Crazy days crazy nights,
here alone you not by my side.
I sit and wonder under the starry sky,
missing you and loving you and cant wait to see you.
But your not here nor near,
together forever through thick and thin till the end.
You and me together no matter what,
we will last forever.
Together were twined into a long lifetime together.
Crazy days crazy nights,
here alone you not by my side.
I sit and wonder under the starry sky,
missing you and loving you and cant wait to see you.
But your not here nor near,
together forever through thick and thin till the end.
You and me together no matter what,
we will last forever.
Yarn?
How impossibly mundane can this site get? That’s basically the most boring subject ever to write about… but I guess that’s why these ideas we write down are so important, something in the mundane brings out the most poetic in a lot of people… Poetry is the mundane brought to focus? Perhaps… I guess I didn’t write anything about twine. :(
I walked into the barn like any other morning to feed the horses. I immediately noticed a bunch of twine that would normally be hanging on Sally’s stall was strewn out on the floor. Who was in my barn?
baling twine. tied on the end of a pole for barn kitties to frolic after. many frayed and tired knots, little pouncing grey kitties. eight years old and curled up reading in the hay. rain pounding on the aluminum roof. horses crunching and happiness all around.
I made a bracelet out of twine over a year ago. It stays on my wrist through showers and running, through movies and dinners, through long days and endless nights. I’m sure it won’t ever leave my wrist.
She leaned down an picked up the fraying twine, twisting it around her finger until it left a grove.
She smiled.
This was all that was left of the house. Everything else lay in piles of ashes–the table, the melted television set, even the her bed was nothing more than a mangled heap of twisted metal and charred fabric.
But the twine survived. The twine, which had held the branches of the Christmas tree up like a baby in swaddling clothes, survived.
She ran her little fingers through the twine. Her friends they laughed. Her sunburn it itched. The sounds they swelled in her ears. She wasn’t made out for summer camp. She was a child of the dirty, crowded, cold city.
I used to twine to finish my camp gadget. All tenderfoot scouts had to do this to advance to the next rank in boy scouts. I had made an useful gadget. A tripod from which my cooking pot hung over the fire. Tonight’s turkey would be a good dinner
Entwined.
Twins. Lovers. Friends.
bada boom badda bing!!! I have a noose ring!!! listen to me sing!!! Bling Bling ding ding!!
Crazy days crazy nights,
here alone you not by my side.
I sit and wonder under the starry sky,
missing you and loving you and cant wait to see you.
But your not here nor near,
together forever through thick and thin till the end.
You and me together no matter what,
we will last forever.
Together were twined into a long lifetime together.
Crazy days crazy nights,
here alone you not by my side.
I sit and wonder under the starry sky,
missing you and loving you and cant wait to see you.
But your not here nor near,
together forever through thick and thin till the end.
You and me together no matter what,
we will last forever.
Yarn?
How impossibly mundane can this site get? That’s basically the most boring subject ever to write about… but I guess that’s why these ideas we write down are so important, something in the mundane brings out the most poetic in a lot of people… Poetry is the mundane brought to focus? Perhaps… I guess I didn’t write anything about twine. :(
I walked into the barn like any other morning to feed the horses. I immediately noticed a bunch of twine that would normally be hanging on Sally’s stall was strewn out on the floor. Who was in my barn?
baling twine. tied on the end of a pole for barn kitties to frolic after. many frayed and tired knots, little pouncing grey kitties. eight years old and curled up reading in the hay. rain pounding on the aluminum roof. horses crunching and happiness all around.
I don’t even know what twine means, as soon as I’m done here I will google it. Now that I’m thinking it’s thread? I don’t know, too much pressure.
I made a bracelet out of twine over a year ago. It stays on my wrist through showers and running, through movies and dinners, through long days and endless nights. I’m sure it won’t ever leave my wrist.
She leaned down an picked up the fraying twine, twisting it around her finger until it left a grove.
She smiled.
This was all that was left of the house. Everything else lay in piles of ashes–the table, the melted television set, even the her bed was nothing more than a mangled heap of twisted metal and charred fabric.
But the twine survived. The twine, which had held the branches of the Christmas tree up like a baby in swaddling clothes, survived.
Maybe it would be a Merry Christmas after all.
She ran her little fingers through the twine. Her friends they laughed. Her sunburn it itched. The sounds they swelled in her ears. She wasn’t made out for summer camp. She was a child of the dirty, crowded, cold city.
I used to twine to finish my camp gadget. All tenderfoot scouts had to do this to advance to the next rank in boy scouts. I had made an useful gadget. A tripod from which my cooking pot hung over the fire. Tonight’s turkey would be a good dinner
We’re twins.
intertwine. to be as one. to become whole.