anchor, the word pops too many words at once.. i have been an anchor.. anchor that works as atool. bt i prefer the first one.. the one who entertains people, hosts functions and is super coool someone like me..;)
and you will hold against the wind. and the sea spray. and remember when our lips tasted like salt. and you will be a ship wreck(ed) and an anchor. and they will tell you that you cannot be both. but you remember the taste of salt and the feel of sea spray. and they do not.
I have attached an anchor to my leg. I was hoping that it would keep me grounded, but as it turns out it has been weighing me down. I was sure that this rusty chain would be much lighter, only helping me to slow down and smell the roses. Alas, I was wrong, and now I am slower than even the tortoise herself, drowning in the sea as I slowly sink down. What a fool I am.
When I found the anchor in the trunk of my husband’s car as well as a loaded gun and all of my belongings, I knew in my heart that he, not owning a boat or liking to fish, must be planning a fun trip as a surprise for me because I love to sail out on the open seas. I imagine the gun is for our protection. He is the most thoughtful man I could have possibly married.
Anchored to her chair, the girl couldn’t help but yawn in the waves of work that washed over her screen and caught her fingers in the kelp of keys. Hopefully the storm would subside soon and she could salvage some sleep from the shores of an unmade bed.
He turns to go, malignant smile still firmly fixed on his weasely face. I flex my fists, feeling insurmountable fury beating fast and hard in my bloodstream. I need a distraction.
I imagine the sound his eye would make when popped out from its socket. I’ve always been told my imagination is particularly vivid; I can see the eye’s anchor of optic nerve snapping away, forever severing it from his being.
my feet sink into the sand floor when you dipped my pale body into the sea
the grit in pore confrontation would scratch my sheets
and the moonlight pouring from your eyes didnt help
you lay across my bed like ship parts washed up on the shore
and i am the iceberg
i cant caress what doesn’t have substance it is a cold cold night in boston
and the frost bites at the corners of the window, and the sheets bunch at your ankles
night time wonders
There’s an anchor sitting on my chest
Tied to each of my ankles and and each of my wrists.
I think of them too much
Twist them into a million heavy burdens
As they drag me down and keep me still.
I whimper under their weight so much
And it’s not until they let me go
Until I feel light, but too dark
That I see them like you do.
Not burdens, but mementos
Holding my hands and stealing my breath.
Big rusty embraces, whispering
Please
don’t leave me
alone.
An anchor is a device that holds one into place. If you think about it, we all have anchors in our lives. One might have a physical anchor, or a Mental or emotional anchor. Physical like a couch or a TV. Emotional like a song, or a religious spot.
as the flesh light the spirit well
i’m depressed by the grin
i hover over many dreams
for the love of attention
i long for the wide open
the anchor of sin
guides through a pagan field
and the lust of the money
a back handed bang for your buck.
An anchor is supposed to represent strength. To be anchored into something is strong. Anchors sway with the ocean ever so slightly. Change can’t remain constant and unchanged forever. Eventually that anchor will be uplifted.
everyday i want to anchor
somewhere in your oceanic spirit
that i feel passing through
the wings of my heart
that open into an air of love
when your mouth does.
The anchor fell from the top of the ship crushing the sailor right underneath it.
“Not like this” he whispered as it compacted him to nothing more than a footstep.
The women standing by screamed and fell into the mens chests where they held their hats as a mark of respect.
i spend all day wondering
quite quietly
is this all there is
is life a sort of concrete thing
can it be predicted
is there an anchor leaving you in your port
is that the nature of being?
or is there something intangible
new
confusing
out there
the anchor of my ship is stuck in the stone under water. I can’t seem to raise it up. I can’t move on to my journey. I have some comrades with me but they don’t want to help me out. I’m alone, i’m on my own. I need help to get out of this awful sea. I want to be away with these people. I want to get away
Anchor my heart a million times to the oceans skin, and to the sailors breath. Anchor my heart a thousand times to the caverns and trenches that line the earth’s floor. Anchor my heart a hundred times to the tide’s pull and the moons watchful eye. Anchor my heart ten times to swift currents and salty waves. Anchor my heart to that of the oceans and I’ll ride sea over bow to watch it sink.
She was floating. The sky above her was vast and dotted with millions of stars and celestial beings. She just had to reach up one of her hands to touch it all, it seemed.
She kept on going higher and higher, almost becoming one with them.
Then, she stopped. No, she was abruptly pulled. She gave an indignant sound and looked down.
She saw a boy, holding onto the string she tied to her foot. He looked so panicked and lost, and when she looked down on him, he looked up at her.
“Please stay.” He told her pleadingly. “You’re going to get lost up there.” He was afraid for her. Why would he be afraid for her?
And so she let him drag her back down, to ask him why he would be scared for her.
I imagined an anchor, tied to me with an imaginary rope: made of the strongest steel alloy there was, heavy and as thick as the fist of a weightlifter, sturdy as stone and hard as a rock.
But yet I felt so featherlight, like I was floating away.
Freely throw me overboard – even with zest, with oomph, with a determination boarding on aggression. Then go about your business as though your vessel were secure.
You are the anchor that ties me to the shore. You are the thing that keeps me trapped and stopping me from going where I want to. Trapped. In a prison. Unwilling to let to or loosen up I sit in a harbour of boredom and anxiousness to the world around me. I want to be free. I want to be away
it’s an anchor I see in the water, balking on the horizon, trying to hook me into the deep pool of sunken treasure. Why do I need an anchor? Heck, I’ll just dive in…
Oops! I can not swim.
He was her anchor, the only thing holding her down to the earth. She felt that letting go would mean floating away into space, a shooting star with no aim and no home.
After years of drifting without an anchor she finally felt like there was a port to call home. She just hoped those three little words wouldn’t scare him away.
I’ll be your wings to keep your heart in the skies
Make sure you keep dreaming, be the highest of highs
When I get lost in the clouds, you’ll remind me what’s real
And you’ll be my anchor; a wonderful deal.
heavy heavy heavy heavy heavy down stop the ship moving not moving cant go forward cant go back online stillness only weight whats left when nothing moves they say absolute zero cant be reached because we are always moving all the time.
I looked towards the vast sea without end. “Keep walking!” said the man who pointed at my head with a gun. It was hard. Tied to my leg was an anchor. Pier creaked with every step.
I mouthed a prayer even though I wasn’t much a believer myself.
Art is my anchor. Drawing abstract art in tiny squares with pen and ink, a touch of pencil for pop and depth. Music is my anchor. It carries me away, allows me solace, exorcism, tears when they need to vent, smiles when I need an injection of hope. Poetry is my anchor. Words that capture feelings and imagery for the detective to explore. For someone who enjoys puzzles and riddles, a poem can offer treasure with a double-edged sword and that, for the unprepared, can be another kind of anchor entirely.
I’ve never liked the tattoos with an anchor that says “I refuse to sink”. Think about it. It doesn’t make sense. Anchors are meant to sink. People should change it to “No matter how many times the anchor falls, my ship will continue to sail”. That makes so much more sense. It is a bit of a mouthful though.
An anchor is what keeps a boat from moving to far away from one spot. It is shaped like an arrow. I think of them as being white and are usually for big boats. I usually think of them for when people are fishing.
anchor, the word pops too many words at once.. i have been an anchor.. anchor that works as atool. bt i prefer the first one.. the one who entertains people, hosts functions and is super coool someone like me..;)
and you will hold against the wind. and the sea spray. and remember when our lips tasted like salt. and you will be a ship wreck(ed) and an anchor. and they will tell you that you cannot be both. but you remember the taste of salt and the feel of sea spray. and they do not.
I have attached an anchor to my leg. I was hoping that it would keep me grounded, but as it turns out it has been weighing me down. I was sure that this rusty chain would be much lighter, only helping me to slow down and smell the roses. Alas, I was wrong, and now I am slower than even the tortoise herself, drowning in the sea as I slowly sink down. What a fool I am.
When I found the anchor in the trunk of my husband’s car as well as a loaded gun and all of my belongings, I knew in my heart that he, not owning a boat or liking to fish, must be planning a fun trip as a surprise for me because I love to sail out on the open seas. I imagine the gun is for our protection. He is the most thoughtful man I could have possibly married.
fell throught the depths, victim of gravity, seeing depths no other terrestrial tool would go to so commonly
Anchored to her chair, the girl couldn’t help but yawn in the waves of work that washed over her screen and caught her fingers in the kelp of keys. Hopefully the storm would subside soon and she could salvage some sleep from the shores of an unmade bed.
He turns to go, malignant smile still firmly fixed on his weasely face. I flex my fists, feeling insurmountable fury beating fast and hard in my bloodstream. I need a distraction.
I imagine the sound his eye would make when popped out from its socket. I’ve always been told my imagination is particularly vivid; I can see the eye’s anchor of optic nerve snapping away, forever severing it from his being.
It’s the little things that keep me sane.
The boat anchored.
Anchore is used by ships :)
Then the ship can’t move on the water.
my feet sink into the sand floor when you dipped my pale body into the sea
the grit in pore confrontation would scratch my sheets
and the moonlight pouring from your eyes didnt help
you lay across my bed like ship parts washed up on the shore
and i am the iceberg
i cant caress what doesn’t have substance it is a cold cold night in boston
and the frost bites at the corners of the window, and the sheets bunch at your ankles
night time wonders
There’s an anchor sitting on my chest
Tied to each of my ankles and and each of my wrists.
I think of them too much
Twist them into a million heavy burdens
As they drag me down and keep me still.
I whimper under their weight so much
And it’s not until they let me go
Until I feel light, but too dark
That I see them like you do.
Not burdens, but mementos
Holding my hands and stealing my breath.
Big rusty embraces, whispering
Please
don’t leave me
alone.
An Anchor can so easily be mistaken
for stability,
security
bubbles cloud your eyes
until they dissipate
and you begin to see
you’re drowning
An anchor is a device that holds one into place. If you think about it, we all have anchors in our lives. One might have a physical anchor, or a Mental or emotional anchor. Physical like a couch or a TV. Emotional like a song, or a religious spot.
as the flesh light the spirit well
i’m depressed by the grin
i hover over many dreams
for the love of attention
i long for the wide open
the anchor of sin
guides through a pagan field
and the lust of the money
a back handed bang for your buck.
An anchor is supposed to represent strength. To be anchored into something is strong. Anchors sway with the ocean ever so slightly. Change can’t remain constant and unchanged forever. Eventually that anchor will be uplifted.
I’m only a feather in the breeze and your just a rock in a heap.
everyday i want to anchor
somewhere in your oceanic spirit
that i feel passing through
the wings of my heart
that open into an air of love
when your mouth does.
The anchor fell from the top of the ship crushing the sailor right underneath it.
“Not like this” he whispered as it compacted him to nothing more than a footstep.
The women standing by screamed and fell into the mens chests where they held their hats as a mark of respect.
i spend all day wondering
quite quietly
is this all there is
is life a sort of concrete thing
can it be predicted
is there an anchor leaving you in your port
is that the nature of being?
or is there something intangible
new
confusing
out there
the anchor of my ship is stuck in the stone under water. I can’t seem to raise it up. I can’t move on to my journey. I have some comrades with me but they don’t want to help me out. I’m alone, i’m on my own. I need help to get out of this awful sea. I want to be away with these people. I want to get away
Anchor my heart a million times to the oceans skin, and to the sailors breath. Anchor my heart a thousand times to the caverns and trenches that line the earth’s floor. Anchor my heart a hundred times to the tide’s pull and the moons watchful eye. Anchor my heart ten times to swift currents and salty waves. Anchor my heart to that of the oceans and I’ll ride sea over bow to watch it sink.
I once thought myself to be
An anchor
keeping you from sailing the sea
I no longer believe that is
for I am a buoy
let us float together
She was floating. The sky above her was vast and dotted with millions of stars and celestial beings. She just had to reach up one of her hands to touch it all, it seemed.
She kept on going higher and higher, almost becoming one with them.
Then, she stopped. No, she was abruptly pulled. She gave an indignant sound and looked down.
She saw a boy, holding onto the string she tied to her foot. He looked so panicked and lost, and when she looked down on him, he looked up at her.
“Please stay.” He told her pleadingly. “You’re going to get lost up there.” He was afraid for her. Why would he be afraid for her?
And so she let him drag her back down, to ask him why he would be scared for her.
I imagined an anchor, tied to me with an imaginary rope: made of the strongest steel alloy there was, heavy and as thick as the fist of a weightlifter, sturdy as stone and hard as a rock.
But yet I felt so featherlight, like I was floating away.
Freely throw me overboard – even with zest, with oomph, with a determination boarding on aggression. Then go about your business as though your vessel were secure.
The anchor is just too deep down there in the blue heart of the sea longing for the never coming meeting.
You are the anchor that ties me to the shore. You are the thing that keeps me trapped and stopping me from going where I want to. Trapped. In a prison. Unwilling to let to or loosen up I sit in a harbour of boredom and anxiousness to the world around me. I want to be free. I want to be away
it’s an anchor I see in the water, balking on the horizon, trying to hook me into the deep pool of sunken treasure. Why do I need an anchor? Heck, I’ll just dive in…
Oops! I can not swim.
He was her anchor, the only thing holding her down to the earth. She felt that letting go would mean floating away into space, a shooting star with no aim and no home.
i was dragged across an ugly sea
you never see the drowning, only the drowned.
anchors couldn’t hold me down.
After years of drifting without an anchor she finally felt like there was a port to call home. She just hoped those three little words wouldn’t scare him away.
Best friend. Deep, shore. Hold me down, hold me back, keep me down. Life, opposite of rising, love. truth. stay. Be my glue.
The anchor broke this morning
and we were off to another adventure.
It was only later that I realized someone
had intentionally cleaved our lives in half.
I’ve yet to thank them.
I haven’t seen one, but I believe it’s strong. Like a trunk in the sea, stricks into the ocean floor and holds with roots.
I’ll be your wings to keep your heart in the skies
Make sure you keep dreaming, be the highest of highs
When I get lost in the clouds, you’ll remind me what’s real
And you’ll be my anchor; a wonderful deal.
heavy heavy heavy heavy heavy down stop the ship moving not moving cant go forward cant go back online stillness only weight whats left when nothing moves they say absolute zero cant be reached because we are always moving all the time.
I looked towards the vast sea without end. “Keep walking!” said the man who pointed at my head with a gun. It was hard. Tied to my leg was an anchor. Pier creaked with every step.
I mouthed a prayer even though I wasn’t much a believer myself.
Art is my anchor. Drawing abstract art in tiny squares with pen and ink, a touch of pencil for pop and depth. Music is my anchor. It carries me away, allows me solace, exorcism, tears when they need to vent, smiles when I need an injection of hope. Poetry is my anchor. Words that capture feelings and imagery for the detective to explore. For someone who enjoys puzzles and riddles, a poem can offer treasure with a double-edged sword and that, for the unprepared, can be another kind of anchor entirely.
I’ve never liked the tattoos with an anchor that says “I refuse to sink”. Think about it. It doesn’t make sense. Anchors are meant to sink. People should change it to “No matter how many times the anchor falls, my ship will continue to sail”. That makes so much more sense. It is a bit of a mouthful though.
An anchor is what keeps a boat from moving to far away from one spot. It is shaped like an arrow. I think of them as being white and are usually for big boats. I usually think of them for when people are fishing.