The skin had a hard, leathery feel to it, as it glistened in the sun. The boy had never been this close to a dolphin before. He looked into its eye, and could see no hatred, only fear.
The messenger bag every kid had was a camel brown leather one strap with two simple utilitarian pockets. one a small clasped pouch in the very front and the other the main zippered compartment. Something about it displayed a futuristic cool that the usual double strapped, canvas bags just…didnt.
She walked the rest of the way home putting deliberate steps one in front of the next at steady pace, her fat black french braid tucked into the back of her sweater a-gain. Why can’t I just fit in with the beautiful popular girls, she moped bitterly. That damn bag was the key to rocketing her from nobody freshman, to 9th grade superstardom. She’d be confident, fearless, one of the crowd in her own different way. she sighed, wondering if she’d come home to a drunk or sober mother, and if she could get up the nerve to ask for that bag;
As I saw him from across the room, sitting there with an old beat up leathery book, I knew he was the one for me. The slight smile on his face, and the glint in his eye. I knew in that moment, the man with the leathery book, was my soulmate, my one true love.
leathery skin on an old ass that hasn’t gotten laid in forever. Is that why? or did the neglect cause me to shrivel up and prune into the two lusterless foil balls of my asscheeks? Maybe it’s not too late…I’m headed to gnc for a new vitamin craze. I MUST get me some before I kick the bucket! now that’s a list.
its weathered- been through a lot. It has character, story. Hidden experiences lie beneath is material surface. It contradicts itself, its purpose sometimes to transcend superficiality with the sense of beauty held in its age.
There was a leathery sack sitting on the table next to me. I stared at it while we talked, thinking about what animal it must have come from. As we talk, I continue to look around the room, it is a very interestingly decorated home, with furs, hides and taxodermied animals. The walls were logs, it was a log cabin of course.
I am talking to the women who lives in this home, she is very quiet, a simple girl. I sure she was beautiful once, but now she is weathered with deep lines in her skin. Her eyes look sad and tired. It seems she has had a hard life, she talks about her life long ago, as she speaks she stares, not at anything in particular, but as if she is replaying those memmories in her head. I can almost see the images dance in her eyes.
She talks of her family mainly. She had two brothers, but both have died, along with her mother and father, she is the last remaining of her family. She tells me her brother died in a logging accident. He got ccaught in a cutting machine and was unable to recover from the injury. I think she was very close to him. As she speaks I see her eyes fill with tears, but not one falls. He was only 2 years older than her and they played often.
She talks of how her life once was, working the farm with her family, making games of the chores. She tells me she used to race against her brother to fetch the water from the well, her brother would always win.
Her husband is dead as well and she is left to live her days in her log cabin by herself, her only company being the shaggy old dog lying at her feet and her childrens visits on occasion.
She tells me she has grandchildren, one reminds her of her brother.
The saddle felt dry. Danny hadn’t oiled it in quite sometime, a laziness his father often complained of. Cracks were beginning to form on the edges of the saddle. Seeing this saddened Danny’s heart. He had inherited the fine piece of leather work from his dad who had inherited it form his own father
Travel food felt like leather and cardboard between his teeth. He didn’t bother to check what it was specifically. He just needed to eat, keep his poor new body going, as he trekked across a seeming wasteland, dusty and broken homes lining his path.
He was told to protect the humans, guide them. He would if only he could find them.
The New York Fashion show began as soon as I sat down. The first thing I noticed off the bat was the leathery trend that was prominent in the first few models. Leather shoes, leather trimmings, leather pants, leather earrings.
the sinewy skin between his jagged shoulder blades expanded and i took my stethoscope away, my job complete. the diagnosis had been almost immediate, but i found more struggle than anything as i attempted to choke out the words:
lung cancer
terminal
as your flesh will continue to wither and your bones become frail, you will segue fluidly from this life to the next, toward the end, there is no looking back.
A moment of sadness. I caught myself thinking that, thinking that. Thinking about large wings crashing around me, the leathery scrape of wind beneath them, the intake of rage. I wield my weapon with grace. I sting and am then gone. Goodbye sadness. A whole other world awaits.
The couch was leathery. I didn’t normally like the stiff coldness but today it was just what I needed. I was burning up and just wanted to lay there and cool down, but I knew I had to get up.
The meat was leathery. Probably becuz the cow was tortured from day one. They lead horrible lives and then give them up for us. None of which is their choice. They are prisoners. They never feel love, the never feel safety. They never get to really live.
Pants and shoes and Roots Canada. Roots used to specialize in making leather products. This also reminds me of an old person and all of the things that they have gone through in their life to make them leathery. Leather is old and worn and precious. There isn’t much more to say about it.
Paint strips had been peeling off the walls for months. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. That was Jack’s job. I did the business, he kept it clean.
The sort of skin you get when you’ve tanned too much in the seventies, that’s the sort of skin she had stretched rather gruesomely across her body. The hair springing from her head even resembled those feathers that creep up so often in photos of women in the seventies, too, you know. But it wasn’t looking too fashionable.
There’s a smell to this, a good, old sort of smell, something a little more refined and at the same time a little wilder than our ordinary, prepackaged life. There’s also a color, my favorite being the brown that comes in different shades. Brown is underappreciated, I think, and yet it has so much depth of variety.
Leathery like an alligator, no like her red sachel. Leathery like his hands. Leathery like her words.
Leathery like the sun kissed seat of his ford truck.
Chicken. I wanted to get chicken real bad. The leathery seats of the car were rough on my bottom, and I was hungry and restless. Jamie was driving real slow, stopped a couple times to avoid squirrels.
“Hey Jamie?”
“Mmmm… I’m driving, leave me alone.”
wow it lets me write again…not on leather, I mean what age were we in when we wrote on leather…DIE ANIMALS I must write a poem…a haiku…? Leathery was my childhood baseball glove!
makes me think of Coach Cheek my high school football coach, leather was his face a crooked nose as he would grab you by the face mask, pull you down to his level (4′ 6″) and with whiskey breath tell you that, “you are the shitsssssssssss”
She sat up startledly. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach and she was worried, she reached for his arm, but when she felt his cold leathery skin she knew. It had finally happened that really was his last day, the day she crawled into bed long after he had shut his eyes.
Her pants were leathery, that much I could tell in the low lighting of the club. Even so, that wasn’t what I was concentrating on; I was too distracted by how close her body was to mine, how sweet her hair smelled, and how her eyes shined brightly in the flashing lights.
The cowboy walked into saloon with his gun on his hip. The man obviously lived for fresh air. His skin had the appearance of tanned leather, smooth but weathered.
To those who simply passed by and glanced, it was nothing really. To those who took a moment to look at it, it was something worth complimenting. But to the owner, it was everything. Her leather backpack carried everything life threw at her and she couldn’t bear to live without it.
I like to lather on the sunscreen these days, big gobs of 30, 45 spy, sometimes 70 if I’m in the mood. I just keep picturing some of the shriveled up specimens I see walking on Siesta Key beach, dark brown and leathery – are they even human?
When I saw oneword I thought about one word. Grief. When you don’t “mourn” the loss of a loved one it doesn’t mean you didn’t love them, it just means you don’t honour them in the traditional sense.
I walked into the room, not having any idea what was in store for me. Not that I ever do. I turned the corner to see this old, leathery broad sprawled out on the sheets in a leopard nightie.
“Hey there,” she said. “Guess I hit the jackpot.”
“Yeah,” I said. Just as I always said. Automatonic.
If it was a matter of choice, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all. But choice is not how one gets mixed up with the wrong people.
Jim was on ebay looking for a nice jacket to were that would make him look important. He settled on a nice leather jacket for $50. The leather jacket was shipped to him and when he got he realized it was fake leather and he didn’t even look good in it. So he bought another leather jacket for $79, this time on craigslist.
It’s the odd feel of the ragged horse’s neck as you ride on with only a pack of food, a blanket, extra jacket, and two bottles of water, trying to get as far away from home as you can.
You shift in the saddle, now suddenly uncomfortable from the long journey. It’s time to rest.
It slithered, and she liked that. It coiled and slid, and she liked that too. It turned its head, as if sensing her eyes on it, flickering its tongue out, testing the air. She held still, even her breath pausing, and it never flinched, its arrowhead nose pointing directly at her.
The skin had a hard, leathery feel to it, as it glistened in the sun. The boy had never been this close to a dolphin before. He looked into its eye, and could see no hatred, only fear.
The messenger bag every kid had was a camel brown leather one strap with two simple utilitarian pockets. one a small clasped pouch in the very front and the other the main zippered compartment. Something about it displayed a futuristic cool that the usual double strapped, canvas bags just…didnt.
She walked the rest of the way home putting deliberate steps one in front of the next at steady pace, her fat black french braid tucked into the back of her sweater a-gain. Why can’t I just fit in with the beautiful popular girls, she moped bitterly. That damn bag was the key to rocketing her from nobody freshman, to 9th grade superstardom. She’d be confident, fearless, one of the crowd in her own different way. she sighed, wondering if she’d come home to a drunk or sober mother, and if she could get up the nerve to ask for that bag;
As I saw him from across the room, sitting there with an old beat up leathery book, I knew he was the one for me. The slight smile on his face, and the glint in his eye. I knew in that moment, the man with the leathery book, was my soulmate, my one true love.
leathery skin on an old ass that hasn’t gotten laid in forever. Is that why? or did the neglect cause me to shrivel up and prune into the two lusterless foil balls of my asscheeks? Maybe it’s not too late…I’m headed to gnc for a new vitamin craze. I MUST get me some before I kick the bucket! now that’s a list.
its weathered- been through a lot. It has character, story. Hidden experiences lie beneath is material surface. It contradicts itself, its purpose sometimes to transcend superficiality with the sense of beauty held in its age.
I once knew a women whose face had been so ravaged by the sun that she looked like an old catchers mitt, leathery and cracked.
There was a leathery sack sitting on the table next to me. I stared at it while we talked, thinking about what animal it must have come from. As we talk, I continue to look around the room, it is a very interestingly decorated home, with furs, hides and taxodermied animals. The walls were logs, it was a log cabin of course.
I am talking to the women who lives in this home, she is very quiet, a simple girl. I sure she was beautiful once, but now she is weathered with deep lines in her skin. Her eyes look sad and tired. It seems she has had a hard life, she talks about her life long ago, as she speaks she stares, not at anything in particular, but as if she is replaying those memmories in her head. I can almost see the images dance in her eyes.
She talks of her family mainly. She had two brothers, but both have died, along with her mother and father, she is the last remaining of her family. She tells me her brother died in a logging accident. He got ccaught in a cutting machine and was unable to recover from the injury. I think she was very close to him. As she speaks I see her eyes fill with tears, but not one falls. He was only 2 years older than her and they played often.
She talks of how her life once was, working the farm with her family, making games of the chores. She tells me she used to race against her brother to fetch the water from the well, her brother would always win.
Her husband is dead as well and she is left to live her days in her log cabin by herself, her only company being the shaggy old dog lying at her feet and her childrens visits on occasion.
She tells me she has grandchildren, one reminds her of her brother.
The saddle felt dry. Danny hadn’t oiled it in quite sometime, a laziness his father often complained of. Cracks were beginning to form on the edges of the saddle. Seeing this saddened Danny’s heart. He had inherited the fine piece of leather work from his dad who had inherited it form his own father
Travel food felt like leather and cardboard between his teeth. He didn’t bother to check what it was specifically. He just needed to eat, keep his poor new body going, as he trekked across a seeming wasteland, dusty and broken homes lining his path.
He was told to protect the humans, guide them. He would if only he could find them.
The New York Fashion show began as soon as I sat down. The first thing I noticed off the bat was the leathery trend that was prominent in the first few models. Leather shoes, leather trimmings, leather pants, leather earrings.
the sinewy skin between his jagged shoulder blades expanded and i took my stethoscope away, my job complete. the diagnosis had been almost immediate, but i found more struggle than anything as i attempted to choke out the words:
lung cancer
terminal
as your flesh will continue to wither and your bones become frail, you will segue fluidly from this life to the next, toward the end, there is no looking back.
A moment of sadness. I caught myself thinking that, thinking that. Thinking about large wings crashing around me, the leathery scrape of wind beneath them, the intake of rage. I wield my weapon with grace. I sting and am then gone. Goodbye sadness. A whole other world awaits.
The couch was leathery. I didn’t normally like the stiff coldness but today it was just what I needed. I was burning up and just wanted to lay there and cool down, but I knew I had to get up.
Her ankles, so many raised, self inflicted cuts, turned into scars.
Rough, almost leathery.
The meat was leathery. Probably becuz the cow was tortured from day one. They lead horrible lives and then give them up for us. None of which is their choice. They are prisoners. They never feel love, the never feel safety. They never get to really live.
Pants and shoes and Roots Canada. Roots used to specialize in making leather products. This also reminds me of an old person and all of the things that they have gone through in their life to make them leathery. Leather is old and worn and precious. There isn’t much more to say about it.
Paint strips had been peeling off the walls for months. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. That was Jack’s job. I did the business, he kept it clean.
Leathery skin, abused skin covers my body. I’ve grown used to it. It has it’s own story, one that most will never get to hear.
This is a western word. It is the combination of a century of hard riding. It is the way you become when you are inured to the ways of the world
The sort of skin you get when you’ve tanned too much in the seventies, that’s the sort of skin she had stretched rather gruesomely across her body. The hair springing from her head even resembled those feathers that creep up so often in photos of women in the seventies, too, you know. But it wasn’t looking too fashionable.
her jacket was leathery. leathery skin, dry , and smooth. black like leather, skin of cows, leathery finesse, undesireable, makes you sweat hot,
There’s a smell to this, a good, old sort of smell, something a little more refined and at the same time a little wilder than our ordinary, prepackaged life. There’s also a color, my favorite being the brown that comes in different shades. Brown is underappreciated, I think, and yet it has so much depth of variety.
Leathery like an alligator, no like her red sachel. Leathery like his hands. Leathery like her words.
Leathery like the sun kissed seat of his ford truck.
His hands felt leathery entwined with mine, rough and calloused from years of labor in the fields.
Chicken. I wanted to get chicken real bad. The leathery seats of the car were rough on my bottom, and I was hungry and restless. Jamie was driving real slow, stopped a couple times to avoid squirrels.
“Hey Jamie?”
“Mmmm… I’m driving, leave me alone.”
wow it lets me write again…not on leather, I mean what age were we in when we wrote on leather…DIE ANIMALS I must write a poem…a haiku…? Leathery was my childhood baseball glove!
makes me think of Coach Cheek my high school football coach, leather was his face a crooked nose as he would grab you by the face mask, pull you down to his level (4′ 6″) and with whiskey breath tell you that, “you are the shitsssssssssss”
She sat up startledly. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach and she was worried, she reached for his arm, but when she felt his cold leathery skin she knew. It had finally happened that really was his last day, the day she crawled into bed long after he had shut his eyes.
Her pants were leathery, that much I could tell in the low lighting of the club. Even so, that wasn’t what I was concentrating on; I was too distracted by how close her body was to mine, how sweet her hair smelled, and how her eyes shined brightly in the flashing lights.
The cowboy walked into saloon with his gun on his hip. The man obviously lived for fresh air. His skin had the appearance of tanned leather, smooth but weathered.
To those who simply passed by and glanced, it was nothing really. To those who took a moment to look at it, it was something worth complimenting. But to the owner, it was everything. Her leather backpack carried everything life threw at her and she couldn’t bear to live without it.
I like to lather on the sunscreen these days, big gobs of 30, 45 spy, sometimes 70 if I’m in the mood. I just keep picturing some of the shriveled up specimens I see walking on Siesta Key beach, dark brown and leathery – are they even human?
When I saw oneword I thought about one word. Grief. When you don’t “mourn” the loss of a loved one it doesn’t mean you didn’t love them, it just means you don’t honour them in the traditional sense.
I walked into the room, not having any idea what was in store for me. Not that I ever do. I turned the corner to see this old, leathery broad sprawled out on the sheets in a leopard nightie.
“Hey there,” she said. “Guess I hit the jackpot.”
“Yeah,” I said. Just as I always said. Automatonic.
If it was a matter of choice, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all. But choice is not how one gets mixed up with the wrong people.
Jim was on ebay looking for a nice jacket to were that would make him look important. He settled on a nice leather jacket for $50. The leather jacket was shipped to him and when he got he realized it was fake leather and he didn’t even look good in it. So he bought another leather jacket for $79, this time on craigslist.
It’s the odd feel of the ragged horse’s neck as you ride on with only a pack of food, a blanket, extra jacket, and two bottles of water, trying to get as far away from home as you can.
You shift in the saddle, now suddenly uncomfortable from the long journey. It’s time to rest.
Your hands are kinda of leathery, and I like that.
His jacket was black and sleek, leathery. She slipped it onto herself and enjoyed its warmth and familiarity. It was his, but it was also hers.
It slithered, and she liked that. It coiled and slid, and she liked that too. It turned its head, as if sensing her eyes on it, flickering its tongue out, testing the air. She held still, even her breath pausing, and it never flinched, its arrowhead nose pointing directly at her.
the blanket was leathery but still somewhat silk it was soft as a baby bottom.