Wood fragments stuck up from the piece of wood. They got stuck in her fingers as she ran her hand down the side. A muttered muted cuss escaped her lips, along with a scowl on her face. His eyes were both amused and concerned at the pain that she had gotten. Amused because of the words, concerned for infection.
cake– multiple pieces– no I just want a sliver– I am going to be good–no indulgence– just a sliver–and then another and another– no just a sliver please– that is all I want.
moon sliver silvered hung over long lakes, shadows cast passing over, bat wings and burnt stars. rook’s head silhouette towered over coast rocks and a lighthouse lamp lit bruised, black clouds.
like the moon peeks its eye open from the surface of its ocean, like the eye opens a crack to let a slice of light enter the pupil, like the crack of a door slightly ajar, tiny slices of cucumber, tiny tiny tiny tiny. in those slivers there is infinite possibility left to the imagination.
when I pick out the day
from under my nails,
I find slivers of dirt, food,
blood, your skin.
I wash away
another day gone,
and count its crescent moons.
What did you think would happen, when you let the breeze take you, these tiny places, grains like sand, hands like snakes, legs like rakes, the scarecrow flies. Slivers in his eyes, shivers in his thighs. Knifed in the side. Where had it all gone wrong, like a sad-sad song…but then the light came back, this storefront opens with a set curtains, and some how it all seems right as rain, till the flood waters came…but that’s a story for a time that ain’t.
Time, for me, seems to be broken into slivers. Slivers of attention, focus, tasks, conversations. No longer is there a dedicated portion of time for such items. Instead, we only allow slivers of time.
slivers of glass were jutting out of my palms, but the blood hadn’t come yet. The fall had left my joints sore, but other than that and the glassy hands, I was ok.
It was a new sight for him seeing all the slivers of assorted cloth scattered everywhere when he visited her studio. After all, he never dated a couturier before.
Silver is a beautiful color. It speaks for itself. It is different from all the other colors. Silver screams while others talk. It makes itself apparent. It screams “Im here.” It is very powerful. Which may also be why the sword is silver.
What to write about this word. I am not able to recall its meaning and by the time I will look it up in dictionary my 60 seconds of fame will be over. So, I would like to replace slivers with silvers.
Those awfully annoying little objects that get under your skin. The worst are the clear ones, and the small little hairs on some cacti are almost impossible to get rid of.
I saw the wooden slivers on the floor of the shed before I stepped on them, and I could still hear Margaret whittling. She continued to pare down that stick she had found on the trail we walked on, and she was so focused on the task that I almost felt bad interrupting her. She was very careful with her aunt’s pocket knife, letting the blade glide away from her body before it gracefully flicked into the air, carrying shavings and splinters with it.
AH! I cried. I immediately slapped my other hand across my mouth to stifle any further noise. The jagged slivers of metal that had pierced my fingers glimmered in the dim light of the cave. I’d ben crawling for hours, but this was the first time I’d felt something so sharp.
of blood, of gold, and I ask myself what is more valuable. It depends on who you ask I guess. That’s the thing, all I can do is guess, and if I can manage a few slivers of whatever I can get, well I’m more fortunate than most, huh?
At first I thought it said silvers, but then I realized that it was all about slivers. I think of blanched almonds slivered. Slivers of metal are another thing that comes to mind. But I don’t want to think about a sliver of food. That’s just not right. Have a sliver of liverwurst. Like, ew.
Julien sprinkled the slivers of almond over the chocolate he had going in the double boiler, attempting to make a complex holiday dessert for his coworkers. Last year, he had got them all novelty socks, so this year he had to come up with something to knock their socks off instead.
The slivers of light that passed through the window were held like blades in the dust of the dark room. The stones and earth around her made her feel, strangely, at home.
Wood fragments stuck up from the piece of wood. They got stuck in her fingers as she ran her hand down the side. A muttered muted cuss escaped her lips, along with a scowl on her face. His eyes were both amused and concerned at the pain that she had gotten. Amused because of the words, concerned for infection.
cake– multiple pieces– no I just want a sliver– I am going to be good–no indulgence– just a sliver–and then another and another– no just a sliver please– that is all I want.
moon sliver silvered hung over long lakes, shadows cast passing over, bat wings and burnt stars. rook’s head silhouette towered over coast rocks and a lighthouse lamp lit bruised, black clouds.
like the moon peeks its eye open from the surface of its ocean, like the eye opens a crack to let a slice of light enter the pupil, like the crack of a door slightly ajar, tiny slices of cucumber, tiny tiny tiny tiny. in those slivers there is infinite possibility left to the imagination.
I do not konw what to say about slivers.. You can see a lot of slivers in the woods, on trees.
when I pick out the day
from under my nails,
I find slivers of dirt, food,
blood, your skin.
I wash away
another day gone,
and count its crescent moons.
What did you think would happen, when you let the breeze take you, these tiny places, grains like sand, hands like snakes, legs like rakes, the scarecrow flies. Slivers in his eyes, shivers in his thighs. Knifed in the side. Where had it all gone wrong, like a sad-sad song…but then the light came back, this storefront opens with a set curtains, and some how it all seems right as rain, till the flood waters came…but that’s a story for a time that ain’t.
Slivers of ice were blowing everywhere, this was the worst ice storm I had ever seen
and I was standing in the middle of it with no shelter.
Time, for me, seems to be broken into slivers. Slivers of attention, focus, tasks, conversations. No longer is there a dedicated portion of time for such items. Instead, we only allow slivers of time.
slivers of glass were jutting out of my palms, but the blood hadn’t come yet. The fall had left my joints sore, but other than that and the glassy hands, I was ok.
It was a new sight for him seeing all the slivers of assorted cloth scattered everywhere when he visited her studio. After all, he never dated a couturier before.
A sliver is a broken piece of glass. Shivering, glistening, sharp. If I prick my finger I hurt myself. Ouch.
Silver is a beautiful color. It speaks for itself. It is different from all the other colors. Silver screams while others talk. It makes itself apparent. It screams “Im here.” It is very powerful. Which may also be why the sword is silver.
What to write about this word. I am not able to recall its meaning and by the time I will look it up in dictionary my 60 seconds of fame will be over. So, I would like to replace slivers with silvers.
Those awfully annoying little objects that get under your skin. The worst are the clear ones, and the small little hairs on some cacti are almost impossible to get rid of.
I saw the wooden slivers on the floor of the shed before I stepped on them, and I could still hear Margaret whittling. She continued to pare down that stick she had found on the trail we walked on, and she was so focused on the task that I almost felt bad interrupting her. She was very careful with her aunt’s pocket knife, letting the blade glide away from her body before it gracefully flicked into the air, carrying shavings and splinters with it.
AH! I cried. I immediately slapped my other hand across my mouth to stifle any further noise. The jagged slivers of metal that had pierced my fingers glimmered in the dim light of the cave. I’d ben crawling for hours, but this was the first time I’d felt something so sharp.
of blood, of gold, and I ask myself what is more valuable. It depends on who you ask I guess. That’s the thing, all I can do is guess, and if I can manage a few slivers of whatever I can get, well I’m more fortunate than most, huh?
At first I thought it said silvers, but then I realized that it was all about slivers. I think of blanched almonds slivered. Slivers of metal are another thing that comes to mind. But I don’t want to think about a sliver of food. That’s just not right. Have a sliver of liverwurst. Like, ew.
Bad memories…slowly going away…slivering down my back leaving behind a sticky mess. Its hard to break free…
Julien sprinkled the slivers of almond over the chocolate he had going in the double boiler, attempting to make a complex holiday dessert for his coworkers. Last year, he had got them all novelty socks, so this year he had to come up with something to knock their socks off instead.
The slivers of light that passed through the window were held like blades in the dust of the dark room. The stones and earth around her made her feel, strangely, at home.
“Shiver me slivers, Captin Timbers!” And then he burst into a million splinters.