The class seemed to stretch on for hours upon hours, and, as intrigued as Maria was by the history of the European Union, she was far more focused on the incessant rumbling of her stomach. She hadn’t ate anything since last night, and that had been a meager dinner of yellow rice that she had managed to cook for her and Luz, her little sister, while her mother was off at her night shift at Kindred Hospital and her father was toiling at his job at the local mechanic. Lunch was next period, with only twelve minutes left until the bell rang, but, damn, twelve minutes lasted a lifetime when you were starving.
She resisted the urge to drift off atop her battered blue notebook. She had only slept four hours last night, and that, somehow, was the most sleep she’d gotten all week. She had been up all night, working on dozens of different things — her Berkeley and NYU and UCLA and UCSD and USC and BC and BU applications, her AP Calc homework, her essay on symbolism in The Picture of Dorian Gray for AP Lit, her AP Euro DBQ, and, somehow, her eight-year-old sister’s multiplication problems. She just couldn’t resist. Luz would flash those puppy-dog eyes and that sweet smile, and she’d be a total goner.
I feel a rumble in my chest, but this time I know it’s coming from the frustration that this is the same word as yesterday. “Yar-har-har,” is what’s in my heart about it. I don’t know where that came from but there it is. Yar-har-fuckidy-fucking-har.
The house rumbled. I knew that was unusual. That was when it all happened. The apartments beside us started crumbling down and fear struck me like a 2000 ton sledgehammer. If only I had noticed the rumble before.
We’re gonna rumble boys, got this energy gonna explode, like the thunder rolling in the distance, right above those factories belching smoke into the red sunset, august evening, summer too fast, fall already in the air.
He liked the way his feet dangled precariously over the terracotta tiles of his favourite all-you-can-eat station, the underside of his knees glued to the edge of the cushioned seat with wooden arms that transported him to a fantasy of being in an ’80s luxury bed n’ breakfast, a continental meal after a swingin’ time at the bar the night before. The clouds were about to roll in (his utensils at the ready), and the impending storm would make a sound distraction (upon his belly).
A great rumble shook the earth. Buildings started crumbling. I heard people screaming. An awful grinding sound filled the air. I could hear pounding feet everywhere, but I was rooted to the spot. People were pushing a shoving, trampling each other in their haste to get away. I still couldn’t move, but someone pushed me along, helping me. A chunk of rock hit my arm. A sharp pain filled my body, and now I heard myself screaming. I fell to the ground, covering my head with my hands. The ground continued to shake.
The cars rumbled on down the road
The rumble of thunder overhead gave me a fright
Her low rumble was reminiscent of a dog’s
The rumble of a fast approaching train
and roll, the earth alive
tumbling in waves, an ocean of green and brown,
mud spilling up around exposed roots,
worms writhing, branches falling, birds screaming, we run for cover —
rumble
and roll, the earth awake
the sun blotted out by the black of the sky,
and who knows where we are going, who knows where we’ve come —
we’ll roar,
heads thrown back eyes shut tight, teeth bared —
ROAR
roar and rumble
rumble and roll
the earth beneath our feet moving, shaking, unsteady,
the only way we know it.
My stomach rumbles. Thunder rumbles before it roars. The Jets and the Sharks had a rumble.
This is all so different from ramble. I ramble in the woods. I ramble whenever I talk, tangent, tangent tangent. Why not sign/sine. What’s the third one ? Here I am, rumbling and rambling, through the brambles. What brambles? The brambles of life.
The Rumble in the Jungle was one of the greatest comebacks of all time in mine and many other boxing fans’ opinions, I’m sure… Ali said it was all a strategy, a strategy called ‘rope-a-dope’ but he rope-and-got his ass kicked for eight rounds or something, too… But everyone else Foreman hit he destroyed, and that wasn’t even prime Ali man, he would have gotten smoked by Cassius-era Ali.
this is the sound her stomach makes
a low rumble
the revving of an engine,
preparing for the most mundane of races
a lower level event
with acid and old banana and a bit of popcorn
this the sound we all make
agitating for the same old same
agitating for change
i do the bare mimumum
to call myself human
get it, gut punch
seesawed like a child
indoxicated by the dreams
my humble wish is for you to be
happy
for the participants of this life
to see normal, unlike you are
we tumble
my stomach rumbles
it’s so draining
why do we go all the way
when we can’t help but decay
Let’s get ready to…talk. I’d like to know how you’re feeling. I’d like you to release whatever is bubbling beneath the surface of your thoughts. I can see that torment in your eyes. Looking at pictures of yourself…you never seem to be happy.
He heard the rumbling before he saw the truck, so he was able to jump out of the way just in time at the rickety red pick-up rolled onto the gravel driveway. Once the dust had literally settled, he heard the jingling of spurs as the brown toes of worn down cowboy boots emerged from the driver’s side. Deputy Sheriff Teresa Hawley, dark-haired and freckled, hopped down to the ground with a slight grunt, then pushed the brim of her hat up and grinned.
“Let’s get ready to ruumbbbbblllee,” I heard from a distance. The rumbling of what seemed to be thousands of boots against hard, dusty clay, accompanied by that all-too-familiar war cry, made me wonder what in the world could be coming my way.
A rumbling from the jungle emerged and Barbara and Patricia stepped out of their tents. Only the smell of exhaust and the hazy fog that they had come to expect were anywhere in sight; but then, what was the source of the noise? The two of them ran around their tents and even clambered up trees trying to get a better view, feeling silly and self-conscious but knowing that this was the only way they could ensure their survival.
Sometimes when the trains go by, filled with coal and sound and shaking, I think of that scene from The Phantom Menace when Qui Gonn says to Jar Jar “that is the sound of a thousand terrible things coming our way.” But the kids love it; they run to the top of the playground and hold on tight and lean forward, wanting to touch it.
The ominous rumble from the sky threatened her. She ran on, into the forest, hoping she would be safe there, at least from the rain or the hail. The weather was not as friendly as on the mild spring day on which she had set out for her adventure.
The rumble from inside the mountain was enough to make the fighting stop. Warriors from both sides turned, shocked, to see the mountain shake above them.
He felt it inside the pit of his stomach, the rumble of anxiety and fear that always manifested whenever he was forced to face the audience. But this time…this time he would be ready to show the naysayers everything he had within him. He was about to unleash a level of ferociousness that would leave them dumbfounded.
I think the word rumble means to move about. I have heard of a rumble seat in old fashioned cars. It moves some I guess. I also know that I have heard the term rumbling around.
I feel a rumbling in my chest. I know, I know, that’s not where a bodily rumble is supposed to come from and should probably “consult my physician” or whatever. The point is: I have a rumble in my chest and it makes me want to do unruly things. To that man. And not good unruly, either.
A “rumble” is something that only existed back when street gangs still had the guts for real criminal violence. You never hear about true gang fights anymore because everyone just shoots each other when they aren’t looking. The average thug nowadays doesn’t have the stomach for hand to hand combat so soccer hooligans have cornered the market on the one thing that made the thug life cool.
She felt the ground move beneath her feet as the train pulled past her into the station. The force of the wind following it knocked her hat off, but she deftly caught it with one hand as she clutched her purse to her. Finally, everything came to a still.
I am trying to think of the correct meaning of this word. Racking my brains for it while looking at the timer. I should have taking writing a little more, no, a lot more seriously while at school. I will stop for now.
The class seemed to stretch on for hours upon hours, and, as intrigued as Maria was by the history of the European Union, she was far more focused on the incessant rumbling of her stomach. She hadn’t ate anything since last night, and that had been a meager dinner of yellow rice that she had managed to cook for her and Luz, her little sister, while her mother was off at her night shift at Kindred Hospital and her father was toiling at his job at the local mechanic. Lunch was next period, with only twelve minutes left until the bell rang, but, damn, twelve minutes lasted a lifetime when you were starving.
She resisted the urge to drift off atop her battered blue notebook. She had only slept four hours last night, and that, somehow, was the most sleep she’d gotten all week. She had been up all night, working on dozens of different things — her Berkeley and NYU and UCLA and UCSD and USC and BC and BU applications, her AP Calc homework, her essay on symbolism in The Picture of Dorian Gray for AP Lit, her AP Euro DBQ, and, somehow, her eight-year-old sister’s multiplication problems. She just couldn’t resist. Luz would flash those puppy-dog eyes and that sweet smile, and she’d be a total goner.
I feel a rumble in my chest, but this time I know it’s coming from the frustration that this is the same word as yesterday. “Yar-har-har,” is what’s in my heart about it. I don’t know where that came from but there it is. Yar-har-fuckidy-fucking-har.
The house rumbled. I knew that was unusual. That was when it all happened. The apartments beside us started crumbling down and fear struck me like a 2000 ton sledgehammer. If only I had noticed the rumble before.
trovão, musica, algo que faz muito barulho
We’re gonna rumble boys, got this energy gonna explode, like the thunder rolling in the distance, right above those factories belching smoke into the red sunset, august evening, summer too fast, fall already in the air.
“Are you ready to rumble?” the announcer yelled.
He liked the way his feet dangled precariously over the terracotta tiles of his favourite all-you-can-eat station, the underside of his knees glued to the edge of the cushioned seat with wooden arms that transported him to a fantasy of being in an ’80s luxury bed n’ breakfast, a continental meal after a swingin’ time at the bar the night before. The clouds were about to roll in (his utensils at the ready), and the impending storm would make a sound distraction (upon his belly).
Mike met the manager at the front desk
´ you are little early, but it shows you´re keen.
Dave was asked to rumble the chimes to the front shelf.
A great rumble shook the earth. Buildings started crumbling. I heard people screaming. An awful grinding sound filled the air. I could hear pounding feet everywhere, but I was rooted to the spot. People were pushing a shoving, trampling each other in their haste to get away. I still couldn’t move, but someone pushed me along, helping me. A chunk of rock hit my arm. A sharp pain filled my body, and now I heard myself screaming. I fell to the ground, covering my head with my hands. The ground continued to shake.
The cars rumbled on down the road
The rumble of thunder overhead gave me a fright
Her low rumble was reminiscent of a dog’s
The rumble of a fast approaching train
AOL Technical Support
and roll, the earth alive
tumbling in waves, an ocean of green and brown,
mud spilling up around exposed roots,
worms writhing, branches falling, birds screaming, we run for cover —
rumble
and roll, the earth awake
the sun blotted out by the black of the sky,
and who knows where we are going, who knows where we’ve come —
we’ll roar,
heads thrown back eyes shut tight, teeth bared —
ROAR
roar and rumble
rumble and roll
the earth beneath our feet moving, shaking, unsteady,
the only way we know it.
My stomach rumbles. Thunder rumbles before it roars. The Jets and the Sharks had a rumble.
This is all so different from ramble. I ramble in the woods. I ramble whenever I talk, tangent, tangent tangent. Why not sign/sine. What’s the third one ? Here I am, rumbling and rambling, through the brambles. What brambles? The brambles of life.
He heard the storm starting to rumble and he exclaimed to his wife, “We need to get the kids up and go to the cellar!”
The Rumble in the Jungle was one of the greatest comebacks of all time in mine and many other boxing fans’ opinions, I’m sure… Ali said it was all a strategy, a strategy called ‘rope-a-dope’ but he rope-and-got his ass kicked for eight rounds or something, too… But everyone else Foreman hit he destroyed, and that wasn’t even prime Ali man, he would have gotten smoked by Cassius-era Ali.
this is the sound her stomach makes
a low rumble
the revving of an engine,
preparing for the most mundane of races
a lower level event
with acid and old banana and a bit of popcorn
this the sound we all make
agitating for the same old same
agitating for change
i do the bare mimumum
to call myself human
get it, gut punch
seesawed like a child
indoxicated by the dreams
my humble wish is for you to be
happy
for the participants of this life
to see normal, unlike you are
we tumble
my stomach rumbles
it’s so draining
why do we go all the way
when we can’t help but decay
shaken
broken
where are you
my heart trembles
rumbles
i need you here
When the motorcycles began to rumble we knew there was going to exalt some yeehaws into the night. The dust
Let’s get ready to…talk. I’d like to know how you’re feeling. I’d like you to release whatever is bubbling beneath the surface of your thoughts. I can see that torment in your eyes. Looking at pictures of yourself…you never seem to be happy.
He heard the rumbling before he saw the truck, so he was able to jump out of the way just in time at the rickety red pick-up rolled onto the gravel driveway. Once the dust had literally settled, he heard the jingling of spurs as the brown toes of worn down cowboy boots emerged from the driver’s side. Deputy Sheriff Teresa Hawley, dark-haired and freckled, hopped down to the ground with a slight grunt, then pushed the brim of her hat up and grinned.
“Let’s get ready to ruumbbbbblllee,” I heard from a distance. The rumbling of what seemed to be thousands of boots against hard, dusty clay, accompanied by that all-too-familiar war cry, made me wonder what in the world could be coming my way.
A rumbling from the jungle emerged and Barbara and Patricia stepped out of their tents. Only the smell of exhaust and the hazy fog that they had come to expect were anywhere in sight; but then, what was the source of the noise? The two of them ran around their tents and even clambered up trees trying to get a better view, feeling silly and self-conscious but knowing that this was the only way they could ensure their survival.
Sometimes when the trains go by, filled with coal and sound and shaking, I think of that scene from The Phantom Menace when Qui Gonn says to Jar Jar “that is the sound of a thousand terrible things coming our way.” But the kids love it; they run to the top of the playground and hold on tight and lean forward, wanting to touch it.
When I saw the cake my tummy rumbled loudly.
Beneath the boy’s feet, he could feel the ground rumble as the old god rose from its lair.
The ominous rumble from the sky threatened her. She ran on, into the forest, hoping she would be safe there, at least from the rain or the hail. The weather was not as friendly as on the mild spring day on which she had set out for her adventure.
The rumble from inside the mountain was enough to make the fighting stop. Warriors from both sides turned, shocked, to see the mountain shake above them.
“Well sh&%.”
He felt it inside the pit of his stomach, the rumble of anxiety and fear that always manifested whenever he was forced to face the audience. But this time…this time he would be ready to show the naysayers everything he had within him. He was about to unleash a level of ferociousness that would leave them dumbfounded.
is that truck rumbly now. it’s making a lot of nosie !
Loud noise that shakes you and could even scare you.
I think the word rumble means to move about. I have heard of a rumble seat in old fashioned cars. It moves some I guess. I also know that I have heard the term rumbling around.
I feel a rumbling in my chest. I know, I know, that’s not where a bodily rumble is supposed to come from and should probably “consult my physician” or whatever. The point is: I have a rumble in my chest and it makes me want to do unruly things. To that man. And not good unruly, either.
“Rumble” makes me think of boxing or wrestling.
A “rumble” is something that only existed back when street gangs still had the guts for real criminal violence. You never hear about true gang fights anymore because everyone just shoots each other when they aren’t looking. The average thug nowadays doesn’t have the stomach for hand to hand combat so soccer hooligans have cornered the market on the one thing that made the thug life cool.
She felt the ground move beneath her feet as the train pulled past her into the station. The force of the wind following it knocked her hat off, but she deftly caught it with one hand as she clutched her purse to her. Finally, everything came to a still.
The earth rumbled with the sound of thunder, making everyone afraid.
Daniel rumbled with Goliath when he killed him.
I am trying to think of the correct meaning of this word. Racking my brains for it while looking at the timer. I should have taking writing a little more, no, a lot more seriously while at school. I will stop for now.
‘Now, I’m sure you know I only have a minute,’ she said.
‘Time to rumble then, get into the groove and turn down the music; I have something to say.’