The pixie jumped from rafter to rafter, giggling maliciously.
“Give me back my Wallet!” I yelled. “You’re gonna make me late to work.”
She jumped down and scrambled just beyond my fingers.
Rafters stretch across theceiling – holding things up, stabilizing, and strengthening. Beams of support that can also sparkle with Christmas lights and carry greenery winding around a holiday room. Always above. Always holding up. Always building up. Rafters.
The rafters on the roof, was the only things left on our home when the hurricane pass over . Never have we seen so much destruction sine hurricane Janet in 1955.
A broken, moldy rafter protruding from the ceiling probably isn’t the best thing to swing about on, but Elijah is doing it regardless. “Do you think I can climb to the top of the barn on this, Dylan? I bet you I can!”
“I didn’t even say you couldn’t,” Dylan strikes a match and flinches. “Ouch. Shit, I skinned myself on that one.”
“You did what?” Elijah is halfway up the rafter, hands smudged with grease and moss, the knees of his trousers stained beyond hope. “I’ll have a good laugh up on the roof, just give me a minute.”
Dylan, having just realized exactly how high up Elijah is, shrieks. “You idiot! Your mum is gonna have both our heads when she finds out you ruined your damn pants-”
The rafter creaks, long and low, and Elijah freezes. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Help me down?”
Rafting is a very fun thing to do. It involves boats. And oars. And a really wild river. I’d like to try it sometime, that is, if my fear doesnt catch up to me first. I think it is really adventurous and are for people who are wild-hearted, free-spirited and, simply, fun.
holding the structure together; binding foundation to roof top; clips strengthen it for hurricane force winds and rain; strong rafters atop the home; nothing can destroy this house;
What are rafters? Even I don’t know, are they a thing? A person? Something that used to be a person? However, I do believe, in my new found clarity of mind, that they are some form of seats, seats for many. Used in events that are meant to accommodate large numbers of people. I may, however, be entirely wrong in my thought.
Oh those rafters, how they float and fill and ring—How the particles in the air dance around them, flirtatiously, daringly. How dangerously high and old and damp and sometimes clotted with dust, until the owls come in the night, their landing perches erupting clouds.
In the rafters, two lovebirds sat looking down at parishioners, giving Mrs. Bubbles a scare. Delicate was her soft pink hat, suddenly dotted yellow-white.
But the birds could not help it much. When nature called them they listened.
Regardless what the missus thought
down by the shoreline the boy and the girl sat at the edge of the woods outside the cabin, warmth, the fire, and everything behind them. they got up to watch the sunrise, streaks over the water, looking on at the void itself. there are two boats propped up like paper cutouts against the sky. we have been running like this forever.
The rafters buckle, sending splinters of wood shooting like spears towards where we lay, huddled beneath what remains of the dining room table. The old wood groans, the heat and the weight too much, and we both know it’s going to collapse only moments before it does.
The rafters of the roof creaked. I straightened up in my bed, blinking away the sleep. I looked out the window, only to see the shining of the streetlights. A shadow passed over the window. “Casper…?” I murmured. And there he was, his paws gently tapping the window to be let in.
The flames were fast moving she though as she looked up and saw the rafter falling down towards her. Her daughters looked on trapped outside by the flames which were leaping at them They could see their mother lying on the ground trapped by the rafters that had fallen. The flames were dancing across the ground, spreading on the hay quickly. As her daughters continued to try to get in the barn to help their mother the flames kept swatting them bacj as if they were annoying flies.
Hearty supports above my head a
roof some shingles and my life
a tirckle of lifelike dreams
susupended above in solid reality
a support that keeps me safe and
dry while my thoughts retire to endless sky
I’d pull her down, but it’s not worth the effort. I’m a cynic, but I suppose I’m not that much of an asshole. It’s the first good news she’s had in weeks and I shouldn’t ruin it for her. It’s going to hurt when she inevitably falls, but for now she’s happy.
the monkeys hang from the rafters. My mother always said in a moment of frustration that she would hang us from the rafters if we didn’t straighten up. What are rafters anyway? Are they the same thing as joists? I have always heard the word, but never really looked it up.
I was home alone with my baby brother playing on our backyard river. It was until I saw a mysterious group on a raft called the Rafters. Being a enquiring young man as I am I decided to approach them which I soon regretted. I instantly knew they were on our property so i grabbed my tennis ball launcher and launched them at the Rafters. One down two to go. Unexpectedly they hauled a grenade launcher from their raft floor. BANG!! It smacked my 2 year old brothers head. Surprisingly he survived. Ferocity took over him as he lifted my one and only rocket launcher. Click went the trigger. And that was the end of the Rafters life.
It wasn’t until she swung down, knees crossed around the wooden plank above the tavern mainhall to keep her from falling on her head, sword in one hand while the other pulsed with blue light, that the yelling started. Everyone tried to get away at once– she even saw one crash backward through a window before the first challenger gathered his wits.
Up in the rafters they hid. I heard them every night. screeching.. howling… I couldn’t understand it. Finally on the fifth night they stopped. Mum came into my room to wake me up, it wasn’t like me to sleep in. As soon as she turned me over she smiled. my skin had sunken into my head and my mouth was stuck in a constant smile. “Just like your father” she says with that same happy grin.
rafters,
are what crafters
decide to make
like piece of cake
but donna worry
little lorry
rafters
are what crafters
decide to make
like a piece of cake.
i think rafters are something, im not sure they remind me of the water and that reminds me of boats and such and the beautiful sunset which only is there for a while i dont know, i enjoy going to the lake or something, maybe rafters have nothing to do with the water? i have no clue what im writing i think they seem important though maybe they are just little floaty things that arent that important. thats ok.
So high in the air, lifting providing support for all that falls upon it. How can it offer such strength when they are mere timbers faceted, anchored only to each other, simple, because they work together.
“You’ve come to the wrong place, boy,” the man says, picking up a hammer.
“What? You are the rafters, aren’t you? You’ll travel to Long Island.” He walks in a circle, opening and closing his mouth. “Going away from this place.” His eyes beg.
The man glances at him with disbelief. He scoffs and drops his gaze. “No.”
they hung there, by rainbow strings. noosed around their necks, the stuffed dragons shook in the breeze. the girl laughed- she got some sick enjoyment from watching them dangle.
We would play hide and seek when we were younger. The cute boy hid up in the rafters of the pavilion, so I, the klutz, tried to follow him. I had to climb on top the step and try to pull myself up, and I fell. Everyone laughed
the endless clothing and stuffed animals piled on top of one another just waiting to be taken down and looked through once again. memories have been preserved in these bags and my family will never take them away, just so that they have those memories forever.
I’m up to the rafters with thanksgiving and grateful nest that the site didn’t bring up the word “misspelled” and no room to write anything because it was like that for at least one week and I would come here everyday and try to write but there was nowhere to write. I’m so glad that it’s fixed. I’m up in the rafters with happiness. That’s a fact, Jack.
My feet hung from the rafters and I looked down. There was Scott, there was Elizabeth, there was…I looked up. We had been meeting here for three weeks now, talking and smoking and deciding how we would do it.
It wasn’t something that he told people about. It wasn’t something that would ever come up in conversation, really.
Until Orihime – the woman, not Orihime – until the woman tilted her head, and asked innocently, “If your resurreccion is a bat, then do you hang upside down?”
Rafters are above my head in the barn where I grew up. They are wood frames underneath a metal roof. My thoughts are always there up in the rafters high above the chaos of my life. I long to be in the air.
WHOOSH! we went plunging down the river bed in a bundle of rafters that assembled into a boat, covering the green slimy looking river-bed water was logs of long thick wood, rapped around by bands of rope! I looked over at John, “EEEEKKKKKKK”, I shrieked with a joyous gesticulation that my soul no longer could bare to hold in. He looked back at me, seemingly he appeared to be thinking he was flying faster than he really was, raising his arms in the air like he was on a theme park ride. I reciprocated his stark happiness, not because I was under the foolish impression that I was zooming at an unpalpable speed–face it were in a river bed. I spawned the excitement to the concrete sloping steeps of leaning upward, “whooooooooooooooooo. We live again! We FUCKING live again”. I myself became enamored at the engineering of the raft we built, rather than the unjust and outright glee John infused himself with! After a gasp of silence surrounded us, we both steered our heads forward at the end of the riverbed. To see the end of the riverbed–a place our aptitude’s did not predict, a rafter plugged our happiness to a clogged-close!
keeping me afloat, in the drowning waters ranging deeper than the bottomless pits of the ocean,
the rafters roof me with sturdy timbers of wood, or the like,
when overflowed by the rupturing waves of tsunami water,
which is caused by the overzealous emotions that I cannot control,
thump!
my head bunks against the rafters impeding me from leaving my palpable world,
hither me if you may, reluctant being who crazes their own satisfaction over mine,
my bubble will not burst because your poking at it,
a mere soap and water comprise you think, it may appear,
the bubble looks transparent, but in reality it is made of iron!
clump!
your destined finger again tries to poke through my bubble,
I stay resistant because it stays me at happy!
one wondrous memory makes up for several dreadful memories!
To a stage of off-land voyages we go!
because staying in the lands that we know, that we think often,
are finite–frankly the destruction of our expanding pilgrims we puppet!
Kerry dangled from one of the rafters, one hand gripping the wood and the other waving as her brother as he stared at her, a hammer swaying limply between his fingers. The barn was almost complete, and there was his thirteen-year-old sister, scaling the ceiling like a monkey and cackling at those workers who were trying to concentrate on sawing and drilling.
“She’s one hell of a kid, isn’t she?” asked her brother’s boss, laughing as Kerry propelled herself to another, steadier beam.
Our camp mess hall was like a big large wooden barn. Lots of long tables…. counselor would get food at the head of the table, and serve, and plates/bowls would be passed down the table. At some point there would be camp songs… I don’t remember exactly how or when or why these started during meals, but people were very enthusiastic.
The pixie jumped from rafter to rafter, giggling maliciously.
“Give me back my Wallet!” I yelled. “You’re gonna make me late to work.”
She jumped down and scrambled just beyond my fingers.
David was sitting on the rafters. He could here Eve and Mike chatting. He made the joke about Eves-dropping in his head.
Rafters stretch across theceiling – holding things up, stabilizing, and strengthening. Beams of support that can also sparkle with Christmas lights and carry greenery winding around a holiday room. Always above. Always holding up. Always building up. Rafters.
dfisofjdosifhiuagiudadsfhusjkdjasdjkasdjasdhasdhasdhas adhasdhajsdh asdhasjkdhasd asjkdhasjdhas asjdhakjsdhasjkhd asdjhasdhasjk asjdhasjdh
swinging from the rafters
hanging
like a monkey moving from one tree to the next
he’s an idiot
The rafters on the roof, was the only things left on our home when the hurricane pass over . Never have we seen so much destruction sine hurricane Janet in 1955.
A broken, moldy rafter protruding from the ceiling probably isn’t the best thing to swing about on, but Elijah is doing it regardless. “Do you think I can climb to the top of the barn on this, Dylan? I bet you I can!”
“I didn’t even say you couldn’t,” Dylan strikes a match and flinches. “Ouch. Shit, I skinned myself on that one.”
“You did what?” Elijah is halfway up the rafter, hands smudged with grease and moss, the knees of his trousers stained beyond hope. “I’ll have a good laugh up on the roof, just give me a minute.”
Dylan, having just realized exactly how high up Elijah is, shrieks. “You idiot! Your mum is gonna have both our heads when she finds out you ruined your damn pants-”
The rafter creaks, long and low, and Elijah freezes. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Help me down?”
“Idiot!”
Rafting is a very fun thing to do. It involves boats. And oars. And a really wild river. I’d like to try it sometime, that is, if my fear doesnt catch up to me first. I think it is really adventurous and are for people who are wild-hearted, free-spirited and, simply, fun.
holding the structure together; binding foundation to roof top; clips strengthen it for hurricane force winds and rain; strong rafters atop the home; nothing can destroy this house;
What are rafters? Even I don’t know, are they a thing? A person? Something that used to be a person? However, I do believe, in my new found clarity of mind, that they are some form of seats, seats for many. Used in events that are meant to accommodate large numbers of people. I may, however, be entirely wrong in my thought.
Oh those rafters, how they float and fill and ring—How the particles in the air dance around them, flirtatiously, daringly. How dangerously high and old and damp and sometimes clotted with dust, until the owls come in the night, their landing perches erupting clouds.
In the rafters, two lovebirds sat looking down at parishioners, giving Mrs. Bubbles a scare. Delicate was her soft pink hat, suddenly dotted yellow-white.
But the birds could not help it much. When nature called them they listened.
Regardless what the missus thought
down by the shoreline the boy and the girl sat at the edge of the woods outside the cabin, warmth, the fire, and everything behind them. they got up to watch the sunrise, streaks over the water, looking on at the void itself. there are two boats propped up like paper cutouts against the sky. we have been running like this forever.
The rafters buckle, sending splinters of wood shooting like spears towards where we lay, huddled beneath what remains of the dining room table. The old wood groans, the heat and the weight too much, and we both know it’s going to collapse only moments before it does.
The rafters of the roof creaked. I straightened up in my bed, blinking away the sleep. I looked out the window, only to see the shining of the streetlights. A shadow passed over the window. “Casper…?” I murmured. And there he was, his paws gently tapping the window to be let in.
The flames were fast moving she though as she looked up and saw the rafter falling down towards her. Her daughters looked on trapped outside by the flames which were leaping at them They could see their mother lying on the ground trapped by the rafters that had fallen. The flames were dancing across the ground, spreading on the hay quickly. As her daughters continued to try to get in the barn to help their mother the flames kept swatting them bacj as if they were annoying flies.
Hearty supports above my head a
roof some shingles and my life
a tirckle of lifelike dreams
susupended above in solid reality
a support that keeps me safe and
dry while my thoughts retire to endless sky
She’s high above the rafters.
I’d pull her down, but it’s not worth the effort. I’m a cynic, but I suppose I’m not that much of an asshole. It’s the first good news she’s had in weeks and I shouldn’t ruin it for her. It’s going to hurt when she inevitably falls, but for now she’s happy.
the monkeys hang from the rafters. My mother always said in a moment of frustration that she would hang us from the rafters if we didn’t straighten up. What are rafters anyway? Are they the same thing as joists? I have always heard the word, but never really looked it up.
I was home alone with my baby brother playing on our backyard river. It was until I saw a mysterious group on a raft called the Rafters. Being a enquiring young man as I am I decided to approach them which I soon regretted. I instantly knew they were on our property so i grabbed my tennis ball launcher and launched them at the Rafters. One down two to go. Unexpectedly they hauled a grenade launcher from their raft floor. BANG!! It smacked my 2 year old brothers head. Surprisingly he survived. Ferocity took over him as he lifted my one and only rocket launcher. Click went the trigger. And that was the end of the Rafters life.
It wasn’t until she swung down, knees crossed around the wooden plank above the tavern mainhall to keep her from falling on her head, sword in one hand while the other pulsed with blue light, that the yelling started. Everyone tried to get away at once– she even saw one crash backward through a window before the first challenger gathered his wits.
as the rafters shook i lay down for the last time on the nail ridden bed and went to sleep
Up in the rafters they hid. I heard them every night. screeching.. howling… I couldn’t understand it. Finally on the fifth night they stopped. Mum came into my room to wake me up, it wasn’t like me to sleep in. As soon as she turned me over she smiled. my skin had sunken into my head and my mouth was stuck in a constant smile. “Just like your father” she says with that same happy grin.
rafters,
are what crafters
decide to make
like piece of cake
but donna worry
little lorry
rafters
are what crafters
decide to make
like a piece of cake.
i think rafters are something, im not sure they remind me of the water and that reminds me of boats and such and the beautiful sunset which only is there for a while i dont know, i enjoy going to the lake or something, maybe rafters have nothing to do with the water? i have no clue what im writing i think they seem important though maybe they are just little floaty things that arent that important. thats ok.
rafters.i dunno what it means.its looks like cholomon.
cholomon, nek minit, no more cholomon
and eat a pie.
So high in the air, lifting providing support for all that falls upon it. How can it offer such strength when they are mere timbers faceted, anchored only to each other, simple, because they work together.
“You’ve come to the wrong place, boy,” the man says, picking up a hammer.
“What? You are the rafters, aren’t you? You’ll travel to Long Island.” He walks in a circle, opening and closing his mouth. “Going away from this place.” His eyes beg.
The man glances at him with disbelief. He scoffs and drops his gaze. “No.”
they hung there, by rainbow strings. noosed around their necks, the stuffed dragons shook in the breeze. the girl laughed- she got some sick enjoyment from watching them dangle.
We would play hide and seek when we were younger. The cute boy hid up in the rafters of the pavilion, so I, the klutz, tried to follow him. I had to climb on top the step and try to pull myself up, and I fell. Everyone laughed
the endless clothing and stuffed animals piled on top of one another just waiting to be taken down and looked through once again. memories have been preserved in these bags and my family will never take them away, just so that they have those memories forever.
I’m up to the rafters with thanksgiving and grateful nest that the site didn’t bring up the word “misspelled” and no room to write anything because it was like that for at least one week and I would come here everyday and try to write but there was nowhere to write. I’m so glad that it’s fixed. I’m up in the rafters with happiness. That’s a fact, Jack.
My feet hung from the rafters and I looked down. There was Scott, there was Elizabeth, there was…I looked up. We had been meeting here for three weeks now, talking and smoking and deciding how we would do it.
Ulquiorra liked to hang from the rafters.
It wasn’t something that he told people about. It wasn’t something that would ever come up in conversation, really.
Until Orihime – the woman, not Orihime – until the woman tilted her head, and asked innocently, “If your resurreccion is a bat, then do you hang upside down?”
Rafters are above my head in the barn where I grew up. They are wood frames underneath a metal roof. My thoughts are always there up in the rafters high above the chaos of my life. I long to be in the air.
WHOOSH! we went plunging down the river bed in a bundle of rafters that assembled into a boat, covering the green slimy looking river-bed water was logs of long thick wood, rapped around by bands of rope! I looked over at John, “EEEEKKKKKKK”, I shrieked with a joyous gesticulation that my soul no longer could bare to hold in. He looked back at me, seemingly he appeared to be thinking he was flying faster than he really was, raising his arms in the air like he was on a theme park ride. I reciprocated his stark happiness, not because I was under the foolish impression that I was zooming at an unpalpable speed–face it were in a river bed. I spawned the excitement to the concrete sloping steeps of leaning upward, “whooooooooooooooooo. We live again! We FUCKING live again”. I myself became enamored at the engineering of the raft we built, rather than the unjust and outright glee John infused himself with! After a gasp of silence surrounded us, we both steered our heads forward at the end of the riverbed. To see the end of the riverbed–a place our aptitude’s did not predict, a rafter plugged our happiness to a clogged-close!
keeping me afloat, in the drowning waters ranging deeper than the bottomless pits of the ocean,
the rafters roof me with sturdy timbers of wood, or the like,
when overflowed by the rupturing waves of tsunami water,
which is caused by the overzealous emotions that I cannot control,
thump!
my head bunks against the rafters impeding me from leaving my palpable world,
hither me if you may, reluctant being who crazes their own satisfaction over mine,
my bubble will not burst because your poking at it,
a mere soap and water comprise you think, it may appear,
the bubble looks transparent, but in reality it is made of iron!
clump!
your destined finger again tries to poke through my bubble,
I stay resistant because it stays me at happy!
one wondrous memory makes up for several dreadful memories!
To a stage of off-land voyages we go!
because staying in the lands that we know, that we think often,
are finite–frankly the destruction of our expanding pilgrims we puppet!
Kerry dangled from one of the rafters, one hand gripping the wood and the other waving as her brother as he stared at her, a hammer swaying limply between his fingers. The barn was almost complete, and there was his thirteen-year-old sister, scaling the ceiling like a monkey and cackling at those workers who were trying to concentrate on sawing and drilling.
“She’s one hell of a kid, isn’t she?” asked her brother’s boss, laughing as Kerry propelled herself to another, steadier beam.
rafters
camp.
Our camp mess hall was like a big large wooden barn. Lots of long tables…. counselor would get food at the head of the table, and serve, and plates/bowls would be passed down the table. At some point there would be camp songs… I don’t remember exactly how or when or why these started during meals, but people were very enthusiastic.
She finally saw
After hours of searching
The fluttering
In this cathedral
Perfection in a place
Of worship
She watched the bird
Caught up, praying even
In the rafters
Trying to escape
He was braver than she