As the crane landed gracefully on the lake I watched the sunset. Everything was settling in for the night as the moon took its place high up in the sky. The fireflies flickered by as the stars multiplied. Just when everything seemed calm the crane took flight, its wings beating in perfect rhythm as it fled.
his words of wisdom were a crane that lifted me up from the heavy concrete. I must say that I was still doused in a heavy, insipid poison germinating from within my soul but at least his words gave me some courage to live on towards a much brighter future that i would create for myself.
An elegant crane whispered as it flew, the breeze carrying the words it spoke gently down to the ground as the insects gathered around, heeding the message it brought.
A white crane sat on my window sill out of destiny, or faith. Looking at me with a blank stare, with deeps eyes that looked through me instead of at me. And I knew what to do in those moments. I knew who I was, what I was looking for and where I should be. I got up, turned around and walked out my door.
I starred in awe at the barren ground where the Twin Towers once stood. In the heart of the city this dull construction site appears so out of place. The cranes and bulldozers add to the noise and chaos of this beautiful city.
The lonely crane lifted its long, regal neck up to the sky to watch his companions fly above its head.
The flocks of ducks and geese that soared above it, honking their farewells to one another, made it feel its loneliness even more.
There would be no companion for the crane. No mate to return to after a long day’s flight.
With a shrug it returned to its business burying its long pointed beak into the shallow pond to see if it could catch a fish. Or maybe two. Or even a frog.
plastic crane on the living room floor, dry dirt and sand in its joints, they sprinkle in dry rain on the floor, the sand sticks to my knee, scrapes the floor and my skin in retribution.
The white crane wandered through the marshlands of southern Georgia. It cocked its head up towards the sky and looked deeply into the bright sunlight. It flapped its wings and flew away. The wind picked up speed, carrying the crane far across the marshlands and ocean water, above all the other birds and creatures of the sea.
He was so very tall. His dark hair falling down his back in rolls of silk and his eyes so blue that by the time I glanced away I didn’t realize that I had to crane my neck to see him. My father was one of the best, and all I wanted was to look in the eye…. well now I can, but not the way I was hoping too. Now I stared down at him as he once did to me, while I stroke his paling arm… watching the green dot beep again and again until he died in my hands.
I crane my neck to turn and look at you, and you’re not there.
I search through the archives in the libraries and through years of saved up memories and can’t find even the slightest hint of you. I flip through pages and scan headlines and find nothing, not even the faintest scent I could use to think of you when I’m all on my own.
I wish one day the rules could fall away and I could say the things I’m only brave enough to say when no one is listening. To say I think of you when I know you’re not thinking of me, that my soul sings when I hear you say my name, even if there’s nothing different in your voice. That I long to let you hear it is as it is, to see me as I am. That I want to transform the way you see me and still see myself through your eyes. That the patience in my voice is sometimes ripping me apart, but that there’s nothing more I’d wish for than to be patient for you. That, at the end of the day, it’s me I hope you look to, but that I know I hope despite the facts I read.
When you close your eyes what do you see? I see the things I could be through your eyes, what I might be were there ever more than me. I pick apart your words because I look for something to quote, to love, to hang on.
And I wonder if you do it for me, too. And as I wonder, I never let myself find the end, the answer. Because, in the end, I’d rather there be no end.
I always slept with a chain of cranes hanging from my ceiling. It was something I had put together when I was in 9th grade. Hundreds of them, strung together, just dashing from one corner of my bedroom to the next.
Last week, I was cleaning my room and I realized the cranes had fallen apart much earlier. It was so sad. I tried putting them back, but they wouldn’t stay. I miss the birds flying across my bedroom at night.
a crane flys above the plane over which watches the plains. but cranes don’t belong over plains. they don’t belong with planes either. they belong with tame, and an elegant frame.
Paper cranes floated in the air like clouds as Leah walked from her room into the kitchen. Colors of different hues and shades filled her visions, and the cranes got bigger and bigger as she moved forward. She had learned the art of folding paper when she was young, taught by her grandmother.
i see the crane before me picking up my life and just dropping it. literal and metephorical even though that might’ve never happened but i highly believe that i wnt survive…
a paper crane means peace. what is peace? we never have lived in peace. we define peace as the garden of Eden. but what i don’t understand is why don’t we take chances anymore? you don’t know when your life is going to end, it doesn’t take much you could hit your head the wrong way and then you’re dead. you could die from AIDS, a bullet, just about anything can kill you in a matter of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. i’ve made that mistake i haven’t lived my life to the fullest I regret it. the only thing i ask of you is to take the chance when you really want to. don’t let your mom, your priest, your teacher, don’t let ANYONE tell you how to live. use your fucking instincts, right now we’re living in fear. life won’t wait for you to be scared or think twice. what makes us any better than animals? nothing. we all die the same. so take advantage of the time you have even though it might be your last. fight for your life because we don’t know if we’re just going to sleep forever. maybe there is a heaven but you just never know. take advantage of the time you have, please goddamnit just get out there and fucking do what you want.
When I think of cranes I think of the paper cranes that thousands of people made around the world to support the relief efforts after the tsunami in Japan. While I have tons of trouble making them, they are beautiful and at that moment, inspirational as well.
She craned her neck to look over the head of the tall soprano sitting in front of her. Drat! How would she ever get the attention of the balding gent in the 2nd row?
For American Cultures, I had to make cranes for Japan. It was a life-changing experience. Ever since then, I have been making origami to save lives. It’s a wonderful, effortless experience. I advice anyone to try it. It truly helps.
we wrote about cranes
and puns were so funny
we had your dad’s car
and suburban money
they lifted us up
and built us a rhyme
i’m glad that we made it
we just had the time
the crane pulls me upwards towards the sky but i don’t want to have a hole in my shirt, maybe the crane is just trying to help but all i do is worry about my shirt. as i am lifted my shoes fall on someone’s head. nowadays it is dangerous to walk on the sidewalk because shoes might fall on your head. you could get killed.
The crane. It builds buildings. It has the power of 1,000 hard working men. Yet it only takes one man to control such an amazing power. And in one mistake, all could fall apart. Just as with our lives. Just as with every aspect of our beings.
Crane? Like a paper crane? I craned my neck to see what I could fold in my living room to make a paper crane, but I saw nothing. My sister handed me a napkin with writing on it, so I folded it into a crane that would never hold. The napkin said ‘the end;
Factoring the wind, level of the land, and the weight of the load, the foreman made his predictions of future, his own crystal ball made of tree pulp and bleach. The pencil scratched across the page, doing it’s own part for the oracle of the temple of steel. No one can say that they will be affected by this act of a lone foreman, there lives moving to and fro in the world without a second thought to the miraculous acts of others. His calculations made, with everyone at the ready, the act is set to begin.
I remember bonding with my brother as we drove past a construction site on the way home from Transformers, hoping that the crane to our right wasn’t a crane, but a sentient being from another world.
It wasn’t.
Large, strange object that is kind of ridiculous. I wonder why I thought about the truck not the animal? I don’t like them, they will take over the world.
crane, slipping down to pick up a thing
unable to be picked up by natural strength
mind unable to grasp things by natural strength
crane of the neck
lack of strength
Paper cranes? Too well-known. Crane wife? What a great song. The Decemberists are so amazing. Each part has its own distinct tune and they blend so well into the other. T’is what I call good music.
A crane, a shadow at my eyes from the stare of the sun, picked up the misery I left behind and propped it on my door step. I glared in shame and walked away, for my sanity could not bear the sight of such sadness.
The crane has a long neck that seperates the head from the rest of the body. The head is separate and away from the heart of the crane. This is symbolic for the head and heart often times don’t agree with one another. The crane sqwacks in detest.
As they stood there both holding their grounds, radioactive as they were, a huge crane swooped in from nowhere and landed between them. “Now what the fuck…” Jensen muttered. “What the fuck kind of cosmic vortex have I entered into..?”
crane is the word like a paper crane that saves a girls life who is dying of ancecer. cancner. you know what it is even if I don’t spell correctly. a crane can life you lift you usp, too.
Does death change things? Is it only a death causing me to still see her walking everywhere down the street, nearly causing traffic accidents as I crane my neck just to make sure it really isn’t her.
Crane? I have to write about a crane. Okay, well, I would have better luck if I didn’t keep accidentally writing ‘crance’. Well, what kind of crane? Like, a crane at a construction site? Or a crane like a bird thing? Oh, well. Chimey bell! Yay, no more crane writing! Peace, suckas!
She looked at me as I glanced up and looked at her, craning my neck. did she know my secret? that I secretly admired her every flaw but had to keep it all inside? I could feel my face turn red. I could feel my regret fall out of my head sprawling all on the floor for her to see.
I often have to crane my neck to see things. That’s the curse of being short. Whenever there’s something worth seeing, it’s up on your tippy-toes and stretching your neck to an ungodly length to try to see something. And then you have to deal with the ache in your neck muscles afterwards and you realize it wasn’t worth it in the first place.
As the crane landed gracefully on the lake I watched the sunset. Everything was settling in for the night as the moon took its place high up in the sky. The fireflies flickered by as the stars multiplied. Just when everything seemed calm the crane took flight, its wings beating in perfect rhythm as it fled.
his words of wisdom were a crane that lifted me up from the heavy concrete. I must say that I was still doused in a heavy, insipid poison germinating from within my soul but at least his words gave me some courage to live on towards a much brighter future that i would create for myself.
Why? The bird is beautiful, the machine is destructive. Why?
the crane was swaying in the wind,
The sun was beating down on it,
The people watched it from below,
and above.
The dirt was in the air,
Swinging from the crane,
sticking to sweaty faces.
the crane.
An elegant crane whispered as it flew, the breeze carrying the words it spoke gently down to the ground as the insects gathered around, heeding the message it brought.
Death! Death comes! Flee! Hide! Escape!
A white crane sat on my window sill out of destiny, or faith. Looking at me with a blank stare, with deeps eyes that looked through me instead of at me. And I knew what to do in those moments. I knew who I was, what I was looking for and where I should be. I got up, turned around and walked out my door.
I starred in awe at the barren ground where the Twin Towers once stood. In the heart of the city this dull construction site appears so out of place. The cranes and bulldozers add to the noise and chaos of this beautiful city.
The lonely crane lifted its long, regal neck up to the sky to watch his companions fly above its head.
The flocks of ducks and geese that soared above it, honking their farewells to one another, made it feel its loneliness even more.
There would be no companion for the crane. No mate to return to after a long day’s flight.
With a shrug it returned to its business burying its long pointed beak into the shallow pond to see if it could catch a fish. Or maybe two. Or even a frog.
plastic crane on the living room floor, dry dirt and sand in its joints, they sprinkle in dry rain on the floor, the sand sticks to my knee, scrapes the floor and my skin in retribution.
The white crane wandered through the marshlands of southern Georgia. It cocked its head up towards the sky and looked deeply into the bright sunlight. It flapped its wings and flew away. The wind picked up speed, carrying the crane far across the marshlands and ocean water, above all the other birds and creatures of the sea.
He was so very tall. His dark hair falling down his back in rolls of silk and his eyes so blue that by the time I glanced away I didn’t realize that I had to crane my neck to see him. My father was one of the best, and all I wanted was to look in the eye…. well now I can, but not the way I was hoping too. Now I stared down at him as he once did to me, while I stroke his paling arm… watching the green dot beep again and again until he died in my hands.
I crane my neck to turn and look at you, and you’re not there.
I search through the archives in the libraries and through years of saved up memories and can’t find even the slightest hint of you. I flip through pages and scan headlines and find nothing, not even the faintest scent I could use to think of you when I’m all on my own.
I wish one day the rules could fall away and I could say the things I’m only brave enough to say when no one is listening. To say I think of you when I know you’re not thinking of me, that my soul sings when I hear you say my name, even if there’s nothing different in your voice. That I long to let you hear it is as it is, to see me as I am. That I want to transform the way you see me and still see myself through your eyes. That the patience in my voice is sometimes ripping me apart, but that there’s nothing more I’d wish for than to be patient for you. That, at the end of the day, it’s me I hope you look to, but that I know I hope despite the facts I read.
When you close your eyes what do you see? I see the things I could be through your eyes, what I might be were there ever more than me. I pick apart your words because I look for something to quote, to love, to hang on.
And I wonder if you do it for me, too. And as I wonder, I never let myself find the end, the answer. Because, in the end, I’d rather there be no end.
I always slept with a chain of cranes hanging from my ceiling. It was something I had put together when I was in 9th grade. Hundreds of them, strung together, just dashing from one corner of my bedroom to the next.
Last week, I was cleaning my room and I realized the cranes had fallen apart much earlier. It was so sad. I tried putting them back, but they wouldn’t stay. I miss the birds flying across my bedroom at night.
a crane flys above the plane over which watches the plains. but cranes don’t belong over plains. they don’t belong with planes either. they belong with tame, and an elegant frame.
Paper cranes floated in the air like clouds as Leah walked from her room into the kitchen. Colors of different hues and shades filled her visions, and the cranes got bigger and bigger as she moved forward. She had learned the art of folding paper when she was young, taught by her grandmother.
i see the crane before me picking up my life and just dropping it. literal and metephorical even though that might’ve never happened but i highly believe that i wnt survive…
a paper crane means peace. what is peace? we never have lived in peace. we define peace as the garden of Eden. but what i don’t understand is why don’t we take chances anymore? you don’t know when your life is going to end, it doesn’t take much you could hit your head the wrong way and then you’re dead. you could die from AIDS, a bullet, just about anything can kill you in a matter of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. i’ve made that mistake i haven’t lived my life to the fullest I regret it. the only thing i ask of you is to take the chance when you really want to. don’t let your mom, your priest, your teacher, don’t let ANYONE tell you how to live. use your fucking instincts, right now we’re living in fear. life won’t wait for you to be scared or think twice. what makes us any better than animals? nothing. we all die the same. so take advantage of the time you have even though it might be your last. fight for your life because we don’t know if we’re just going to sleep forever. maybe there is a heaven but you just never know. take advantage of the time you have, please goddamnit just get out there and fucking do what you want.
When I think of cranes I think of the paper cranes that thousands of people made around the world to support the relief efforts after the tsunami in Japan. While I have tons of trouble making them, they are beautiful and at that moment, inspirational as well.
crane
curve of the neck, point of the beak
simple beauty, paperless
She craned her neck to look over the head of the tall soprano sitting in front of her. Drat! How would she ever get the attention of the balding gent in the 2nd row?
For American Cultures, I had to make cranes for Japan. It was a life-changing experience. Ever since then, I have been making origami to save lives. It’s a wonderful, effortless experience. I advice anyone to try it. It truly helps.
we wrote about cranes
and puns were so funny
we had your dad’s car
and suburban money
they lifted us up
and built us a rhyme
i’m glad that we made it
we just had the time
the crane pulls me upwards towards the sky but i don’t want to have a hole in my shirt, maybe the crane is just trying to help but all i do is worry about my shirt. as i am lifted my shoes fall on someone’s head. nowadays it is dangerous to walk on the sidewalk because shoes might fall on your head. you could get killed.
The crane. It builds buildings. It has the power of 1,000 hard working men. Yet it only takes one man to control such an amazing power. And in one mistake, all could fall apart. Just as with our lives. Just as with every aspect of our beings.
Crane? Like a paper crane? I craned my neck to see what I could fold in my living room to make a paper crane, but I saw nothing. My sister handed me a napkin with writing on it, so I folded it into a crane that would never hold. The napkin said ‘the end;
Factoring the wind, level of the land, and the weight of the load, the foreman made his predictions of future, his own crystal ball made of tree pulp and bleach. The pencil scratched across the page, doing it’s own part for the oracle of the temple of steel. No one can say that they will be affected by this act of a lone foreman, there lives moving to and fro in the world without a second thought to the miraculous acts of others. His calculations made, with everyone at the ready, the act is set to begin.
Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes was a shitty book and I didn’t finish it and it was sad in some parts the end why am I doing this
I remember bonding with my brother as we drove past a construction site on the way home from Transformers, hoping that the crane to our right wasn’t a crane, but a sentient being from another world.
It wasn’t.
Large, strange object that is kind of ridiculous. I wonder why I thought about the truck not the animal? I don’t like them, they will take over the world.
crane, slipping down to pick up a thing
unable to be picked up by natural strength
mind unable to grasp things by natural strength
crane of the neck
lack of strength
Paper cranes? Too well-known. Crane wife? What a great song. The Decemberists are so amazing. Each part has its own distinct tune and they blend so well into the other. T’is what I call good music.
A crane, a shadow at my eyes from the stare of the sun, picked up the misery I left behind and propped it on my door step. I glared in shame and walked away, for my sanity could not bear the sight of such sadness.
The crane has a long neck that seperates the head from the rest of the body. The head is separate and away from the heart of the crane. This is symbolic for the head and heart often times don’t agree with one another. The crane sqwacks in detest.
As they stood there both holding their grounds, radioactive as they were, a huge crane swooped in from nowhere and landed between them. “Now what the fuck…” Jensen muttered. “What the fuck kind of cosmic vortex have I entered into..?”
crane is the word like a paper crane that saves a girls life who is dying of ancecer. cancner. you know what it is even if I don’t spell correctly. a crane can life you lift you usp, too.
Does death change things? Is it only a death causing me to still see her walking everywhere down the street, nearly causing traffic accidents as I crane my neck just to make sure it really isn’t her.
Crane? I have to write about a crane. Okay, well, I would have better luck if I didn’t keep accidentally writing ‘crance’. Well, what kind of crane? Like, a crane at a construction site? Or a crane like a bird thing? Oh, well. Chimey bell! Yay, no more crane writing! Peace, suckas!
She looked at me as I glanced up and looked at her, craning my neck. did she know my secret? that I secretly admired her every flaw but had to keep it all inside? I could feel my face turn red. I could feel my regret fall out of my head sprawling all on the floor for her to see.
Her neck. I kissed it. It was the last thing I did before realizing she was asleep already.
I often have to crane my neck to see things. That’s the curse of being short. Whenever there’s something worth seeing, it’s up on your tippy-toes and stretching your neck to an ungodly length to try to see something. And then you have to deal with the ache in your neck muscles afterwards and you realize it wasn’t worth it in the first place.