She watched the bird flit from one tree to the other, sitting daintily on a branch. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind through the tall grass.
She watched as the fat red squirrel perched on one of the branches of the oak tree, wishing that she could be as free as a bird or a squirrel, free to roam the world, without the millions of problems that she was drowning in.
She watched as the fat red squirrel perched on one of the branches of the oak tree, wishing that she could be as free as a bird or a squirrel, free to roam the world, without the millions of problems that she would make her grave.
The bird preched on the window seal, unaware of what was occuring between the few inches of glass seperating them. It was a bright, sunny day outside. Fluffy white clouds floated above heads
The messenger was perched atop a small tree that grew sheepishly from scattered patches of snow, its branches curving perfectly to form a natural love seat for anyone wishing to roost. She was wearing and a green coat and black gloves, and I could see a glint of silver as she allowed two very expensive-looking dice to dance around in her palm.
I guess I could tell you how I’m a flight risk. And how when it’s all said and done, you’ll be left wondering if what we had was ever even real. I could tell you that my mother taught me love is always conditional, nothing lasts. I could tell you that my father hasn’t shared his feelings with anyone since my mother walked away. That would mean weakness, and that’s a flaw. But I won’t, you see. Because in my eyes, it’s only about me. For now I will sit on this perch, waiting. I guess I could tell you how I’m a flight risk.
She watched it fly off into the sky until it disappeared behind the trees of her neighbor’s backyard. She imagined it building its own home one day in one of those trees as she walked inside.
There is something very familiar about the bumpy cobblestone road pounding against my feet. I run, breaking into my second wind. I race up the stairs to a building that looks as tall as the empire state building, but even with my huge imagination, I know it’s a couple hundred feet lower. I lean over to catch my breath once I reach the roof and bend down onto my knees. I don’t know how long I sit perched on that roof, with the wind blowing through my dark blue hair and the salty taste of ocean breeze on my lips. After a while I hear footsteps behind me, I jerk my head around and my eyes widen.
She sat perched high above in the tree using the leaves to hide from the oncoming soldiers. From here she would make her stand. She loaded her bow taking aim at the lead soldier. To take him out would cause the most amount of damage since he organized the rest of them
perched up on a wall like an Eagle,
awaiting a moment where a worm snails by,
alas, the vicious bird realizes there’s no worms,
and laughs,
all the way to the bank,
to a decent island where the ocean water ranks,
and still laughing,
not pouting,
the eagle metamorphs into a hawk,
and there a group of worms, he sought!
jaw-clamping until he laughs out all the worms,
and to his fellow pigeons, a few, worms came.
the world diserves a verse that chuckles and bothers.
Atop the tree, the was light. Radiance, a star, beauty. Nobody saw, they were too preoccupied with the road cone, garish and orange, just below the perch.
The tiny blue bird sat upon it’s wooden perch that had twisted vines wrapping around it. The bird sang it’s sweet little song to an empty morning, preparing for it’s daily flight.
The bird perched on the window sill. It was free, unlike me, who was trapped in this prison of lies and secrets. The royal court was a battle field and I was a wounded soldier.
I sat on my porch swing, slowly swinging back and forth while looking across the street. I was watching her, but not in a creepy way. she knew I was there and she knew I was a people watcher and I would talk to her when or if I wanted. she was reading a book, How to Kill a Mockingbird. And she was perched in a big oak tree in her front yard. she looked like she could sit there for hours, and she did. and sometimes I would join her.
I perched on the hill. thinking of you. but what else can you be. but a bird. trying to eat me. gah! I’m a worm. fuck. don’t eat me bird. No! It can’t understand coherent speech nor do I have the anatomy to speak. Nor do I have the mind to think such though…guh guh ….lub lub…ech
And again the bird looks at me with hopeful eyes. And I stare into its soul with sorrow. What do you see that I don’t? What makes you fly even after being so comfortably perched on that branch?
I stare at it with gloomily. It returns the same, yet with hopeful eyes. It strikes me how it still wishes to fly, even after being so comfortably perched on that branch.
A fish you can sit on. A bird high above the world surveys everything below. A swing that takes people all the way up into the clouds, but then the momentum coming back down wraps them all the way around the frame.
She watched the bird flit from one tree to the other, sitting daintily on a branch. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind through the tall grass.
By Bridget Grace on 06.23.2017
She watched as the fat red squirrel perched on one of the branches of the oak tree, wishing that she could be as free as a bird or a squirrel, free to roam the world, without the millions of problems that she was drowning in.
By foxy on 06.23.2017
She watched as the fat red squirrel perched on one of the branches of the oak tree, wishing that she could be as free as a bird or a squirrel, free to roam the world, without the millions of problems that she would make her grave.
By foxy on 06.23.2017
The bird preched on the window seal, unaware of what was occuring between the few inches of glass seperating them. It was a bright, sunny day outside. Fluffy white clouds floated above heads
By Jessica on 06.23.2017
The messenger was perched atop a small tree that grew sheepishly from scattered patches of snow, its branches curving perfectly to form a natural love seat for anyone wishing to roost. She was wearing and a green coat and black gloves, and I could see a glint of silver as she allowed two very expensive-looking dice to dance around in her palm.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 06.23.2017
I guess I could tell you how I’m a flight risk. And how when it’s all said and done, you’ll be left wondering if what we had was ever even real. I could tell you that my mother taught me love is always conditional, nothing lasts. I could tell you that my father hasn’t shared his feelings with anyone since my mother walked away. That would mean weakness, and that’s a flaw. But I won’t, you see. Because in my eyes, it’s only about me. For now I will sit on this perch, waiting. I guess I could tell you how I’m a flight risk.
But I won’t.
By Corinneashleigh on 06.23.2017
She watched it fly off into the sky until it disappeared behind the trees of her neighbor’s backyard. She imagined it building its own home one day in one of those trees as she walked inside.
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By Annee on 06.23.2017
There is something very familiar about the bumpy cobblestone road pounding against my feet. I run, breaking into my second wind. I race up the stairs to a building that looks as tall as the empire state building, but even with my huge imagination, I know it’s a couple hundred feet lower. I lean over to catch my breath once I reach the roof and bend down onto my knees. I don’t know how long I sit perched on that roof, with the wind blowing through my dark blue hair and the salty taste of ocean breeze on my lips. After a while I hear footsteps behind me, I jerk my head around and my eyes widen.
By ✩ Abby ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ✩ on 06.23.2017
She sat perched high above in the tree using the leaves to hide from the oncoming soldiers. From here she would make her stand. She loaded her bow taking aim at the lead soldier. To take him out would cause the most amount of damage since he organized the rest of them
By Bethany Herrington on 06.23.2017
perched up on a wall like an Eagle,
awaiting a moment where a worm snails by,
alas, the vicious bird realizes there’s no worms,
and laughs,
all the way to the bank,
to a decent island where the ocean water ranks,
and still laughing,
not pouting,
the eagle metamorphs into a hawk,
and there a group of worms, he sought!
jaw-clamping until he laughs out all the worms,
and to his fellow pigeons, a few, worms came.
the world diserves a verse that chuckles and bothers.
By Milad URL on 06.23.2017
Atop the tree, the was light. Radiance, a star, beauty. Nobody saw, they were too preoccupied with the road cone, garish and orange, just below the perch.
By Amelia on 06.23.2017
The tiny blue bird sat upon it’s wooden perch that had twisted vines wrapping around it. The bird sang it’s sweet little song to an empty morning, preparing for it’s daily flight.
By Legacy Knight on 06.23.2017
The bird perched on the window sill. It was free, unlike me, who was trapped in this prison of lies and secrets. The royal court was a battle field and I was a wounded soldier.
By bealey on 06.23.2017
I sat on my porch swing, slowly swinging back and forth while looking across the street. I was watching her, but not in a creepy way. she knew I was there and she knew I was a people watcher and I would talk to her when or if I wanted. she was reading a book, How to Kill a Mockingbird. And she was perched in a big oak tree in her front yard. she looked like she could sit there for hours, and she did. and sometimes I would join her.
By sammy on 06.23.2017
No clue, is it what you call a parapet? what would be of the world without a perch? Creatures of the world, bow in front of it!
By smith on 06.23.2017
I perched on the hill. thinking of you. but what else can you be. but a bird. trying to eat me. gah! I’m a worm. fuck. don’t eat me bird. No! It can’t understand coherent speech nor do I have the anatomy to speak. Nor do I have the mind to think such though…guh guh ….lub lub…ech
By i❤computers URL on 06.23.2017
you are a bird
sticking your beak
in others’ lives
immersing yourself
in their wonders and woes
aware
yet still perched far away
By autumneyes on 06.23.2017
And again the bird looks at me with hopeful eyes. And I stare into its soul with sorrow. What do you see that I don’t? What makes you fly even after being so comfortably perched on that branch?
By pia on 06.23.2017
I stare at it with gloomily. It returns the same, yet with hopeful eyes. It strikes me how it still wishes to fly, even after being so comfortably perched on that branch.
By humanly on 06.23.2017
a bird sits on her perch
morning dew glistens her mother’s feathers
gold orange sun illuminate plumes
of a sitting duck below
By naomi on 06.24.2017
A fish you can sit on. A bird high above the world surveys everything below. A swing that takes people all the way up into the clouds, but then the momentum coming back down wraps them all the way around the frame.
By Hespa on 06.24.2017