-Bahn-Treppe hoch- und runterzutragen. Kettenräder, Kettensägen, Retterspäne, Wetterhähne. Sie drehen sich metallisch auf den Dächern und jeder schaut gern, aus welcher Richtung der Wind geflogen kommt.
i like kettles, they are fun to use. They make hot water which i then use for tea, coffee and other delicious savory foods. It starts with a K and ends with an E another word that does that is Kite.
Pot calling the kettle black
kettle cooked chips
kettle corn
all food stuffs
a kettle boiling over
steam
The kettle whistled and I knew that was my cue. I didn’t think that this 1800’s getup would get us all the way to Regionals, but how things were going, I didn’t have a doubt.
Dirty kettle on the stove top. Stained from nearby frying pans. Hopefully it’s still clean on the inside. Who knows. Never cleaned it. Tea still tastes great. I love my kettle.
Words are stored in my memory of forgtton fun. they settle inside to remain still. the Kettle keeps everything safe, safe in the dark. safe from known harm of ones dismay and agony towards ones mind.
a tea kettle sits on the stove. brewing a perfect cup of tea for me right before I drift into a deep slumber, hoping to wake with a different life. As i pour the water out the steam hits my face creating an at home facial.
you’re a pot calling the kettle black you incessant whore!
cook, popcorn, old black meta, l 2 chickens in every kettle
i boil water, i also use it for milk and other things, it brings me a sense of ecuador, all the things i did while we had that kettle, it was something new.
it’s strange how when i saw this word, i immediately thought of a black tea kettle. but when i read others’ responses, they thought of things “kettle of fish”. strange how the mind works.
i like tea. kettles make me think of tea. black tea, green tea. i like green tea. it’s healthy for you and has like no calories, right? but when you add honey it does. =( i like honey too.
trees line a hidden road behind my house. i go there to walk and think and look around at nature. i found a kettle during one of my treks. large, heavy and black i like to look at it and imagine the family that used to use it on a daily basis.
Kettle Kettle toil and trouble, make this sandwich as sandy as the beaches in France and as wichy as a witch watching two watches.
i could hear the kettle whistling while you took your habitual afternoon shower. just beyond the door i could smell the scent of your body wash and perfume — old kinds, the kinds of your grandmother, like lilacs and honeysuckle– and crept inside just a few feet to feel the heat rising from the tub, from the white laced bathroom in which you stood beneath waterfalls of heated water, calm. like a hillside sunset, you capture me.
The kettle whistled. Vera hadn’t realized that she had been watching it all this time. She was supposed to be picking out a tea bag and a mug. It seemed like the simplest of tasks were proving to be impossible since… that day. She sank to the ground, her back to the cupboards and closed her eyes. Eventually, the whistling faded to the background of her conscious and she drifted off.
“What the FUCK!”
Vera was abruptly awakened by her roommate coming into the kitchen from one of her classes and making her presence known. There was a puddle of water by her feet and her legs were disturbingly red. It looked like they were burnt.
pot called the kettle black, but the kettle was black; blacker than the pot. the pot was white, actually.
we bought a new kettle, because his one took ages to boil. I didn’t take it with me when I left him.
i do not have a kettle. i need a kettle. i love kettles. i need a good kettle with a whistle to make my tea, but i do not particularly care at the moment, since it is far too hot outside to even desire tea. yet, i still need one.
whats there to write about a kettle?
all i can think of is… that “im a little teapot short and stout” song..
and tea
and boiling water…
kettle
theres kettle corn
fireplace…
cozy
warmth
He watched as she lifted the kettle above his hand. He could see the steam.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” she said.
“I’d jolly well hope not, sweetie,” he said.
Mmmmmm
“I can’t be in a relationship with someone who neglects me this much.”
His excuse.
“ha, do you even slightly recall anything that’s happpened the past 5 months?… if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
My response.
It’s a pot calling the kettle black. It’s a broken heart looking back. It’s a kitten in a sack. It’s carrying a heavy pack. It’s the world with a crack. Everything feels like the end of yesterday and I’m holding on by a thread in this day and age.
Kettle chips are my favorite. There crunchy and delicious. But kettle also makes me think of tea and I at least have a cup or two a day.
The pot calling the kettle black is an all too often part of our society. People are quick to judge when they should look at themselves in the mirror before talking smack about others. If people werent so rude the world would be a better place.
“This is a fine kettle of fish”, he said as she told him that his son, aged 12, was not his but his brother’s. Now what to do? He pulled th trigger and again he fired a blank.
The kettle was whistling. Margorie rushed over to the stove and turned the heat off. She smiled in relief. She loved a good cup of tea before bed. Margorie took her mug into the living room, and curled up in the arm chair in front of the fire.