The bronze statue stood in the center of the town. The sun flecked off the west side of it, the day was drawing to a close. She didn’t know what was left for her in this small town, so it was time to leave. As her fingers flitted across the side of the statue she took the few short steps out toward the road and hailed a cab.
Her hair inky and black, her skin bronzed from the sun. and her emerald eyes, bright and as sharp as the stone whose name they shared. I’d never had the privilege to look upon someone so exotic, so beautiful.
“Tasha?”
I glanced over at him, meeting his eyes briefly. “What?”
“You’re staring,” he said, as though it were obvious.
“Am not,” I said evenly, though my eyes moved back to her of their own accord.
I’ve always settled for bronze. I would try my hardest, put every ounce of my being into preparation, and then when the event came, I would put my soul out there. I thought I was unbeatable. Then I would come in third place. Always. Reaching. But never quite there.
I am not here to get bronze, I am not here to get silver. I was made for gold. I was Ron to get gold. Bronze and silver are not a voice. All I Want is gold.
A colour that can be used to place in a standing. Sometimes, if you are in third place bronze is the metal you will be given. It is a colour that not many people like, typically silver or gold are more favoured. Personally, I do not like bronze but sometimes it’s the best you can get!
Bronze. It’s the color of good, but not good enough for gold. Mediocre. An accomplishment, but not the highest accomplishment. It’s being so close you can taste first place on the tips of your tongue, but being unable to swallow it.
A color, a shade, a metal, a goal. Many try to get it fake, many try to get the gold. Personally, bronze wouldn’t be so bad. It’s all about the journey i took. It i climbed a mountain it’s automatically gold!
The third place loss was too much. Sure, he technically WON third place, but nothing about the ugly bronze rust of his medal measured up to his low height on the podium and hearing the United States’ anthem playing over his own. All he wanted in his life was to swim at record time and see Australia’s flag flying down those bannisters.
The bronze statue gleamed back at me as I walked past it, sipping my lemonade gingerly. I felt so nauseous , as if what i was about to do wasn’t bad enough, now the statues were mocking me, too.
Bronze is the last colour i want, gold i would prefer and silver i can live with. But bronze you have to be joking, i might as well not have tried at all if thats
I examined the bronze statue. Something about it was irresistible to me. Each cut into its surface was so smooth and its color so rich.
“I’m looking for 5,000 do I see 5,000,” the auctioneer’s rapid voice said, bringing me back to awareness.
I looked at the statue again. Sweat formed around the paddle in my hand.
Did I dare?
Bronze. I wish I was bronze right now. But sadly, I’m not, because even though it is almost April, it is still basically a frozen tundra in Charleston. I am still very very pale. Ghostly, paper white. It’s not very attractive, but I’ll take it. I’d rather be pale that be dealing with skin cancer right now.
Her bronzed skin shone with the light of the sun, somehow collected over the many languid hours in its benevolent heat, and emitted now in a haze of fullsome womeninity.
The color of skin as it bakes under a hot sun. The color of someone who almost won.
Can be good or bad.
Usually not-so-good. The good leads to bad.
Bronze. The color of almost.
The bronze age was probably one of the most interesting periods of our history. It was during this age that the Romans took over vast areas of their continent.
In the Bronze Age, an infamous murderer named Dan Deathtrap went around stabbing everyone with bronze swords. He also happened to be the master of the universe, which was why the Bronze Age was called what it was. He demanded that his heyday as a murderer be called the Bronze Age because it seemed quite interesting-sounding.
The statue was made of bronze. It stared back at Emily as if it was a person. She lifted a finger and traced its features. How odd. It reminded her so much of the person she desperately wanted to forget. She turned away and retraced her footsteps back down the hall.
the color of hair and sun and fake tans in the summer on those girls with their legs all dangling down-o. i was never one of those girls. my legs are discrete. my hair, less than neat. and i never knew how to be … one of those girls. i got no bronze in my pockets, no sunshine on my shoulders. i got a long boston winter and my pockets full of boulders and the waters are rising for me.
So, Herb the frog was walking and he saw Pansy the Owl and she was like “No, Herb, I am not an owl.” And he said “Well then, what are you?” and stabbed her in the face with his booty. She was concerned and said “I am you, Herb.” Herb was surprised and so he jumped off the biggest cliff in Doctor Who Land.
It seems that I always get the bronze metal. No matter how hard I try or how much time I put into something, I’m never first. I’m not upset about it, and it’s never bothered me. Until you came, and I tried so hard to be the gold metal in your life, but ended up with a small bronze coin congratulating me on my efforts.
bronze is a metal that has been used for centuries to describe something precious but not as precious to other things. It has a color that resembles my skin and a that of a large people that for so long been treated as the second class
People tend to be happier when they get a bronze medal instead of a silver. Like Jake, for instance. He got bronze and did a victory lap around the racetrack, shouting his head off with the stars and stripes spray-painted yet somehow still billowing on his back. His brother, Tom, two years back, got silver for the same meter run. He wanted to melt it down and make himself a watch. Because to him, that seemed more productive than remembering he could have gotten gold.
I always loved that water fountain–the one overflowing with coins, bronze and silver and gold. But I don’t love it as much anymore. That’s where the crying started. But not from my eyes.
His face tried to hide the hurt, tried to hide the surprise, but just like the water from the fountain, the water from his eyes poured down, down, down. And my mouth tried not to smile at how beautiful everything was–the sun reflecting off the water.
Ich wollte no j nie wisen, wie es war, zu verlieren. Es war etwas, was ich nicht konnte. Ich habe immer nach Gold gestrebt, nach dem Sieg. Aber irgendwie… Mit Silber war ich nie zufrieden. Das versteht man ja. Aber seltsamerweise fand ich immer, dass Bronze besser war, als Silber.
Bei Silber wird einem immer das “nicht geschafft” so auf die Nase gerieben. Bronze ist da… Ich freue mich viel mehr immer darüber, noch auf dem Podium zu stehen.
Und irgendwie fand ich Bronze immer schön. Silber ist hässlich
The bronze idol had meant many things to me over the years. When I had first received it, it was a joke of sorts. A souvenir a friend had brought back. Then I had looked up the religion out of curiosity. Who would create such a strange animal? A scorpion’s tail, a wolf’s head, a cat’s claws, and a snake’s body? It was one of the stranger things I had seen at the time, though that did not mean much back then. The religion itself was primitive. A god of fire and conflict. Not the most creative, or the most interesting, but it certain kept me alive throughout the days when depression struck.
Bronze is the medal given to players in olympics. It reminds me of the colour brown. Also bronze has a very greek feeling to it. Bronze reminds me of this jug we had, we still have it.
Bronze has a earthy and a masculine feel to it.
the tinman coppered along the alley shining of brass and iron so that eventually the dents in his feet and the dents of the alloy bricks matched and chimed together cheerfully, each time they met upon his arduous stride along his path towards Oxidatropolis, the almighty capital of the lands of Metall.
Sometimes people have little tiny bronzed booties from when they were a baby. This is something I have never understood. Why? Are you winning third place at being a baby? I would look at that shit for 5 minutes max before I threw it away.
But this woman, this beautiful, intelligent, broken woman who’d been encased in bronze for more than a century, was everything she’d never known she’d wanted. Alabaster skin and raven tresses, whilst impressive in their own right, blurred together when compared with bottomless chocolate eyes and, even now, after everything that had happened Myka still couldn’t hate her.
She loved her too much.
The bronze statue stood in the center of the town. The sun flecked off the west side of it, the day was drawing to a close. She didn’t know what was left for her in this small town, so it was time to leave. As her fingers flitted across the side of the statue she took the few short steps out toward the road and hailed a cab.
Her hair inky and black, her skin bronzed from the sun. and her emerald eyes, bright and as sharp as the stone whose name they shared. I’d never had the privilege to look upon someone so exotic, so beautiful.
“Tasha?”
I glanced over at him, meeting his eyes briefly. “What?”
“You’re staring,” he said, as though it were obvious.
“Am not,” I said evenly, though my eyes moved back to her of their own accord.
I got the bronze bed frame after he died
and decorated it
with deep purple and fake silk
so I slept like a queen
while his shell rested in the dirt
I’ve always settled for bronze. I would try my hardest, put every ounce of my being into preparation, and then when the event came, I would put my soul out there. I thought I was unbeatable. Then I would come in third place. Always. Reaching. But never quite there.
“Time is ticking”, the bronze clock on the mantle seemed to remind her. “You’re almost out of time.”
I am not here to get bronze, I am not here to get silver. I was made for gold. I was Ron to get gold. Bronze and silver are not a voice. All I Want is gold.
A colour that can be used to place in a standing. Sometimes, if you are in third place bronze is the metal you will be given. It is a colour that not many people like, typically silver or gold are more favoured. Personally, I do not like bronze but sometimes it’s the best you can get!
Bronze. It’s the color of good, but not good enough for gold. Mediocre. An accomplishment, but not the highest accomplishment. It’s being so close you can taste first place on the tips of your tongue, but being unable to swallow it.
A color, a shade, a metal, a goal. Many try to get it fake, many try to get the gold. Personally, bronze wouldn’t be so bad. It’s all about the journey i took. It i climbed a mountain it’s automatically gold!
The third place loss was too much. Sure, he technically WON third place, but nothing about the ugly bronze rust of his medal measured up to his low height on the podium and hearing the United States’ anthem playing over his own. All he wanted in his life was to swim at record time and see Australia’s flag flying down those bannisters.
The bronze statue gleamed back at me as I walked past it, sipping my lemonade gingerly. I felt so nauseous , as if what i was about to do wasn’t bad enough, now the statues were mocking me, too.
the colour swept on my face as the sun shone. there was a light breeze that hung in the air and it woke me up.
Bronze is the last colour i want, gold i would prefer and silver i can live with. But bronze you have to be joking, i might as well not have tried at all if thats
Bronze skin, gold eyes and copper-red hair. Must be warm, where she’s from.
Olympic athlete, medal, below silver or gold, 3rd place, sounds like bonds.
The Bronze Age of art. Muscles carved from fire forged metal. A step away from the Stone Age, but more importantly, a step above.
I examined the bronze statue. Something about it was irresistible to me. Each cut into its surface was so smooth and its color so rich.
“I’m looking for 5,000 do I see 5,000,” the auctioneer’s rapid voice said, bringing me back to awareness.
I looked at the statue again. Sweat formed around the paddle in my hand.
Did I dare?
It means you are third place NOT good enough to be second OR first BUT third. Top three does not mean you are good it means you not the best.
Bronze. I wish I was bronze right now. But sadly, I’m not, because even though it is almost April, it is still basically a frozen tundra in Charleston. I am still very very pale. Ghostly, paper white. It’s not very attractive, but I’ll take it. I’d rather be pale that be dealing with skin cancer right now.
Bronzed muscular men on the beach make bronzed gorgeous women on the beach feel happy, and vice versa.
Her bronzed skin shone with the light of the sun, somehow collected over the many languid hours in its benevolent heat, and emitted now in a haze of fullsome womeninity.
Not quite gold or silver but still good.
bronze baby shoes sitting on my desk never to be worn but always a reminder of what should have been ..
The color of skin as it bakes under a hot sun. The color of someone who almost won.
Can be good or bad.
Usually not-so-good. The good leads to bad.
Bronze. The color of almost.
The bronze age was probably one of the most interesting periods of our history. It was during this age that the Romans took over vast areas of their continent.
In the Bronze Age, an infamous murderer named Dan Deathtrap went around stabbing everyone with bronze swords. He also happened to be the master of the universe, which was why the Bronze Age was called what it was. He demanded that his heyday as a murderer be called the Bronze Age because it seemed quite interesting-sounding.
The statue was made of bronze. It stared back at Emily as if it was a person. She lifted a finger and traced its features. How odd. It reminded her so much of the person she desperately wanted to forget. She turned away and retraced her footsteps back down the hall.
the color of hair and sun and fake tans in the summer on those girls with their legs all dangling down-o. i was never one of those girls. my legs are discrete. my hair, less than neat. and i never knew how to be … one of those girls. i got no bronze in my pockets, no sunshine on my shoulders. i got a long boston winter and my pockets full of boulders and the waters are rising for me.
So, Herb the frog was walking and he saw Pansy the Owl and she was like “No, Herb, I am not an owl.” And he said “Well then, what are you?” and stabbed her in the face with his booty. She was concerned and said “I am you, Herb.” Herb was surprised and so he jumped off the biggest cliff in Doctor Who Land.
It seems that I always get the bronze metal. No matter how hard I try or how much time I put into something, I’m never first. I’m not upset about it, and it’s never bothered me. Until you came, and I tried so hard to be the gold metal in your life, but ended up with a small bronze coin congratulating me on my efforts.
bronze is a metal that has been used for centuries to describe something precious but not as precious to other things. It has a color that resembles my skin and a that of a large people that for so long been treated as the second class
People tend to be happier when they get a bronze medal instead of a silver. Like Jake, for instance. He got bronze and did a victory lap around the racetrack, shouting his head off with the stars and stripes spray-painted yet somehow still billowing on his back. His brother, Tom, two years back, got silver for the same meter run. He wanted to melt it down and make himself a watch. Because to him, that seemed more productive than remembering he could have gotten gold.
I always loved that water fountain–the one overflowing with coins, bronze and silver and gold. But I don’t love it as much anymore. That’s where the crying started. But not from my eyes.
His face tried to hide the hurt, tried to hide the surprise, but just like the water from the fountain, the water from his eyes poured down, down, down. And my mouth tried not to smile at how beautiful everything was–the sun reflecting off the water.
And the final slap that he had always deserved.
Ich wollte no j nie wisen, wie es war, zu verlieren. Es war etwas, was ich nicht konnte. Ich habe immer nach Gold gestrebt, nach dem Sieg. Aber irgendwie… Mit Silber war ich nie zufrieden. Das versteht man ja. Aber seltsamerweise fand ich immer, dass Bronze besser war, als Silber.
Bei Silber wird einem immer das “nicht geschafft” so auf die Nase gerieben. Bronze ist da… Ich freue mich viel mehr immer darüber, noch auf dem Podium zu stehen.
Und irgendwie fand ich Bronze immer schön. Silber ist hässlich
The bronze idol had meant many things to me over the years. When I had first received it, it was a joke of sorts. A souvenir a friend had brought back. Then I had looked up the religion out of curiosity. Who would create such a strange animal? A scorpion’s tail, a wolf’s head, a cat’s claws, and a snake’s body? It was one of the stranger things I had seen at the time, though that did not mean much back then. The religion itself was primitive. A god of fire and conflict. Not the most creative, or the most interesting, but it certain kept me alive throughout the days when depression struck.
Bronze is the medal given to players in olympics. It reminds me of the colour brown. Also bronze has a very greek feeling to it. Bronze reminds me of this jug we had, we still have it.
Bronze has a earthy and a masculine feel to it.
the tinman coppered along the alley shining of brass and iron so that eventually the dents in his feet and the dents of the alloy bricks matched and chimed together cheerfully, each time they met upon his arduous stride along his path towards Oxidatropolis, the almighty capital of the lands of Metall.
Bronze is summer all the way. The sun in the early morning reflecting on the lake, tanned skin, the sky in the evening.
Sometimes people have little tiny bronzed booties from when they were a baby. This is something I have never understood. Why? Are you winning third place at being a baby? I would look at that shit for 5 minutes max before I threw it away.
But this woman, this beautiful, intelligent, broken woman who’d been encased in bronze for more than a century, was everything she’d never known she’d wanted. Alabaster skin and raven tresses, whilst impressive in their own right, blurred together when compared with bottomless chocolate eyes and, even now, after everything that had happened Myka still couldn’t hate her.
She loved her too much.