Greg considered how he should begin. How do you explain to your best friend’s wife that her husband is dead? Everything that he considered seemed contrived, at best. He reached out he fist to tap on the front door, when it swung open. There Angela stood, her eyes wide with surprise. Soon those eyes would be squeezing out a relentless torrent of tears no matter the words Greg chooses.
Knock went the door, sayeth no more. I’m not going to answer, said the velvet drap’d dancer. Poetry, you know a tree? Said the knock on the door. For I am compos’d of wood, and nothing else more. Need I make it plainer, for you need a spaghetti drainer? I’m not going to humour this, so please, go take a piss.
knock on a door. who’s behind it? is it your friend? your mother? a monster? is it you, behind the door of your mind?
did you knock something over on the table? did it spill? clean it up. pick up the vase of flowers, shake off the water, and arrange them nicely again.
It was the sound of persistent knocking that drove me from my bed and down the stairs. Pulling the door open with a quiet curse I was struck speechless and stared into a face I hadn’t imagined seeing again in this lifetime, let alone standing on my front porch at 3:04 in the morning during what had to be on of the worst storms this decade. “Kara?”
“Hi,” she said and, though her features were obscured by the darkness and her makeup smudged from the rain, I couldn’t help but think I’d never seen her look more beautiful. “Can I come in?”
knock knoing on heavens door is for me a bible script. bible = basics instructions before leaving earth !. and i have a little time over to type and write
Hesitating slightly, he knocked three times on the door. Two times – perhaps the person wouldn’t hear it. Four times – rude. He counted the seconds until someone opened the door. As it cracked open, he swallowed hard and said, “My name is Michael. I believe you are supposed to take care of me.”
Knocking on doors is the polite thing to do. Those that don’t knock before entering a room are being very unprofessional and downright impolite. Knocking gives the person you are wanting to see a moment to gather their thoughts and prepare for your visit.
there was a knock at the door i looked through the hole and it was my mom. the knocking woildnt stop though i thought something was wring with me until i noticed my mother disappeared, the knocking still went on and i had no clue where it was coming from
Knocking on doors is the poliet thing to do. Those that don’t knock before entering a room are being very unprofessional and downright impolite. Knocking gives the person you are wanting to see a moment to gather their thoughts and prepare for your visit.
The house i grew to adore, and happily call it my home. My safe haven. The house with floors so speck polished, and stair banister shining silver all the way down. A house you consider movie-like prestige. No blemish of the raw furniture around, spic and span they say. And the fragrance of cherry blossom fields on a spring day filled the air.
But the house that i reside my anxious being is burned crisp. Floors carrying the ashes of objects that once meant something. The banister melted away, and furniture in dusted quantities. The aroma of pity and burnt wood i dare not to inhale.
He’s finally arrived. Signaling me to come outside and join him, he knocks on the splintered door. His subtle gesture, echos the empty space in which is all that remains. I rush, but try to seem not so frantic that its time. How should i answer? Act cool, act displeased, act ready? Ready. That’s exactly what i am, have been for the long hours of waiting.
He says no words, but smiles. Takes my hand and kisses it with gentleness. And begins to carry it until opening my door and leading me in.
Heading off, but not into a sunset.
I need to have your card as frequent flyer.
Thanks.
by Cesare Giovanni Battista Carabelli on 02.28.2013
Again? I had this yesterday.
It’s a strange word.
It makes me feel sad.
It makes me feel sad, because that was Dad’s ringtone when Grandpa called and said that Grandma died.
I personally thought Grandpa had to go first.
He was the needier one. He relied on her for everything.
But that’s how life always goes. It is not fair. It is not a kindergarten environment.
The sound echoed down the empty hallways, bouncing off of wood and stone alike, reflected by the mirrors, echoing in the metal armor. It was a booming sound, and then silence. Another, and silence again. One more, and then the silence reigned, letting the echoes die off into nothing.
But I only hid. I could not go to answer the door.
“Knock knock” she said, scaring me by breaking the stale silence that hung around my bed. Tears had run dry as I cried my heart out.
“He isn’t worth it babe” she said, laying a comforting arm around me
The sound was faint. So faint I couldn’t be sure if it were real or just my ears playing tricks on me again. The house made all sorts of noises once the sun set, both real and imagined. It would be nice to have a visitor so long as they weren’t here to kill me.
As always, there were three knocks on the wide green door before Clyde let himself in, unannounced officially, but known to all by just this tendency. He was waving a dirty stack of newspapers, as he was also wont to do, easily excited by this political move or the next; but Sarah felt her heart drop as he stopped flailing for half a second and she found herself able to read the huge, bolded titles.
knock at my door, I didn’t know who it would be. I was waiting for news from my father about his voyage abroad. No luck it was just the post and there was nothing for me anyway so I returned to my room empty handed and with a heavy heart
I didnt knock at his door. Im too afraid it will turn in to something I want, but I shouldnt do. Maybe today. And I also hope this word dissapears tomorrow cuz is giving me the creeps, like its telling me to do so.
Something that we all need once in a while to snap back to reality. We need to be knocked into a third persons perspective and reflect on oneself as if from a neutral perspective…it is this display of authenticity that will allow us to improve upon ourselves.
There was a quiet knock on the door. “Can I come in?” He whispered as she peered out into the hallway at him. “I guess so.” She admitted him and he stepped inside insecurely. “I know you’re upset, but I didn’t mean what I said earlier.”
The knock was quiet and timid. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Maybe just the wind, sending some branches against the house. But no, here is came again..a gentle tapping, late at night, not a branch or a critter. Who would be coming up here, at this hour, in this weather?
I knocked on the door. A scream split my nerves, and I rubbed my fingers nervously. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, or what I was doing, but it didn’t feel right just breaking it down.
The knock knock knock at the door was an ominous sound. I felt like I was running in slow motion, seeing everything unfold before my eyes at such speed I knew I’d never get there in time to stop the disaster. I could see her little hand, innocently reaching up for the door knob.
There came three raps at the rabbits door. But the albino knew better than to open during the cold winter season. The wolves were howling and the foxes lurched at anything which moved.
yeah it takes more than milk to get rid of the taste
oh you knocked on my door and I knocked on wood
in that careless way
with Emma Stone singin’ the sexy-musical-number
in a milk and cookie way
in a hat trick that doesn’t include a hat
in a beanie with no pom pom
in a broken fridge sort of way
There was a knock at the door of the wooden cabin. Grace got up from her seat at the table to answer it. Opening the door she saw no one there. Grace looked around for who ever it may have been knocking before sitting back down to finish her oatmeal.
There’s a knock on the door. I don’t know if I should answer it or leave it alone. I don’t know if I still can. Answering it would be like diving into that world again. That world where I’ll die. Again.
Knock, Knock. How I dread to hear that sound pounding on my door. Why is it always bad news when someone wants to come and talk to me. One day I expect to find death knocking on my door waiting to take me away.
Greg considered how he should begin. How do you explain to your best friend’s wife that her husband is dead? Everything that he considered seemed contrived, at best. He reached out he fist to tap on the front door, when it swung open. There Angela stood, her eyes wide with surprise. Soon those eyes would be squeezing out a relentless torrent of tears no matter the words Greg chooses.
Knock went the door, sayeth no more. I’m not going to answer, said the velvet drap’d dancer. Poetry, you know a tree? Said the knock on the door. For I am compos’d of wood, and nothing else more. Need I make it plainer, for you need a spaghetti drainer? I’m not going to humour this, so please, go take a piss.
knock on a door. who’s behind it? is it your friend? your mother? a monster? is it you, behind the door of your mind?
did you knock something over on the table? did it spill? clean it up. pick up the vase of flowers, shake off the water, and arrange them nicely again.
It was the sound of persistent knocking that drove me from my bed and down the stairs. Pulling the door open with a quiet curse I was struck speechless and stared into a face I hadn’t imagined seeing again in this lifetime, let alone standing on my front porch at 3:04 in the morning during what had to be on of the worst storms this decade. “Kara?”
“Hi,” she said and, though her features were obscured by the darkness and her makeup smudged from the rain, I couldn’t help but think I’d never seen her look more beautiful. “Can I come in?”
knock knoing on heavens door is for me a bible script. bible = basics instructions before leaving earth !. and i have a little time over to type and write
Knock, knock.
The pounding continues.
Knock, knock.
Without cease.
Knock, knock.
Anything to make it stop.
Anything.
Hesitating slightly, he knocked three times on the door. Two times – perhaps the person wouldn’t hear it. Four times – rude. He counted the seconds until someone opened the door. As it cracked open, he swallowed hard and said, “My name is Michael. I believe you are supposed to take care of me.”
Knocking on doors is the polite thing to do. Those that don’t knock before entering a room are being very unprofessional and downright impolite. Knocking gives the person you are wanting to see a moment to gather their thoughts and prepare for your visit.
gg
there was a knock at the door i looked through the hole and it was my mom. the knocking woildnt stop though i thought something was wring with me until i noticed my mother disappeared, the knocking still went on and i had no clue where it was coming from
Knocking on doors is the poliet thing to do. Those that don’t knock before entering a room are being very unprofessional and downright impolite. Knocking gives the person you are wanting to see a moment to gather their thoughts and prepare for your visit.
when you knock you are asking to come in… and the possibilities are endless, because you don’t know what is on the other side of that door.
She knocked at the door, she was hoping he was inside. The way he had been talking lately worried him.
The house i grew to adore, and happily call it my home. My safe haven. The house with floors so speck polished, and stair banister shining silver all the way down. A house you consider movie-like prestige. No blemish of the raw furniture around, spic and span they say. And the fragrance of cherry blossom fields on a spring day filled the air.
But the house that i reside my anxious being is burned crisp. Floors carrying the ashes of objects that once meant something. The banister melted away, and furniture in dusted quantities. The aroma of pity and burnt wood i dare not to inhale.
He’s finally arrived. Signaling me to come outside and join him, he knocks on the splintered door. His subtle gesture, echos the empty space in which is all that remains. I rush, but try to seem not so frantic that its time. How should i answer? Act cool, act displeased, act ready? Ready. That’s exactly what i am, have been for the long hours of waiting.
He says no words, but smiles. Takes my hand and kisses it with gentleness. And begins to carry it until opening my door and leading me in.
Heading off, but not into a sunset.
Dear Sirs,
I’m writing to you as I need to receive your Frequent Flyer card.
I’ve already Miles & More, Mille MIglia and Orchid Plus.
View my frequent fliyers for business trip, I wouldl ike to have also your card.
Let me know.
Thanks
He went pass by my life once, twice, or so. But I have to shoo him away. He was only meant to pass and not to stay.
I need to have your card as frequent flyer.
Thanks.
Again? I had this yesterday.
It’s a strange word.
It makes me feel sad.
It makes me feel sad, because that was Dad’s ringtone when Grandpa called and said that Grandma died.
I personally thought Grandpa had to go first.
He was the needier one. He relied on her for everything.
But that’s how life always goes. It is not fair. It is not a kindergarten environment.
The sound echoed down the empty hallways, bouncing off of wood and stone alike, reflected by the mirrors, echoing in the metal armor. It was a booming sound, and then silence. Another, and silence again. One more, and then the silence reigned, letting the echoes die off into nothing.
But I only hid. I could not go to answer the door.
“Knock knock” she said, scaring me by breaking the stale silence that hung around my bed. Tears had run dry as I cried my heart out.
“He isn’t worth it babe” she said, laying a comforting arm around me
The sound was faint. So faint I couldn’t be sure if it were real or just my ears playing tricks on me again. The house made all sorts of noises once the sun set, both real and imagined. It would be nice to have a visitor so long as they weren’t here to kill me.
As always, there were three knocks on the wide green door before Clyde let himself in, unannounced officially, but known to all by just this tendency. He was waving a dirty stack of newspapers, as he was also wont to do, easily excited by this political move or the next; but Sarah felt her heart drop as he stopped flailing for half a second and she found herself able to read the huge, bolded titles.
REVOLUTION.
knock at my door, I didn’t know who it would be. I was waiting for news from my father about his voyage abroad. No luck it was just the post and there was nothing for me anyway so I returned to my room empty handed and with a heavy heart
A simple action used to warn. It can startle or it can give you much please as long as the presence being announced is welcomed.
I didnt knock at his door. Im too afraid it will turn in to something I want, but I shouldnt do. Maybe today. And I also hope this word dissapears tomorrow cuz is giving me the creeps, like its telling me to do so.
Knock Knock…whos there…noone.
Something that we all need once in a while to snap back to reality. We need to be knocked into a third persons perspective and reflect on oneself as if from a neutral perspective…it is this display of authenticity that will allow us to improve upon ourselves.
He knocked out his opponent and felt a rush of relief because the match was finally over. All at once, a rush of emotions flooded his mind and body.
There was a quiet knock on the door. “Can I come in?” He whispered as she peered out into the hallway at him. “I guess so.” She admitted him and he stepped inside insecurely. “I know you’re upset, but I didn’t mean what I said earlier.”
The knock was quiet and timid. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Maybe just the wind, sending some branches against the house. But no, here is came again..a gentle tapping, late at night, not a branch or a critter. Who would be coming up here, at this hour, in this weather?
me down and i will get up
Knock Knock
Who’s there
Candle
Candle who?
Tree
This is a profound joke created by a 4 year old girl in the process of comprehending the concept of knock knock jokes.
I knocked on the door. A scream split my nerves, and I rubbed my fingers nervously. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, or what I was doing, but it didn’t feel right just breaking it down.
The knock knock knock at the door was an ominous sound. I felt like I was running in slow motion, seeing everything unfold before my eyes at such speed I knew I’d never get there in time to stop the disaster. I could see her little hand, innocently reaching up for the door knob.
There came three raps at the rabbits door. But the albino knew better than to open during the cold winter season. The wolves were howling and the foxes lurched at anything which moved.
One word perfit cs breafs slecify car crash
yeah it takes more than milk to get rid of the taste
oh you knocked on my door and I knocked on wood
in that careless way
with Emma Stone singin’ the sexy-musical-number
in a milk and cookie way
in a hat trick that doesn’t include a hat
in a beanie with no pom pom
in a broken fridge sort of way
send me help, one minute, one word.
There was a knock at the door of the wooden cabin. Grace got up from her seat at the table to answer it. Opening the door she saw no one there. Grace looked around for who ever it may have been knocking before sitting back down to finish her oatmeal.
There’s a knock on the door. I don’t know if I should answer it or leave it alone. I don’t know if I still can. Answering it would be like diving into that world again. That world where I’ll die. Again.
Knock, Knock. How I dread to hear that sound pounding on my door. Why is it always bad news when someone wants to come and talk to me. One day I expect to find death knocking on my door waiting to take me away.