I sit here captive, thinking, sometimes tapping, mentallly tearing my hair out. I wait, and I wait. Is it all I can do? I wish I could pack myself in a port and ship it off somewhere nice.
IT was supposed to be a port city… I didn’t see any port. Just the cars backed into the lake to get washed.
And it’s making me think of this film I’ve just seen, the end of the river, and realizing while watching it that my illusions of grandeur are gone. I am what I am, what I am made to be. Taken a bit easier with a glass of wine.
But not port.
Ports are places in which boats are docked. They are often extremely busy with many varrying types of people, all from many different cultures. A port can alos be on the side of a computer or a port where they sell small products. But, in general, one thinks of ships when presented with the word port. I know I personally do.
As I stood on the dock looking over the port I saw what I thought I’d never see again in all my days. He came back for me. Just like I’d always dreamt he would. My eyes fill with tears as he greets me with the warm embrace of his arms.
I think of Harry Potter and port keys. There was the triwizard cup and that old boot. Then I think of pork because it sounds similar. Porky Pig. The Port of Oregon. The ships in the port, some song by Owl City.
“I love you” He said, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. I closed my eyes and just leaned into it. He was shipping off that day for what was supposed to be a year. Last week I got the letter. My man is never coming home.
A place to sleep, to rest. A place for heavy hands and heavy feet and heavy heads. A place between places, offering transition from one state of existence to the next. A mariner turned terran once more.
They arrived at the port, ready to board whatever ship they got to first. They were ready to go anywhere, so long is it was away from here. They saw the sea, the openness that seemed to extend forever, and it was something they could not grasp. They would explore it; find the ends of this seamless forever. Or maybe they wouldn’t, instead they’d just keep searching with no end in sight.
port; could mean to a different world, were everything may be different than it is here, flying cars, wierd creatures, no such thing as love, but its not like it exsits on earth anyways, i mean, cmon lets go to the port and have the time of our lives
When I see the word port I think of Harry Potter and port keys. There was the triwizard cup and that old boot. Then I think of pork because it’s spelled similarly. Porky Pig. Isn’t there a port of Oregon or something? Is it a lake?
Ports. What about them huh? They were important some time in the 1500s when people actually had pride in owning ships but that was about it. When you think of a port you think of smelly old wooden hunk of shit that nobody cares about. Not like its necesarrily true, but yeah, thats what its like nowadays. I would take pride in my port if it was the 1500s and i just discovered the fucking world wasn’t flat. End of story.
She contorted her body into a work of art. I don’t recall ever seeing a young woman intentionally break her back for attention. (at least that’s what it looked like.) I couldn’t help but to stare.
there was a sailor that came into port and he was looking for some fun. no, he was looking for some trouble. he found both. there was a woman in a bar who was looking for a way out of her life. she found a sailor. she invited him upstairs after work. they were both found by a husband.
The wind nearly fell out of your body the day you forgot how to love me, and I just listened to the clever clicks of your tongue as you told me the bullshit I always wanted to hear. I built and jumped off that bridge a long time ago. Then this feeling springs up on me again and people like you are analyzing every word I say like it means something. I don’t mean a thing.
Today in Family and Consumer Science Class we made things called “port pillows” for cancer patients who have ports in their chests to help with seat belts. I’m not very good at sewing.
The shipping port was empty that dreadful morning. It was empty and it was quiet. I found his ship without trouble. He said it was the bright blue one near the edge of the dock. He was in a chair reading a book. I called his name and he smiled at me, a beautiful and fearless smile. I loved him. God I loved him so much and I knew I had so much left to love him with as well.
the boat was rolling through the tide as it approached the blue city. the sky was clear like the windshield of a brand new car and the air felt the same. leaning on the corner of the railing was a young man of average build, his arms behind his head and his eyes on the open sea behind him rather than the port city ahead.
In the musical Les Miserables, I was a sailor at the docks. I specifically remember in the book a christmas carol by charles dickinson that the two men going around collecting money for the charity to be portly. The fur trade was a great trading port.
I have no clue. Port. That’s where ships go. They sail all their lives, come home to their ports, and wait to be reincarnated into a new, exciting voyage.
it’s a place where planes land, or boats dock. it’s really a place where means of transportation meet in most cases i suppose. there’s places named after it too which is nice. it sounds sorta classy when used like that i think.
This is the third time this word has come up. No, not in this instance. But in my life. Port means so much. Portal. Portkey. Portion. All things that we live with. In the future. It’s how we travel. How we live our life. How we get from sector to sector. This is portal. That is portal. I am Portal.
The humid air smelled of salt water and fish. The sun kissed each and every boat in the large, crowded port and reflected itself on their shiny exteriors. Each boat had a story, each boat traveled to different parts of the ocean. But just as mysterious as she, the stories were kept a silent secret.
the ship sailed into the port, sails fully open. the light from the tower guided it to shore. the sailor was almost home. home to his wife and daughter. home where a warm meal was waiting for him.
Port. It had been a long time since he’d been in port. He’d actually never been in a port really. But for sure he’d though that he’d never be in a port with a giant robot in a crate. That wasn’t true either. It wasn’t a robot, more like a highly advanced combat suit that he had no idea how to control. Third lie’s the charm–he knew how a certain button fired one of the guns.
She stood on the dock, looking out over the gloomy waters. Despite the lack of sun, she still held her hand up to block out the light. She searched the horizon, waiting for his ship to come him. Waiting for love to bring him home. Waiting for the answer to the question she’d been asking for years. Waiting for her sailor.
it was a fine wine. one that she had never tasted before, she could taste it in the back of her nose, and she knew that she shouldn’t have more than the single glass in front of her. What is it she asked looking up at tom as he stood across from her behind the bar. its port he responded.
The port in the storm is now under siege. I thought it would last longer. I knew that it was too good to be true, but as time went on, I forgot about the fact that everything must come to an end. I hate to see it go. It was a haven for me in my best and worst times. I will miss it.
When I think of a port, I think of the Redondo Beach Pier in Redondo Beach California. I’ve always had really great memories of that place. The ships are all different colors and sizes and I always imagined mermaids swimming beneath them.
ship ports are very nice for porting your ships. airports are nice for taking you places and for landing planes that you’re on. when you land in a port, you’re usually getting back from or just arriving to a trip.if you teleport somewhere, you’ve got some pretty awesome powers and would you please share because that makes me happy. teleportation isa myth
When you see a loved one leave on a boat from port, you’re heart is broken. It feels like it will never be healed again…but then you meet that special someone.
To port is to stop. I have given you 2 ports, and you had no idea what to do with them. The next time you ask me to stop, I will have to keep on. Missed the boat, with amazing on it.
I’m on my way to the port, earlier this evening I got a letter from him saying to meet him there. My heart races and my nerves sore; every little movement causes me to jump. What if we get caught? What would my excuse be? I was no longer allowed to see him, so meeting secretly was the only way. The second I saw him leaning calmly against the wall I knew I was safe. My pace quickened and then turned into a run. I jumped into his arms and forgot about the world that was against us. I was finally home and that was worth every risk and consequence.
The sun had just barely began setting as the salt ridden waves crested the high end of the East-side port. It had been a warm, breezy day and the dusk that was beginning to follow, was beautifully similar.
I sit here captive, thinking, sometimes tapping, mentallly tearing my hair out. I wait, and I wait. Is it all I can do? I wish I could pack myself in a port and ship it off somewhere nice.
IT was supposed to be a port city… I didn’t see any port. Just the cars backed into the lake to get washed.
And it’s making me think of this film I’ve just seen, the end of the river, and realizing while watching it that my illusions of grandeur are gone. I am what I am, what I am made to be. Taken a bit easier with a glass of wine.
But not port.
Ports are places in which boats are docked. They are often extremely busy with many varrying types of people, all from many different cultures. A port can alos be on the side of a computer or a port where they sell small products. But, in general, one thinks of ships when presented with the word port. I know I personally do.
As I stood on the dock looking over the port I saw what I thought I’d never see again in all my days. He came back for me. Just like I’d always dreamt he would. My eyes fill with tears as he greets me with the warm embrace of his arms.
I think of Harry Potter and port keys. There was the triwizard cup and that old boot. Then I think of pork because it sounds similar. Porky Pig. The Port of Oregon. The ships in the port, some song by Owl City.
“I love you” He said, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. I closed my eyes and just leaned into it. He was shipping off that day for what was supposed to be a year. Last week I got the letter. My man is never coming home.
A place to sleep, to rest. A place for heavy hands and heavy feet and heavy heads. A place between places, offering transition from one state of existence to the next. A mariner turned terran once more.
I had a ship that I park into my port. The port was big.
They arrived at the port, ready to board whatever ship they got to first. They were ready to go anywhere, so long is it was away from here. They saw the sea, the openness that seemed to extend forever, and it was something they could not grasp. They would explore it; find the ends of this seamless forever. Or maybe they wouldn’t, instead they’d just keep searching with no end in sight.
port; could mean to a different world, were everything may be different than it is here, flying cars, wierd creatures, no such thing as love, but its not like it exsits on earth anyways, i mean, cmon lets go to the port and have the time of our lives
When I see the word port I think of Harry Potter and port keys. There was the triwizard cup and that old boot. Then I think of pork because it’s spelled similarly. Porky Pig. Isn’t there a port of Oregon or something? Is it a lake?
Ports. What about them huh? They were important some time in the 1500s when people actually had pride in owning ships but that was about it. When you think of a port you think of smelly old wooden hunk of shit that nobody cares about. Not like its necesarrily true, but yeah, thats what its like nowadays. I would take pride in my port if it was the 1500s and i just discovered the fucking world wasn’t flat. End of story.
sometimes I look out my window and wonder when you’ll be back.
the sun sets below the water and I imagine it’s rising wherever you are
it takes a lot out of a woman to spend her days looking for ships on the horizon
especially when she knows they’re not coming
blue and white everything, knotted white ropes, polished wood and brass
the smell of the sea
the blue-green agate
I don’t have a god
I pray to Poseidon
I scan the skies for sails.
I want to be washed out to sea.
bent over letting fistfuls of sand pour through my fingertips
curled up
high tide
waiting
but I know once that salty tongue licks my toes and body and face
I’ll rise up and walk away
you once told me, but that’s exactly what I’ll do
get up, walk away, never look back
this is not something I can explain
the passionate, searing love or the cold, biting hate
colder than the freezing Atlantic as it pounds over a body
that couldn’t wait any longer.
She contorted her body into a work of art. I don’t recall ever seeing a young woman intentionally break her back for attention. (at least that’s what it looked like.) I couldn’t help but to stare.
there was a sailor that came into port and he was looking for some fun. no, he was looking for some trouble. he found both. there was a woman in a bar who was looking for a way out of her life. she found a sailor. she invited him upstairs after work. they were both found by a husband.
The wind nearly fell out of your body the day you forgot how to love me, and I just listened to the clever clicks of your tongue as you told me the bullshit I always wanted to hear. I built and jumped off that bridge a long time ago. Then this feeling springs up on me again and people like you are analyzing every word I say like it means something. I don’t mean a thing.
The source of adventure,
where earth and water mix.
People from many lands.
Traveling.
she was standing by the port then she realized he was never coming back again, so she standed up and moved on
Today in Family and Consumer Science Class we made things called “port pillows” for cancer patients who have ports in their chests to help with seat belts. I’m not very good at sewing.
The shipping port was empty that dreadful morning. It was empty and it was quiet. I found his ship without trouble. He said it was the bright blue one near the edge of the dock. He was in a chair reading a book. I called his name and he smiled at me, a beautiful and fearless smile. I loved him. God I loved him so much and I knew I had so much left to love him with as well.
port poured preciously over portobello mushrooms
In port the world was lost. no life was ever gained. pirates will just never be the same. God save the world and the freedom we once had.
the boat was rolling through the tide as it approached the blue city. the sky was clear like the windshield of a brand new car and the air felt the same. leaning on the corner of the railing was a young man of average build, his arms behind his head and his eyes on the open sea behind him rather than the port city ahead.
In the musical Les Miserables, I was a sailor at the docks. I specifically remember in the book a christmas carol by charles dickinson that the two men going around collecting money for the charity to be portly. The fur trade was a great trading port.
I have no clue. Port. That’s where ships go. They sail all their lives, come home to their ports, and wait to be reincarnated into a new, exciting voyage.
Port.
it’s a place where planes land, or boats dock. it’s really a place where means of transportation meet in most cases i suppose. there’s places named after it too which is nice. it sounds sorta classy when used like that i think.
This is the third time this word has come up. No, not in this instance. But in my life. Port means so much. Portal. Portkey. Portion. All things that we live with. In the future. It’s how we travel. How we live our life. How we get from sector to sector. This is portal. That is portal. I am Portal.
far from port we see the land and hope never to return, we turn sail and leave. Happy blue infinity.
The humid air smelled of salt water and fish. The sun kissed each and every boat in the large, crowded port and reflected itself on their shiny exteriors. Each boat had a story, each boat traveled to different parts of the ocean. But just as mysterious as she, the stories were kept a silent secret.
the ship sailed into the port, sails fully open. the light from the tower guided it to shore. the sailor was almost home. home to his wife and daughter. home where a warm meal was waiting for him.
Port. It had been a long time since he’d been in port. He’d actually never been in a port really. But for sure he’d though that he’d never be in a port with a giant robot in a crate. That wasn’t true either. It wasn’t a robot, more like a highly advanced combat suit that he had no idea how to control. Third lie’s the charm–he knew how a certain button fired one of the guns.
She stood on the dock, looking out over the gloomy waters. Despite the lack of sun, she still held her hand up to block out the light. She searched the horizon, waiting for his ship to come him. Waiting for love to bring him home. Waiting for the answer to the question she’d been asking for years. Waiting for her sailor.
it was a fine wine. one that she had never tasted before, she could taste it in the back of her nose, and she knew that she shouldn’t have more than the single glass in front of her. What is it she asked looking up at tom as he stood across from her behind the bar. its port he responded.
The port in the storm is now under siege. I thought it would last longer. I knew that it was too good to be true, but as time went on, I forgot about the fact that everything must come to an end. I hate to see it go. It was a haven for me in my best and worst times. I will miss it.
When I think of a port, I think of the Redondo Beach Pier in Redondo Beach California. I’ve always had really great memories of that place. The ships are all different colors and sizes and I always imagined mermaids swimming beneath them.
ship ports are very nice for porting your ships. airports are nice for taking you places and for landing planes that you’re on. when you land in a port, you’re usually getting back from or just arriving to a trip.if you teleport somewhere, you’ve got some pretty awesome powers and would you please share because that makes me happy. teleportation isa myth
When you see a loved one leave on a boat from port, you’re heart is broken. It feels like it will never be healed again…but then you meet that special someone.
To port is to stop. I have given you 2 ports, and you had no idea what to do with them. The next time you ask me to stop, I will have to keep on. Missed the boat, with amazing on it.
I’m on my way to the port, earlier this evening I got a letter from him saying to meet him there. My heart races and my nerves sore; every little movement causes me to jump. What if we get caught? What would my excuse be? I was no longer allowed to see him, so meeting secretly was the only way. The second I saw him leaning calmly against the wall I knew I was safe. My pace quickened and then turned into a run. I jumped into his arms and forgot about the world that was against us. I was finally home and that was worth every risk and consequence.
The sun had just barely began setting as the salt ridden waves crested the high end of the East-side port. It had been a warm, breezy day and the dusk that was beginning to follow, was beautifully similar.