He loomed in front of the driveway menacingly. He was ready to strike with the club in his powerful fists. There was only one way out and that would be to run him over with her car. Frantically she tried to start the car forgetting about the emergency brake in her fear.
click.
click.
click.
the sound of the revolving wheel resounded around the empty room, booming with each revolution. The sound seemed to emanate and pulsate from the large stone blocks.
Looming in a dark room was a ghost; blackness overtook the room as the ghoulish creep lingered as she slept. She was in a sweet place as she slumbered but, little did she know, she was being watched.
He loomed over her. still almost twice as tall despite the fact he was bent nearly in half. He sneered, his thin lips pulling back to reveal pointed teeth that glimmered in the lamplight. “You are nothing,” he spat, his voice thick with distaste as he struck her hard across the face, knocking her to the floor.
“I am NOT nothing,” she said, her voice soft but firm.
“What did you say, you little bitch?” he snarled, pulling his arm back to strike her again.
She forced herself to her feet, unknowingly smearing the blood from her split lip across the back of her hand as she wiped at her face. “I. Am not. NOTHING.”
When I was in Germany in an art class we learned how to inkle weave on a loom. I made a small woven piece with the colors brown pink and mint green. They were inspired by IceCream.
there was danger looming on the horizon. great danger. The storm they sensed promised to be one of the biggest in centuries. And of course, it endangered the loom. And that, to you dear reader, might seem trivial, but this loom is one that weaves stories. And to a people known for their stories, this is of course, of much importance.
there was nothing they could do but hunker down. put up as much protection as they could around it. Or so they thought. None had considered trying to stop the storm, going out to ride against the gale. None, except for bright Everbell.
One day I was sitting in an imprisonment where I was to only loom thread. I had gotten here from a many untimely placements which I had brought myself into.
Loom. To stand somewhere with no actual meaning. Just letting yourself be who you are for a minute, and stop yourself from stressing and worrying over the little things.
She loomed n the ocean side, half-hoping, half-waiting for the man of her dreams to turn round the bend.
I like spinning yarn, it helps calm my nerves as well as my thirst for blood which is great especially during the season of the white moon in which I do nothing but drink from the throats of my enemies and spin life thread on the loom of the universe. I love cats and sometimes I may take their fur and spin it on the loom.
thats a funny word. reminds me of fruit of the loom. the underwear company. my underwear is uncomfortsble. i want some fruit. my favorite fruity is bannanas. they taste good. looms were the things used to make clothes right? i dont remember. im stupid at times.
I sat at the desk, staring at my loom. I knew that the project was due in just a few hours, but I just couldn’t bring myself to use it! Maybe because I didn’t know how, or maybe because I was just lazy. But I just did not want to use that loom. It sat there, taunting me. I sighed. Oh how I wanted to give up…
There are monsters that loom in your head and friends that loom by your side. So drop your gaze from the sky and focus on the good. Are you aware of all the looming entities you should be very grateful for? The magnetic force of the monsters can only hold you for so long, until you’re forced to meet the beauty that looms beside you.
used for thread, reminds me of grapes for some reason and its an aesthetically good looking word. ive come to enjoy the word loom in the last 60 seconds more than i
loom string wood tombs, on the grass like spiders, blowing in the gusts of brine, driftwood bobbing, broken knobs and things, spiderwebs like a sail on the mainmast.
Loom. Looming over me are the expectations that not only others have of me, but myself. I think these are more important, yet unattainable. They never stop flowing.
The loom as roaring at the foot of the hill, covered in crimson blood as it dripped from it’s stringy locks of brown hair. It looked up at the moon and died. Why??
The loom was still now, gathering dust. She had worked it for fifty six years, but her hands were now too old, too tight, to make anything of beauty ant more.
Loom. I hate it will people loom over me esp. when i’m writing. I hate “loomers” here it is in a sentence, “I distest you, you stupid loomer!”
Or
“stop looming you loomer Mcloomerson”
Loom, or to loom.
PS I’m not sure what the word “loom” means…but now, I will google after my 60 second are indeed up.
She weaves a tapestry with a thread of gold, laying out all the days of your life. The shuttle passes, back and forth, a pendulum marking the hours, minutes, and seconds until she cuts the thread, and sends you to your maker.
loom in the gloom of doom, then take a broom and some shrooms and you’re a witch. who had an itch that she could not pinch within an inch, oh the horror. weekend wars.
The very tall cowboy loomed over the very short rancher, but the very short rancher had a far more intimidating scowl. They both stood at the counter in the Old West Saloon, drinking honey bourbon and spewing out profanities like hornets against a hive. They only stopped cussing and whooping when a quaint old man waddled by, taking a seat beside them.
The very tall cowboy grunted at the bartender. “Old feller’s drink’s on us,” he grunted, pointing at his diminutive but assenting companion.
i loom i lom i looom around around around this word i dont understand. Is it to zoom or to boom? Is it to linger? Or is it to slumber? hmmmmm loom loom loom, if only i understood this looming.
Recovery is looming. Doesn’t that sound menacing? At this very moment, letting go, surrendering to recovery, looms. looooooooms. It IS scary. I don’t know if I can let my empty alone future loom, either.
I’d like to say things can start off easy, and maybe sometimes they do. Generally, though, beginnings take time. In my case, scribbles and anger. When words can’t loom together in perfect pattern, everything just starts to fall apart. Sleep is the first to go.
He loomed over her, trying to learn what it was she was doing. Roxane tried to ignore him as she wove and unwove the strands of time. How he could even see what she was doing besides rubbing her fingers along invisible cloth she wasn’t sure.
As we loom, the rest of the earth will just have to listen to the cries and pains from all that there is, we will examine as one, for we are the bacteria of silence, the world is our toilet and we are our mouths, join our brains and ears to live a sensitive life
loom
the darkness loomed over me as the ocean seemed to swollow him whole. it was a terrifying experiece. the one night that i lost my love, my hope and my life
I would like to make art with a loom and I really like cats. Maybe I should just go ahead and eat some chicken strips. Or tenders. Loom? What do you mean by ‘loom’? huh? It this a trick question? Loom. Loom. LOOOOooooOOoOOoOOooooOOOoooooom. Loom. What do you know, kids?
Weaving spirals never sdtop looming about in the light. She dances as we weave a natural rhythm as a breeze waifs in from the water. As I lay lounging a afar.
The moon looms over us like a small child examines a ladybug. I wonder what’s up there sometimes, but it simply isn’t a mystery at all; the moon is a really a rock following the Earth.
He loomed in front of the driveway menacingly. He was ready to strike with the club in his powerful fists. There was only one way out and that would be to run him over with her car. Frantically she tried to start the car forgetting about the emergency brake in her fear.
click.
click.
click.
the sound of the revolving wheel resounded around the empty room, booming with each revolution. The sound seemed to emanate and pulsate from the large stone blocks.
Looming in a dark room was a ghost; blackness overtook the room as the ghoulish creep lingered as she slept. She was in a sweet place as she slumbered but, little did she know, she was being watched.
He loomed over her. still almost twice as tall despite the fact he was bent nearly in half. He sneered, his thin lips pulling back to reveal pointed teeth that glimmered in the lamplight. “You are nothing,” he spat, his voice thick with distaste as he struck her hard across the face, knocking her to the floor.
“I am NOT nothing,” she said, her voice soft but firm.
“What did you say, you little bitch?” he snarled, pulling his arm back to strike her again.
She forced herself to her feet, unknowingly smearing the blood from her split lip across the back of her hand as she wiped at her face. “I. Am not. NOTHING.”
When I was in Germany in an art class we learned how to inkle weave on a loom. I made a small woven piece with the colors brown pink and mint green. They were inspired by IceCream.
It looms. The bloom. Hangs in the sunlight, heavy with droplets of dew. Crystal, the hue. Reminds me of…
there was danger looming on the horizon. great danger. The storm they sensed promised to be one of the biggest in centuries. And of course, it endangered the loom. And that, to you dear reader, might seem trivial, but this loom is one that weaves stories. And to a people known for their stories, this is of course, of much importance.
there was nothing they could do but hunker down. put up as much protection as they could around it. Or so they thought. None had considered trying to stop the storm, going out to ride against the gale. None, except for bright Everbell.
One day I was sitting in an imprisonment where I was to only loom thread. I had gotten here from a many untimely placements which I had brought myself into.
Loom. To stand somewhere with no actual meaning. Just letting yourself be who you are for a minute, and stop yourself from stressing and worrying over the little things.
She loomed n the ocean side, half-hoping, half-waiting for the man of her dreams to turn round the bend.
I like spinning yarn, it helps calm my nerves as well as my thirst for blood which is great especially during the season of the white moon in which I do nothing but drink from the throats of my enemies and spin life thread on the loom of the universe. I love cats and sometimes I may take their fur and spin it on the loom.
thats a funny word. reminds me of fruit of the loom. the underwear company. my underwear is uncomfortsble. i want some fruit. my favorite fruity is bannanas. they taste good. looms were the things used to make clothes right? i dont remember. im stupid at times.
I sat at the desk, staring at my loom. I knew that the project was due in just a few hours, but I just couldn’t bring myself to use it! Maybe because I didn’t know how, or maybe because I was just lazy. But I just did not want to use that loom. It sat there, taunting me. I sighed. Oh how I wanted to give up…
There are monsters that loom in your head and friends that loom by your side. So drop your gaze from the sky and focus on the good. Are you aware of all the looming entities you should be very grateful for? The magnetic force of the monsters can only hold you for so long, until you’re forced to meet the beauty that looms beside you.
used for thread, reminds me of grapes for some reason and its an aesthetically good looking word. ive come to enjoy the word loom in the last 60 seconds more than i
what looms in the darkness…
what looms in the darkness scares me. Darkness represents the future, which is unknown. I dont know what the future holds. And it scares me.
loom string wood tombs, on the grass like spiders, blowing in the gusts of brine, driftwood bobbing, broken knobs and things, spiderwebs like a sail on the mainmast.
Loom. Looming over me are the expectations that not only others have of me, but myself. I think these are more important, yet unattainable. They never stop flowing.
The loom as roaring at the foot of the hill, covered in crimson blood as it dripped from it’s stringy locks of brown hair. It looked up at the moon and died. Why??
eraser shavings are sprinkled here. your tea is cold. you feel his breath on your neck, ‘don’t spill that.’ little words that make you feel a mess.
little words that stick to the walls and are hung in hallways of your mind. he will loom forever here, a curse.
The loom was still now, gathering dust. She had worked it for fifty six years, but her hands were now too old, too tight, to make anything of beauty ant more.
Loom. I hate it will people loom over me esp. when i’m writing. I hate “loomers” here it is in a sentence, “I distest you, you stupid loomer!”
Or
“stop looming you loomer Mcloomerson”
Loom, or to loom.
PS I’m not sure what the word “loom” means…but now, I will google after my 60 second are indeed up.
She weaves a tapestry with a thread of gold, laying out all the days of your life. The shuttle passes, back and forth, a pendulum marking the hours, minutes, and seconds until she cuts the thread, and sends you to your maker.
THE BUILDINGS LOOMED OVER THE DARK, FORGOTTEN STREET. ONLY THE MOON HELD LIGHT, ONLY SHE SHONE ABOVE THE BROKENESS.
loom in the gloom of doom, then take a broom and some shrooms and you’re a witch. who had an itch that she could not pinch within an inch, oh the horror. weekend wars.
The very tall cowboy loomed over the very short rancher, but the very short rancher had a far more intimidating scowl. They both stood at the counter in the Old West Saloon, drinking honey bourbon and spewing out profanities like hornets against a hive. They only stopped cussing and whooping when a quaint old man waddled by, taking a seat beside them.
The very tall cowboy grunted at the bartender. “Old feller’s drink’s on us,” he grunted, pointing at his diminutive but assenting companion.
i loom i lom i looom around around around this word i dont understand. Is it to zoom or to boom? Is it to linger? Or is it to slumber? hmmmmm loom loom loom, if only i understood this looming.
threadbare.
thread here, thread there.
in and out, in and out.
slowly we will grow, no doubt.
thread here, thread there.
threads everywhere.
the loom finishes it’s job, but have I finished mine?
the loom was looming in the loominious air. and yes, that is a word, starting now.
Recovery is looming. Doesn’t that sound menacing? At this very moment, letting go, surrendering to recovery, looms. looooooooms. It IS scary. I don’t know if I can let my empty alone future loom, either.
I’d like to say things can start off easy, and maybe sometimes they do. Generally, though, beginnings take time. In my case, scribbles and anger. When words can’t loom together in perfect pattern, everything just starts to fall apart. Sleep is the first to go.
He loomed over her, trying to learn what it was she was doing. Roxane tried to ignore him as she wove and unwove the strands of time. How he could even see what she was doing besides rubbing her fingers along invisible cloth she wasn’t sure.
I think the loom made a zoom to give a boom and gave a tone to my zone when i kissed the spot and feel alot of love to me
As we loom, the rest of the earth will just have to listen to the cries and pains from all that there is, we will examine as one, for we are the bacteria of silence, the world is our toilet and we are our mouths, join our brains and ears to live a sensitive life
loom
The end of the countdown looms: less than a minute, and my breath is caught.
My fingers are hollow.
Who knew a minute could go so slowly?
the cheddar cat had loom–the worst loom it had ever had. “Why me? Why now?” it asked, but the humans didn’t understand.
the darkness loomed over me as the ocean seemed to swollow him whole. it was a terrifying experiece. the one night that i lost my love, my hope and my life
I would like to make art with a loom and I really like cats. Maybe I should just go ahead and eat some chicken strips. Or tenders. Loom? What do you mean by ‘loom’? huh? It this a trick question? Loom. Loom. LOOOOooooOOoOOoOOooooOOOoooooom. Loom. What do you know, kids?
He looms over me, crackling with an energy I know he shouldn’t have. His knuckles curl into fists and his muscles bulge. He is too big, too strong.
Weaving spirals never sdtop looming about in the light. She dances as we weave a natural rhythm as a breeze waifs in from the water. As I lay lounging a afar.
The moon looms over us like a small child examines a ladybug. I wonder what’s up there sometimes, but it simply isn’t a mystery at all; the moon is a really a rock following the Earth.