He stood, pulling himself as upright as best he could, gathering his strength as he hefted his sword from the ground with one hand, and his shield in the other. His breath was hot and heavy, seen clearly in the cool crisp air; his muscles strained, the snow crunching beneath his feet as he tried his damnedest to stand his ground.
Glaring off into the distance at the figure that made its way toward him, he steadied and straightened himself, digging his feet into the ground, inhaling sharply as the it swooped down just close enough.
There are noises that scream through my ears. Sometimes I hear them. Sometimes I don’t. These noises don’t matter when my focus is on something else. After all, the need to achieve runs through my veins faster than sound could reach my ears.
It shook the mountains. I imagined, sitting in a bar technically below sea-level. That sound. Loud, animal, full of something. Something. It shook everything.
i thought that it would be fine, but it turns out it never can be. your voice, bellows like the wind in my soul, fighting it’s way out of me. no matter what i can hear you calling, singing out sweet melodies. but no matter what i will never give in, i’ll drown out your voices in the sea.
The Lion gave a bellow of anger as it charged at its tormentors, tatty hyena’s who dared try to take a piece of the kill. Defeated the hyena ‘s run away into the veld, tails between their legs screeching wildly.
Your name bubbles on my lips and I can’t help but let it free. Across the canyon walls to where you stand. Over the mountains that scrap the sky, and seas that swallow the blackened skies. It carries like a thousand voices bellowing at their highest, bouncing off the moon and echoing in the valleys. But as it escapes my throat, the syllables and vowels of your name, it is not the roar of a lion but a whisper caught and lost with the wind.
I cover my ears and cower underneath my duvet. He’s home and, of course, drunk. I hear the low rumblings of his bellows, tinged with hysteria. I hear utter silence from my Mum. She knows better than to disgree with him; she’s still black and blue from the last time.
its madness, but has a gentle affect afterwards, it suddenly calms u down, calms you from with in, maybe the blood rush in the brain, it clears everything that is there. its like a storm that is at its peak, and as it passes there is just peace, though it has its destruction as well..
He bellows out in pleasure as she creeps her hand down low, getting at all the places he likes her to discover. Her beautiful lips caressing the outline of his manhood. He holds her head there, hoping for more. She signals for release but with a second yell its over. Shes left with a taste in a mouth and a frown on her face.
She wasn’t confident of her ability to sing that tune. We’d argued about it all night at the bar. It seemed like there was no way I was going to get her on stage to sing it. Finally though, at the tail end of the night, and likely aided by the booze, I coaxed her on stage. The karaoke machine began playing. I wasn’t sure she was going to begin, she was turning so red. Then suddenly, she lifted her head up and began bellowing out the lines like they had been stored up all night.
The cow let out a bellow much like a cow will do when outraged at the taking of her calf. Like any mother will, in fact. Unless the mother takes out a can of whoop-ass, which is another matter. Most cows don’t have can-openers, so it’s not an option for them. But it really should be in cases like this.
Bellow the ocean
Under the waves and currents
Nothing to move me
Nothing to shift me
Silence, as I drown and my last breath
The only thing I’ve held on to for so long
Releases,
I find peace.
The Doctor came running across the mountains of rubbish at the echoing sound, the Master bellowing in pain and anguish as his body died yet again. Unsure of how to help, but certain that he must try, he frantically rushed to Koschei’s side, trying to ease the pain of the last member of their ancient race. “Talk to me,” he cried, trying in vain to get through to the maddened Time Lord, “Let me help you!”
“Can’t you hear them?” the Master shouted again, tapping four times against his head. “They go on forever”
“MRS.HUDSON!” he roared.
She scampered from the room, and he lifted his eyebrows as the idea hit him.
“Hau…” he breathed. “Hau!” He clapped.
He had it.
Bellowing out the window, the woman sang the siren’s song of supper. Unfortunately, the children were mid-game and inevitably, the shout cost her son the winning catch.
The bellow smoked the fire, ashes falling about the room like a snow fall on a dark night. The body in the center of the room lay quiet, silent, still. For sometime the body had been like this, the night taking the life from the warmth of soul.
The Giant bellowed! Our heroes were stricken with fear! It emerged from it’s cave, with great anger and furious vengeance in its eyes! Okay, I took that last sentence from Pulp Fiction.
Below the bridge was a small stream. The water flowed over the rocks making music fill the air. By the bank stood an old weeping willow. It had stood there longer than any living creature could recall.
in the utmost pit at the very bottom of the stomach something is stirring. call it acid or piss or cum. but its more, so much more. it is rising and a bellow is heard. a sound of pain and loss and intangible sorrow so that there is no finding expression, no coping, no release. it is mixed with joy and bittersweet happiness. excitement and wonder. admiration. an upset leaving a taste like candy flavored bile. the need for something new and clean and pure. fresh, water, to rinse it down. to cleanse the insides and reset the processes.
but only time regulates. in time there is rest and in rest there is peace.
I have apathy for this word. But not “below” or “billow.” Just “bellow.” Although if I needed another word to rhyme with “yellow”, “bellow” is better than “fellow.” I tend to think of cowardly men and chickens when those two are used in some kind of frame work that implies a loose association if not forged in a rhythm most lyrical than placed together in a juxtaposition fixedly satirical.
Bellowing underneath the stars, this quiet deer has got bars. Locked inside my mind, is let you in from behind. Keeping you a secret, no one can know the deepness. Swallowing you in my ocean, you’ve got a motion that keeps the motion flowing.
all i can see is the cursor blinking at me on this small light lavender square. and i’m supposed to fill this with words? words that come to my head when i think about a larger word that stares at me from the screen. i want to say computers are horrible. they make you-let me be frank, my dear…i have no idea what i’m talking about.
With wind in the sails and a fearless captain manning the helm, there was nothing we could do but wait. At least bellow decks we would be dry, but that isn’t to say we would be safe– Isabella was a madwoman when fortune dangled before her…Somehow I don’t know how we ever survived, and yet I almost wish we stayed under the wreckage and drowned with the rest of the crew.
I didn’t know where I was. Surely I had not climbed all the way down here on my own. Was this a dream? Well, if it were, it would have to be a nightmare.
“HEY!” Ever notice that all gym teachers have the same bellow? All the male ones anyway. But now that I think about it, the women have the same voice too, ‘cept theirs is different of course. But either or, it always inspires that same cold, panicky dread in me.
Bellow the bridge was terror. Bellow the bridge was death. Amy just couldn’t bring herself to look down at the now mangled body of her best friend. If only she had been down there to catch her, but that would have killed them both.
what would you bellow if you had to do so? would it be important? would it be an emergency? would it be the pouring forth of unconditional, die-hard romanticism? or would it be the relentless disdain for someone who’s broken your heart?
“Shut up,” she bellowed. How tiresome to hear a neighbor’s noise especially when one is reading, or writing. Peace, where is it to be found? Wish I could think of something to write, but the one words do not strike a creative thought in my mind.
Down below. That was where we sent them. Their voices heard above it all, the creak of wood and the slap of waves; a bellow, a cry, screaming and hitting to be free. From the pitch of night to the burning noon of day. But they would never grant it.
His bellow shakes the Earth, his rage taking form in sound waves that make ripples on the drinking pool. They cannot take his mate from him this way. He will not allow these naked creatures that victory, not when he has tusks and strength and more wild ferocity than all of the kind of man put together.
Down below. That was where we sent them. I could hear their cries through the boards, above the creak of the boards and the rock of the waves. They would beg, oft in languages I couldn’t know, at all hours of the night and through the burning noon of day.
He stood, pulling himself as upright as best he could, gathering his strength as he hefted his sword from the ground with one hand, and his shield in the other. His breath was hot and heavy, seen clearly in the cool crisp air; his muscles strained, the snow crunching beneath his feet as he tried his damnedest to stand his ground.
Glaring off into the distance at the figure that made its way toward him, he steadied and straightened himself, digging his feet into the ground, inhaling sharply as the it swooped down just close enough.
Close enough for him to bellow, “FUS RO DAH!”
There are noises that scream through my ears. Sometimes I hear them. Sometimes I don’t. These noises don’t matter when my focus is on something else. After all, the need to achieve runs through my veins faster than sound could reach my ears.
It shook the mountains. I imagined, sitting in a bar technically below sea-level. That sound. Loud, animal, full of something. Something. It shook everything.
i thought that it would be fine, but it turns out it never can be. your voice, bellows like the wind in my soul, fighting it’s way out of me. no matter what i can hear you calling, singing out sweet melodies. but no matter what i will never give in, i’ll drown out your voices in the sea.
Saul Bellow. Bellowing Bulls. A bellow to blow the fire with.
The Lion gave a bellow of anger as it charged at its tormentors, tatty hyena’s who dared try to take a piece of the kill. Defeated the hyena ‘s run away into the veld, tails between their legs screeching wildly.
Your name bubbles on my lips and I can’t help but let it free. Across the canyon walls to where you stand. Over the mountains that scrap the sky, and seas that swallow the blackened skies. It carries like a thousand voices bellowing at their highest, bouncing off the moon and echoing in the valleys. But as it escapes my throat, the syllables and vowels of your name, it is not the roar of a lion but a whisper caught and lost with the wind.
The sound of a deep male voice.
I cover my ears and cower underneath my duvet. He’s home and, of course, drunk. I hear the low rumblings of his bellows, tinged with hysteria. I hear utter silence from my Mum. She knows better than to disgree with him; she’s still black and blue from the last time.
A loud distant roar.
We yearn to scream.
Rumbling hearts.
Conflicted. Desire. Hope.
Our souls bellow out.
Exhale.
its madness, but has a gentle affect afterwards, it suddenly calms u down, calms you from with in, maybe the blood rush in the brain, it clears everything that is there. its like a storm that is at its peak, and as it passes there is just peace, though it has its destruction as well..
He bellows out in pleasure as she creeps her hand down low, getting at all the places he likes her to discover. Her beautiful lips caressing the outline of his manhood. He holds her head there, hoping for more. She signals for release but with a second yell its over. Shes left with a taste in a mouth and a frown on her face.
She wasn’t confident of her ability to sing that tune. We’d argued about it all night at the bar. It seemed like there was no way I was going to get her on stage to sing it. Finally though, at the tail end of the night, and likely aided by the booze, I coaxed her on stage. The karaoke machine began playing. I wasn’t sure she was going to begin, she was turning so red. Then suddenly, she lifted her head up and began bellowing out the lines like they had been stored up all night.
Saul Bellow had to look out below when the bell (ow!) fell on his head with a great blow.
The cow let out a bellow much like a cow will do when outraged at the taking of her calf. Like any mother will, in fact. Unless the mother takes out a can of whoop-ass, which is another matter. Most cows don’t have can-openers, so it’s not an option for them. But it really should be in cases like this.
Bellow the ocean
Under the waves and currents
Nothing to move me
Nothing to shift me
Silence, as I drown and my last breath
The only thing I’ve held on to for so long
Releases,
I find peace.
The Doctor came running across the mountains of rubbish at the echoing sound, the Master bellowing in pain and anguish as his body died yet again. Unsure of how to help, but certain that he must try, he frantically rushed to Koschei’s side, trying to ease the pain of the last member of their ancient race. “Talk to me,” he cried, trying in vain to get through to the maddened Time Lord, “Let me help you!”
“Can’t you hear them?” the Master shouted again, tapping four times against his head. “They go on forever”
“MRS.HUDSON!” he roared.
She scampered from the room, and he lifted his eyebrows as the idea hit him.
“Hau…” he breathed. “Hau!” He clapped.
He had it.
bellow the fringes lied a hand
a hand that was old skinned and broken
bellow the fingers lied blood
blood that tasted like the dear old rust
her bones melted bellow her skin
and all her happiness drained away
from her pale face to the tears that dropped below
this is her story.
a story of love and loss.
everything fell.
bellow her broken trust.
Bellowing out the window, the woman sang the siren’s song of supper. Unfortunately, the children were mid-game and inevitably, the shout cost her son the winning catch.
The bellow smoked the fire, ashes falling about the room like a snow fall on a dark night. The body in the center of the room lay quiet, silent, still. For sometime the body had been like this, the night taking the life from the warmth of soul.
The Giant bellowed! Our heroes were stricken with fear! It emerged from it’s cave, with great anger and furious vengeance in its eyes! Okay, I took that last sentence from Pulp Fiction.
Bellow me is an emptiness,
a nothing, built to consume.
A hole that is growing,
coming for me soon.
Above me is the openness,
of worlds untouched or marred.
In its open arms one would hope to lay,
unscarred.
In between in this open void,
is where I aimlessly wander.
Searching for the comfort
of the choice of which Im fonder.
Be it what you think it is,
or be it something darker.
There is no right or wrong here,
no definite concluder.
So listen while I whisper
my thoughts in my sleep.
Be my guide and light,
danger from me keep.
Take my hand and guide me,
insure I don’t misstep,
I trust that this decision,
be one I don’t regret.
she was bellow my feet
her hair swifting softly
her sorrows pouring over boundaries
me weeping quietly
she was bellow her satisfaction
her hands bleed with anxiety
but all she had to do was remember
she had me, she had me, and me
Below the bridge was a small stream. The water flowed over the rocks making music fill the air. By the bank stood an old weeping willow. It had stood there longer than any living creature could recall.
in the utmost pit at the very bottom of the stomach something is stirring. call it acid or piss or cum. but its more, so much more. it is rising and a bellow is heard. a sound of pain and loss and intangible sorrow so that there is no finding expression, no coping, no release. it is mixed with joy and bittersweet happiness. excitement and wonder. admiration. an upset leaving a taste like candy flavored bile. the need for something new and clean and pure. fresh, water, to rinse it down. to cleanse the insides and reset the processes.
but only time regulates. in time there is rest and in rest there is peace.
Gt dn fm th yt, blckhad!
Th scamng and cyng as ally f th st hn t all cam dn t t. H ddn’t kn h t sak and ddn’t kn hat t say.
t as almst as f, t ldnt k at all. Thn mmb, n th mdst f hs amanlastc bllng. Th had bn smthng and t as th knd f thng cldn’t fgt, gt, v.
” lv y . h scamd t as th f bst nt t and lft standng th. ” lv y s mch.” and thn, sntly, h dd.
I have apathy for this word. But not “below” or “billow.” Just “bellow.” Although if I needed another word to rhyme with “yellow”, “bellow” is better than “fellow.” I tend to think of cowardly men and chickens when those two are used in some kind of frame work that implies a loose association if not forged in a rhythm most lyrical than placed together in a juxtaposition fixedly satirical.
Bellowing underneath the stars, this quiet deer has got bars. Locked inside my mind, is let you in from behind. Keeping you a secret, no one can know the deepness. Swallowing you in my ocean, you’ve got a motion that keeps the motion flowing.
all i can see is the cursor blinking at me on this small light lavender square. and i’m supposed to fill this with words? words that come to my head when i think about a larger word that stares at me from the screen. i want to say computers are horrible. they make you-let me be frank, my dear…i have no idea what i’m talking about.
With wind in the sails and a fearless captain manning the helm, there was nothing we could do but wait. At least bellow decks we would be dry, but that isn’t to say we would be safe– Isabella was a madwoman when fortune dangled before her…Somehow I don’t know how we ever survived, and yet I almost wish we stayed under the wreckage and drowned with the rest of the crew.
I didn’t know where I was. Surely I had not climbed all the way down here on my own. Was this a dream? Well, if it were, it would have to be a nightmare.
beeeelllooowing.
i hear your voice
swooping in
(would you stop already)
climbing up my and my sister’s stairs
barging in as we complete our own tasks.
(do you care?
i honesty wonder
honestly
honesty do you know what that is
every time you lack trust in us
and what we do directly above in our bedrooms
i can only speak for myself and my own tasks sks
“HEY!” Ever notice that all gym teachers have the same bellow? All the male ones anyway. But now that I think about it, the women have the same voice too, ‘cept theirs is different of course. But either or, it always inspires that same cold, panicky dread in me.
Bellow the bridge was terror. Bellow the bridge was death. Amy just couldn’t bring herself to look down at the now mangled body of her best friend. If only she had been down there to catch her, but that would have killed them both.
what would you bellow if you had to do so? would it be important? would it be an emergency? would it be the pouring forth of unconditional, die-hard romanticism? or would it be the relentless disdain for someone who’s broken your heart?
“Shut up,” she bellowed. How tiresome to hear a neighbor’s noise especially when one is reading, or writing. Peace, where is it to be found? Wish I could think of something to write, but the one words do not strike a creative thought in my mind.
Down below. That was where we sent them. Their voices heard above it all, the creak of wood and the slap of waves; a bellow, a cry, screaming and hitting to be free. From the pitch of night to the burning noon of day. But they would never grant it.
His bellow shakes the Earth, his rage taking form in sound waves that make ripples on the drinking pool. They cannot take his mate from him this way. He will not allow these naked creatures that victory, not when he has tusks and strength and more wild ferocity than all of the kind of man put together.
Down below. That was where we sent them. I could hear their cries through the boards, above the creak of the boards and the rock of the waves. They would beg, oft in languages I couldn’t know, at all hours of the night and through the burning noon of day.