There was a nest in the top of a tree somewhere and a baby dinosaur or dragon was hatching, it was green in colour with sparkling scarlet eyes, it made a noise and cracked itself open. Then a giant sea otter peeked out from the ocean hearing its call and called back to it, the otter and the dragon met and became a family. The found refuge in a cave that opened up towards the sea. Here they lived joyously. The end.
All she wants to do is nest, she is like a mother hen. Every day she scratches around the house looking for things to do, putting things away, and she is always moving everything. I can’t tell you the number of times I have come home and before I can sit down she has me moving the furniture. If she were pregnant I could understand, but it is as if something is eating away inside her and she has no peace.
The corner of the house hid the bush from sight, but the continuous peeping and trembling calls announced the presence of the brood. Still, even when she stood right in front of the shrub, no matter how hard she tried she could not catch sight of the nest, or the small grey fluff inside.
Nests are for birds. Animals nest. People nest. Our homes are nests. Nests are made of sticks. Nests are made of moss. Nests are made in trees. Nests are made in homes. Nests look cool. Nests hold babies.
I’m thinking of a bird. birds make nests for their young. their young stays in the nest until their old enough and developed enough to fly on their own. and that’s what humans do in a way. and it’s scary. being independent. i dont wana leave my nest.
It was stupid that I’d even tried to get a handle on it. I know that birds don’t come back to their eggs if they smell us on them, but it was just a really terrible place to build a nest. Birds didn’t really pay much attention to crime rates or school quality; they only care about accessibility. Who cares about that?
The nest sat atop the tree. The passerbys below had no idea that it was there, but inside was a bird that would be part of a domino effect that would effect them all.
I was sitting in a room, nestled under thousand of blankets. It was like my own personal nest. It felt so safe, it was warm. I felt like nothing could hurt me or ruin me, i was safe.
Nest, well nests are wonderful. I nest everytime I go into a new place. Birds nest and love preparing nests. It is such fun nesting and setting everything up in your new nest. This goes here and this goes there.
Home. Birds. Leaving. It’s made of twigs and leaves and all sorts of debris but it’s safe, secure, comforting, familiar. I don’t want to leave. But I have to.
an empty nest is a sad and lonely place. some say. i think that my mother would be happier if her nest were empty. then she could pick up and move her nest to a new place and she could fly wherever she wanted to and have some fun once in a while instead of having to take care of everyone all the time.
Birds make nests to have their babies in. They need them to protect their babies and give themselves a home. Something they can come back to and something that they can work hard to build. Nests are made out of so many different, random materials but some how they all seem to stay together. I don’t really know how they do it.
I walked into the nest of the battered old blue bird. I knew not why I was so small, nor did I know why she did not devour me upon contact, but I gazed in wonder at the three little birds hatching from their sky blue shells.
A bird was living in a nest . The nest was typical, made out of sticks, and leaves. (Many were puny twigs, instead of sticks though.) The birds living in the nest were different, because they migrated from a different planet. A different galaxy, actually. They crash landed on an expedition to find life forms. They were sent by their friends, a species like the “humans” of Earth. These birds were robotic, and came from a planet called Erath.
I built a nest in my head. It’s not too cozy, but it’s mine. If I knew why I built it, I’d be okay with destroying it. I’d leave a pile of twigs-my thoughts- and set them ablaze. I would not miss them. And that’s okay. Because I can always build another nest.
There was a small bird who built a nest in my backyard one summer. It was hot, humid and dark one evening when I heard it chirping softly. Confused, I stood up and went outside to go see what had happened. All I saw was the nest on the ground underneath its usual spot in the tree, and the bird nowhere in sight.
birds are one of the most beautiful things i look at a bird and i cry nests are like houses but theyve been made by the birds themselves and so theyre warmer and softer and stronger as a result nests make you safe your heart lives in a nest weve grown accustomed to calling a ribcage although that isnt quite true it’s a nest that keeps your heart warm and safe until its ready to hatch into a beautiful bird that will outlive you
nest. a place one feels safe, they call home. security, and warmth. thats what a nest is. why does my nest not feel this way? why am i scared and ready to flock from it?
We left the nest early. It wasn’t always meant to be this way. The clock was ticking. Life went on. We discovered the world. Beauty. We missed the nest though.
Fucking pushed, where the hell am I going.
Swear to god I’m falling on my face.
And I’m rolling, I’m gonna hit the fucking ground,
And it will hurt
I ache with anticipation, and I want to die.
But do I ?
I can never tell. My head plays games with my heart too much.
nests usually makes you think of birds. it could be a robin’s nest or it could be the nest your parents build for you, your household. it makes you feel safe and secure. its a place you can always go to whenever anything goes wrong. your nest is filled with people who love you and care for you.
the bird. it just left it there. i guess it forgot. how do you know if it forgot? where does it go? the baby bird just stays there. poor bird. i want to help the bird yet it doesn’t want to be helped. it just cries but i can’t help. then the yellowness of the sun. it left again. how did it arrive yesterday? how did it arrive today?
I am the bird, and I am leaving.
I say goodbye, for I won’t return.
Pushed, without warning I fall…
Insure of where I will land. Where do I go when everything I know is broken?
Where do I get to be when nothing is okay?
I no longer have my nest, for I have been pushed from it.
I recite a word to him, but he only shakes his head. Once again, I fail the test and must memorize all of my work. I adjusted my sitting position on the bean bag and cozied myself into it like a nest.
The nest was overflowing with raw juices, oozing out of the crevices and into the dark abyss. She approached it with caution, reaching out to it and caressing the rough texture of the nest. She licked off the sweet juice from her fingers, smiling to herself as she felt herself transform into a venomous monster.
A nest is a home. It’s where you go when you want to feel safe and protected. It’s not always a place, sometimes it’s a person. Someone who cheers you up and makes you happy again.
Son miles de momentos a la vez, millones de imagenes tecnicolores que rellenan espacio vacio de mis pupilas espectantes. Es la vida en un momento comprimido hasta el hartazgo.
little bird, in your bed of twigs and hay.
what you do you think of, i wonder, day to day.
are you afraid to fly? To spread your wings and soar through the sky.
I am, little bird.
Nest is the place where we all feel safe. It is the Egg that we build to keep us stable. It is a place of contentment. It is where you lay your head in comfort. It is everything we want out home to be.
I was running through the meadows, until I reached an oak tree. I was alone, and no living being was in sight except for a pair of birds perched on a nest on the top branch. I was damn hungry. I decided to climb the tree and eat the bird’s blood. Blood is blood. No difference. I climbed up quickly and grabbed the two birds by the neck, my long fingernails piercing their soft skin. I bit their small bodies as blood oozed out. I finished lunching on them and threw them away like a piece of paper. I called my friend Vanessa. It was time to go hunting.
resting under a tree
sun blazing in the heavens above
i nestle myself with a book in hand
ingesting every word
as a bird begins to chirp
running ’round his nest
attempting to fly
off into the west
this is where the baby birds live. all three of them. sometimes four, but usually three. they have a mother. no one ever talks about bird dads. i hope he’s a nice guy. maybe he drives a bike. or wears a raincoat. whatever he does, its SO BIRDY.
There was a nest in the top of a tree somewhere and a baby dinosaur or dragon was hatching, it was green in colour with sparkling scarlet eyes, it made a noise and cracked itself open. Then a giant sea otter peeked out from the ocean hearing its call and called back to it, the otter and the dragon met and became a family. The found refuge in a cave that opened up towards the sea. Here they lived joyously. The end.
In the fast winds,
at the top of spindles and grey sticks
amidst a sudden rush
The small voice of a thrush.
I Have nothing to say about mest. Im just tired and really fustrated and mad at life and technology. I also feel sick with a sore throat.
All she wants to do is nest, she is like a mother hen. Every day she scratches around the house looking for things to do, putting things away, and she is always moving everything. I can’t tell you the number of times I have come home and before I can sit down she has me moving the furniture. If she were pregnant I could understand, but it is as if something is eating away inside her and she has no peace.
The corner of the house hid the bush from sight, but the continuous peeping and trembling calls announced the presence of the brood. Still, even when she stood right in front of the shrub, no matter how hard she tried she could not catch sight of the nest, or the small grey fluff inside.
Nests are for birds. Animals nest. People nest. Our homes are nests. Nests are made of sticks. Nests are made of moss. Nests are made in trees. Nests are made in homes. Nests look cool. Nests hold babies.
I’m thinking of a bird. birds make nests for their young. their young stays in the nest until their old enough and developed enough to fly on their own. and that’s what humans do in a way. and it’s scary. being independent. i dont wana leave my nest.
It was stupid that I’d even tried to get a handle on it. I know that birds don’t come back to their eggs if they smell us on them, but it was just a really terrible place to build a nest. Birds didn’t really pay much attention to crime rates or school quality; they only care about accessibility. Who cares about that?
The nest sat atop the tree. The passerbys below had no idea that it was there, but inside was a bird that would be part of a domino effect that would effect them all.
I was sitting in a room, nestled under thousand of blankets. It was like my own personal nest. It felt so safe, it was warm. I felt like nothing could hurt me or ruin me, i was safe.
a birds nest so soft and cozy. A place you can call home. A warm place to be in this world. Somebody needs your protection. Be there in the nest.
Nest, well nests are wonderful. I nest everytime I go into a new place. Birds nest and love preparing nests. It is such fun nesting and setting everything up in your new nest. This goes here and this goes there.
Home. Birds. Leaving. It’s made of twigs and leaves and all sorts of debris but it’s safe, secure, comforting, familiar. I don’t want to leave. But I have to.
an empty nest is a sad and lonely place. some say. i think that my mother would be happier if her nest were empty. then she could pick up and move her nest to a new place and she could fly wherever she wanted to and have some fun once in a while instead of having to take care of everyone all the time.
Birds make nests to have their babies in. They need them to protect their babies and give themselves a home. Something they can come back to and something that they can work hard to build. Nests are made out of so many different, random materials but some how they all seem to stay together. I don’t really know how they do it.
I walked into the nest of the battered old blue bird. I knew not why I was so small, nor did I know why she did not devour me upon contact, but I gazed in wonder at the three little birds hatching from their sky blue shells.
Nest infested with the squeak the squeals of young. Irds. Crus gone sour. Mother gone. See them realizing their power.
A bird was living in a nest . The nest was typical, made out of sticks, and leaves. (Many were puny twigs, instead of sticks though.) The birds living in the nest were different, because they migrated from a different planet. A different galaxy, actually. They crash landed on an expedition to find life forms. They were sent by their friends, a species like the “humans” of Earth. These birds were robotic, and came from a planet called Erath.
I built a nest in my head. It’s not too cozy, but it’s mine. If I knew why I built it, I’d be okay with destroying it. I’d leave a pile of twigs-my thoughts- and set them ablaze. I would not miss them. And that’s okay. Because I can always build another nest.
There was a small bird who built a nest in my backyard one summer. It was hot, humid and dark one evening when I heard it chirping softly. Confused, I stood up and went outside to go see what had happened. All I saw was the nest on the ground underneath its usual spot in the tree, and the bird nowhere in sight.
birds are one of the most beautiful things i look at a bird and i cry nests are like houses but theyve been made by the birds themselves and so theyre warmer and softer and stronger as a result nests make you safe your heart lives in a nest weve grown accustomed to calling a ribcage although that isnt quite true it’s a nest that keeps your heart warm and safe until its ready to hatch into a beautiful bird that will outlive you
nest. a place one feels safe, they call home. security, and warmth. thats what a nest is. why does my nest not feel this way? why am i scared and ready to flock from it?
We left the nest early. It wasn’t always meant to be this way. The clock was ticking. Life went on. We discovered the world. Beauty. We missed the nest though.
Fucking pushed, where the hell am I going.
Swear to god I’m falling on my face.
And I’m rolling, I’m gonna hit the fucking ground,
And it will hurt
I ache with anticipation, and I want to die.
But do I ?
I can never tell. My head plays games with my heart too much.
nests usually makes you think of birds. it could be a robin’s nest or it could be the nest your parents build for you, your household. it makes you feel safe and secure. its a place you can always go to whenever anything goes wrong. your nest is filled with people who love you and care for you.
the bird. it just left it there. i guess it forgot. how do you know if it forgot? where does it go? the baby bird just stays there. poor bird. i want to help the bird yet it doesn’t want to be helped. it just cries but i can’t help. then the yellowness of the sun. it left again. how did it arrive yesterday? how did it arrive today?
I am the bird, and I am leaving.
I say goodbye, for I won’t return.
Pushed, without warning I fall…
Insure of where I will land. Where do I go when everything I know is broken?
Where do I get to be when nothing is okay?
I no longer have my nest, for I have been pushed from it.
mother and son birds and flying doctor suess eggs branches and trees. flying away growing up leaving home college leaving the nest
I recite a word to him, but he only shakes his head. Once again, I fail the test and must memorize all of my work. I adjusted my sitting position on the bean bag and cozied myself into it like a nest.
The nest was overflowing with raw juices, oozing out of the crevices and into the dark abyss. She approached it with caution, reaching out to it and caressing the rough texture of the nest. She licked off the sweet juice from her fingers, smiling to herself as she felt herself transform into a venomous monster.
a safe place. a place of innocence, from before we took our first dive, trusting that our wings would hold us.
I sat in a nest. I was a bird- a small pudgy bird that had created one for my babies.
Or, should I say eggs.
A raven flies nearby. I chirp. I must protect my chicks, if it means losing everything.
A nest is a home. It’s where you go when you want to feel safe and protected. It’s not always a place, sometimes it’s a person. Someone who cheers you up and makes you happy again.
Son miles de momentos a la vez, millones de imagenes tecnicolores que rellenan espacio vacio de mis pupilas espectantes. Es la vida en un momento comprimido hasta el hartazgo.
bird song, family trees, home, grass, shark fin soup, tall, pretty, eggs, chickens, la,la,la,la,la,
little bird, in your bed of twigs and hay.
what you do you think of, i wonder, day to day.
are you afraid to fly? To spread your wings and soar through the sky.
I am, little bird.
Nest is the place where we all feel safe. It is the Egg that we build to keep us stable. It is a place of contentment. It is where you lay your head in comfort. It is everything we want out home to be.
I was running through the meadows, until I reached an oak tree. I was alone, and no living being was in sight except for a pair of birds perched on a nest on the top branch. I was damn hungry. I decided to climb the tree and eat the bird’s blood. Blood is blood. No difference. I climbed up quickly and grabbed the two birds by the neck, my long fingernails piercing their soft skin. I bit their small bodies as blood oozed out. I finished lunching on them and threw them away like a piece of paper. I called my friend Vanessa. It was time to go hunting.
resting under a tree
sun blazing in the heavens above
i nestle myself with a book in hand
ingesting every word
as a bird begins to chirp
running ’round his nest
attempting to fly
off into the west
this is where the baby birds live. all three of them. sometimes four, but usually three. they have a mother. no one ever talks about bird dads. i hope he’s a nice guy. maybe he drives a bike. or wears a raincoat. whatever he does, its SO BIRDY.