It was a new day. I had a seen the fire the night before. Glowing. Firelight. Red. Hot. A flare in the sky. Or was it? Perhaps it was a shooting star. Or a spaceship. I don’t know. I only know that I couldn’t sleep. I’d close my eyes and see it all over again in my minds eye.
The fireworks flare up in the sky. We look at them in awe, the smoke they leave behind is almost as beautiful as the bright colors. The ghosts of fireworks drift across the sky, blown by the wind. They merge together into one cloud, the magnificent reminder of a show.
When I was 6 years old, I had a thing for jeans that had a flare on them. They weren’t instyle, or anything. They just were what suited me. I loved them and I think they loved me too. They were too big and ugly butnthat didn’t matter to me.
flare hair bear has won the race
he was lost but now
is found after he lost to the turtle
the hare did not race
wow what a bumber
this is really fun…
what next to write
flare jeans i like so much
flare sounds like hair bear glare
so many are’s to search for
Flare.
Fiery flames of Passion.
They’re leaping towards my heart.
Reaching out to me.
I want you to want me.
The smoke suffocates me.
My lungs betray me.
No air in.
I love you, I love you.
“What happened here?” the officer asked her. The woman hiccuped a little, the stains from her tears on her cheeks. She looked up and the officer repeated the question.
“I…I don’t know,” she said.
The officer grunted and wrote that down in his little book. The woman continued, “The kitchen…the fire…it flared up. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged out of the ruins.”
She had it. She was wearing a black dress and it was tight and fitted her well. Her red lipstick was deep and it made me want to kiss her. She was a bitch and I loved her, even if only for tonight.
Is it wrong to wear flare in my own kitchen, on my own apron? I mean no one pays me to wear all these buttons. My flare says things like- I’ll believe corporations are individuals when Texas executes one. The spicey flare is welcome in my kitchen.
oh the flare of the night
the city below
a thousand tiny flame particles moving around, orbiting the black mass we are perched so precariously on
the flare of the scape is too far from us, it divides us still.
The spark was started small, growing into a large fire. This fire inside of me burns so deep. So hot, the heat gets to you? Well if you can’t handle the heat, get out of thhe kitchen. So fuck you and fuck this.
the driver behind me flared his horn, as he wished i was moving forward at a faster pace. he didn’t know that my car was running slowly, and i was going as fast as i could go at this time. i wanted to tell him this, but it seemed impossible to do so.
Fireworks burst into the sky. They were like little lanterns, lighting my world up and leading the way towards enlightenment. I could no longer remain in the dark. I could leave…and be free.
the flare of sunlight against your skin. it feathered out along curves of you shoulders, highlighting the freckles that i have spent so long staring at i have begun to count them, i could spend all day like this.
Weder die Nordlichter noch das Grummeln aus der Erde konnten das Bündel auf Jaraunas Rücken beruhigen. Dabei hatten die Alten doch immer gesagt: “Wenn es was zu gucken gibt, und wenn irgendein Geräusch zu hören ist, dann sind die lieben Kleinen mucksmäuschen still.” Das Baby schrie schrill und in Jarauna begann ein böses Kribbeln aufzusteigen.
The flash of light catches me by surprise. It’s really sad how a simple “flare” can be the difference between a fellow brother living or dying through this firefight. Everything counts when it comes to war…
The light in the darkness of the world. A signal to others that your traped and need help. The Darkness is gone when a flare shows back and you’re saved. The time when no one elce can help you. The flare will be there. Use your voice as a flare against all that’s wrong and you too can chnage the worlk. one step at a time.
I have asthma and anxiety flare ups
Both of them come on suddenly
And it’s hard to describe to someone
Who’s never experienced them
Exactly what it is I go through
Some people are reminded of signal flares
Or nostrils flaring when people tell lies
But to me a flare is an unexpected occurance
That happens in my lungs and my mind
That little bit that meens so much to other people. That thing that makes you who you are. The spark in you that ignights the passion of your soul. The deepest part of who you are. You show it to the world with care. Your sparkel, your shine, your flair. Kindle it within you and never let it die. For your flair will start a fire if you just open up your eyes.
The light flared, one soul made apparent, another extinguished. Ashes left beside dry kindling. A pile of bones and several cigarette butts. One finished tale and three left unstarted.
Jody swaggered past the new clothes high fashion store that had opened that week on the Kings Road. Ha! Way behind. He was so far ahead in fashion terms, he’d come full circle, and then gone past them again, only to return as retro. If only more of them would carefully follow how he dressed, they would know what was in, or at least, what would be in, in two years’ time. For now, they were philistines of fashion, he…he was the centre of the world. With his flares.
Enormous, they were, like cathedral bells swinging at the ends of his legs, catching the faces of small dogs as he swaggered on, forced into his duck-like walk on account of the excess of starch he had used to make the flare more pronounced. Children on the other side of the road pointed. He felt proud, recognised. He failed to notice they were giggling, however. As jaws continued to drop while he strode on, the inevitable happened, the end of one leg catching a snag on a bus stop pole and pulling him up short, bringing him to ground with an unflattering thump.
“Just you wait!” he shouted to the captivated audience that had gathered, almost willing the fall to have happened. “Soon, you’ll all look like I do!”
That, they thought to themselves, they seriously doubted. Surprisingly, Jody was to have the last laugh. But by then, he had moved on, full circle, to drainpipes.
With a flare of her skirts, Penelope shimmied down the spiral staircase, anticipating that the cascade of chinking glasses, the hum of reverberating tabla were for her moment of drama. The next clack of her stiletto on the woodwork was an extra beat, and she began to whirl, down the last few stairs and round and round the rooms, her hips whacking out each thud from the drums until everybody waved and stomped with the rythmn. It was only as she bounced shoulders with one of the other dancers that she remembered the rest of the troupe, and that they were all watching, eyebrow after eyebrow as she danced on through the melody before the set had even begun.
He breathes his last meal of air, and every bite is desperation. His hand slips on the match oncetwicethreetimes. It lights and hisses up. He doesn’t jump at the noise. The glow ignites his pupilled eyes with hope that fizzles with the last sparks.
I have I flare for the unusual in every unusual aspect in life. Well really I have a flare for anything, shoes, coats, literature, etc… Having a flare simply means you are the flare!
So far, Jonathan was sailing through the interview. Everything he said seemed to have gone down well, even the bits he got wrong. Even the bit where he managed to insult the wife of one of the interview panel. And his dog. And him.
To be frank, he was more than puzzled as to how he had gotten this far, given the blandness of the answers. But they seemed mesmerised. Maybe it wasn’t so much what he said, as the way he delivered it. “With flare” his interviewing coach had told him.
Fine. If that was how it was done, that was how he would do it. He would test his coach’s theory to the limit, in this very interview. And it seemed to be working.
It was just a shame he didn’t want the job. Not at all. In fact, he’d rather have slowly pulled his fingernails out than join this firm.
So maybe this was the secret. With flare, and don’t give a damn. Seemed to work for him anyway. He got the job. He sent back a reply accepting the post, along with a mild insult to the sender, just for good measure. Somehow, it was taken as a compliment, he found out some weeks later. Damn, was there anything he couldn’t do right here?
People aren’t attracted to each other because of personality, looks, or interests.
Maybe they enjoy talking to each other because of those things.
But really, people are attracted to flares.
That spark of life that makes a person only and uniquely themselves.
Their vibe, what they give off to the universe and what everyone takes in.
It’s how we can connect to people instantly when we meet them.
It’s why soul mates and best friends and kindred spirits are exist.
I hope you like my flare.
flares are used to signal for help by people in distress. they are very useful. it could save a lot of people’s lives. i don’t know who invented them but he must have been a genius.
The flares on the side of the road warned cars to keep clear. The glass was spread across the road, like a fine sheet of snow. She was dead, and I had killed her.
He snuck through the tangled branches littering the ground, motioning for me to follow. Our feet crunched the dead leaves deliciously, as the scent of nighttime and earth surrounded us. With a sudden motion, he tugged on the flare, and a thick stream of hot yellow light shot into the air. The cool, musky scent of the night was replaced by the acrid stench of chemical and flame; I covered my eyes, trying to remember the darkness that had enveloped us before.
it is a sudden emotion. A hot heat that takes over every bit of thinking. It is destructive like a solar flare hurtling from space to the earth. All that little rock can do is be roasted. That is how her eyes beckon me.
My anger flared like a fire in an oxygen tank. They were kissing. Not only were they kissing, but I could see their tongues swirling together. I wanted to cry. He was MINE. Not hers, mine. And to think I’d ever considered her a friend.
It was a new day. I had a seen the fire the night before. Glowing. Firelight. Red. Hot. A flare in the sky. Or was it? Perhaps it was a shooting star. Or a spaceship. I don’t know. I only know that I couldn’t sleep. I’d close my eyes and see it all over again in my minds eye.
The fireworks flare up in the sky. We look at them in awe, the smoke they leave behind is almost as beautiful as the bright colors. The ghosts of fireworks drift across the sky, blown by the wind. They merge together into one cloud, the magnificent reminder of a show.
When I was 6 years old, I had a thing for jeans that had a flare on them. They weren’t instyle, or anything. They just were what suited me. I loved them and I think they loved me too. They were too big and ugly butnthat didn’t matter to me.
flare hair bear has won the race
he was lost but now
is found after he lost to the turtle
the hare did not race
wow what a bumber
this is really fun…
what next to write
flare jeans i like so much
flare sounds like hair bear glare
so many are’s to search for
An Iron hull,
And needle eyes.
A flare from somewhere far beneath.
A riot starting in the skies.
Flare.
Fiery flames of Passion.
They’re leaping towards my heart.
Reaching out to me.
I want you to want me.
The smoke suffocates me.
My lungs betray me.
No air in.
I love you, I love you.
“What happened here?” the officer asked her. The woman hiccuped a little, the stains from her tears on her cheeks. She looked up and the officer repeated the question.
“I…I don’t know,” she said.
The officer grunted and wrote that down in his little book. The woman continued, “The kitchen…the fire…it flared up. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged out of the ruins.”
She had it. She was wearing a black dress and it was tight and fitted her well. Her red lipstick was deep and it made me want to kiss her. She was a bitch and I loved her, even if only for tonight.
Is it wrong to wear flare in my own kitchen, on my own apron? I mean no one pays me to wear all these buttons. My flare says things like- I’ll believe corporations are individuals when Texas executes one. The spicey flare is welcome in my kitchen.
oh the flare of the night
the city below
a thousand tiny flame particles moving around, orbiting the black mass we are perched so precariously on
the flare of the scape is too far from us, it divides us still.
The spark was started small, growing into a large fire. This fire inside of me burns so deep. So hot, the heat gets to you? Well if you can’t handle the heat, get out of thhe kitchen. So fuck you and fuck this.
the driver behind me flared his horn, as he wished i was moving forward at a faster pace. he didn’t know that my car was running slowly, and i was going as fast as i could go at this time. i wanted to tell him this, but it seemed impossible to do so.
Flamboyant fairs flaunt flair in flares of fashion.
Fireworks burst into the sky. They were like little lanterns, lighting my world up and leading the way towards enlightenment. I could no longer remain in the dark. I could leave…and be free.
the flare of sunlight against your skin. it feathered out along curves of you shoulders, highlighting the freckles that i have spent so long staring at i have begun to count them, i could spend all day like this.
Flares in his hand.
“Are those illegal?”
“I don’t know.”
I’ve always felt the need to protect him. He’s my little brother. My baby Thomas. My junior pyromaniac.
Weder die Nordlichter noch das Grummeln aus der Erde konnten das Bündel auf Jaraunas Rücken beruhigen. Dabei hatten die Alten doch immer gesagt: “Wenn es was zu gucken gibt, und wenn irgendein Geräusch zu hören ist, dann sind die lieben Kleinen mucksmäuschen still.” Das Baby schrie schrill und in Jarauna begann ein böses Kribbeln aufzusteigen.
bubble bubble bubble
snap crackle pop
sip sip sip
i like rice crispies
The flash of light catches me by surprise. It’s really sad how a simple “flare” can be the difference between a fellow brother living or dying through this firefight. Everything counts when it comes to war…
The light in the darkness of the world. A signal to others that your traped and need help. The Darkness is gone when a flare shows back and you’re saved. The time when no one elce can help you. The flare will be there. Use your voice as a flare against all that’s wrong and you too can chnage the worlk. one step at a time.
I have asthma and anxiety flare ups
Both of them come on suddenly
And it’s hard to describe to someone
Who’s never experienced them
Exactly what it is I go through
Some people are reminded of signal flares
Or nostrils flaring when people tell lies
But to me a flare is an unexpected occurance
That happens in my lungs and my mind
That little bit that meens so much to other people. That thing that makes you who you are. The spark in you that ignights the passion of your soul. The deepest part of who you are. You show it to the world with care. Your sparkel, your shine, your flair. Kindle it within you and never let it die. For your flair will start a fire if you just open up your eyes.
The light flared, one soul made apparent, another extinguished. Ashes left beside dry kindling. A pile of bones and several cigarette butts. One finished tale and three left unstarted.
i wish i had some. i feel i lack flare. it seems to be the missing ingredient in all i do but i am trying. maybe this will help.
Jody swaggered past the new clothes high fashion store that had opened that week on the Kings Road. Ha! Way behind. He was so far ahead in fashion terms, he’d come full circle, and then gone past them again, only to return as retro. If only more of them would carefully follow how he dressed, they would know what was in, or at least, what would be in, in two years’ time. For now, they were philistines of fashion, he…he was the centre of the world. With his flares.
Enormous, they were, like cathedral bells swinging at the ends of his legs, catching the faces of small dogs as he swaggered on, forced into his duck-like walk on account of the excess of starch he had used to make the flare more pronounced. Children on the other side of the road pointed. He felt proud, recognised. He failed to notice they were giggling, however. As jaws continued to drop while he strode on, the inevitable happened, the end of one leg catching a snag on a bus stop pole and pulling him up short, bringing him to ground with an unflattering thump.
“Just you wait!” he shouted to the captivated audience that had gathered, almost willing the fall to have happened. “Soon, you’ll all look like I do!”
That, they thought to themselves, they seriously doubted. Surprisingly, Jody was to have the last laugh. But by then, he had moved on, full circle, to drainpipes.
With a flare of her skirts, Penelope shimmied down the spiral staircase, anticipating that the cascade of chinking glasses, the hum of reverberating tabla were for her moment of drama. The next clack of her stiletto on the woodwork was an extra beat, and she began to whirl, down the last few stairs and round and round the rooms, her hips whacking out each thud from the drums until everybody waved and stomped with the rythmn. It was only as she bounced shoulders with one of the other dancers that she remembered the rest of the troupe, and that they were all watching, eyebrow after eyebrow as she danced on through the melody before the set had even begun.
He breathes his last meal of air, and every bite is desperation. His hand slips on the match oncetwicethreetimes. It lights and hisses up. He doesn’t jump at the noise. The glow ignites his pupilled eyes with hope that fizzles with the last sparks.
I have I flare for the unusual in every unusual aspect in life. Well really I have a flare for anything, shoes, coats, literature, etc… Having a flare simply means you are the flare!
the flare poped out of the fire and gave every one a fright. The flare was amazing and really really cool.
So far, Jonathan was sailing through the interview. Everything he said seemed to have gone down well, even the bits he got wrong. Even the bit where he managed to insult the wife of one of the interview panel. And his dog. And him.
To be frank, he was more than puzzled as to how he had gotten this far, given the blandness of the answers. But they seemed mesmerised. Maybe it wasn’t so much what he said, as the way he delivered it. “With flare” his interviewing coach had told him.
Fine. If that was how it was done, that was how he would do it. He would test his coach’s theory to the limit, in this very interview. And it seemed to be working.
It was just a shame he didn’t want the job. Not at all. In fact, he’d rather have slowly pulled his fingernails out than join this firm.
So maybe this was the secret. With flare, and don’t give a damn. Seemed to work for him anyway. He got the job. He sent back a reply accepting the post, along with a mild insult to the sender, just for good measure. Somehow, it was taken as a compliment, he found out some weeks later. Damn, was there anything he couldn’t do right here?
People aren’t attracted to each other because of personality, looks, or interests.
Maybe they enjoy talking to each other because of those things.
But really, people are attracted to flares.
That spark of life that makes a person only and uniquely themselves.
Their vibe, what they give off to the universe and what everyone takes in.
It’s how we can connect to people instantly when we meet them.
It’s why soul mates and best friends and kindred spirits are exist.
I hope you like my flare.
when i think of flare i think of the icarly episode when spencer brings out his flare gun hahaha i did have a flare out fit a long time ago.
what forms around your thougths when you doubt that you know what IT is all about
The man had flare, I’ll give him that. Even though his schemes were so sadistically barbarian- he was very clever in their execution.
flares are used to signal for help by people in distress. they are very useful. it could save a lot of people’s lives. i don’t know who invented them but he must have been a genius.
The flares on the side of the road warned cars to keep clear. The glass was spread across the road, like a fine sheet of snow. She was dead, and I had killed her.
He snuck through the tangled branches littering the ground, motioning for me to follow. Our feet crunched the dead leaves deliciously, as the scent of nighttime and earth surrounded us. With a sudden motion, he tugged on the flare, and a thick stream of hot yellow light shot into the air. The cool, musky scent of the night was replaced by the acrid stench of chemical and flame; I covered my eyes, trying to remember the darkness that had enveloped us before.
it is a sudden emotion. A hot heat that takes over every bit of thinking. It is destructive like a solar flare hurtling from space to the earth. All that little rock can do is be roasted. That is how her eyes beckon me.
My anger flared like a fire in an oxygen tank. They were kissing. Not only were they kissing, but I could see their tongues swirling together. I wanted to cry. He was MINE. Not hers, mine. And to think I’d ever considered her a friend.
i love flares flaimming in the night throw the shitty shadows