I entered the room and wondered which wine to poor: the white, red or port? I never know which he will prefer. An instinct told me he might want the sweet one; so I poured it for him, then tried to about face and return to him, as gracefully as possible, bound in my heart and shackled by my feet.
The water is rimmed against the dock. Frothy. Dirty. Gross. I look out to the clear blue open waters of Portland. Blasting blue. Dots of islands. Gorgeous. I can’t wait to go out there. The sailboat bumps against the dock, the orange buoys keeping it safe.
First thought that popped into my mind was a huge shipping vessel lumbering into port. Perhaps the container is filled with thousands of barrels of port. And the ship itself is listing to port. HA! Whaddaya know….?
last port of call the last place you’d ever want to end up hell on earth a shit hole a rat leaving a sinking ship never mind where he’s going it’s where we’re going that matters down to the depth with him davy jones make a stop on the way anywhere but here it’s too late, we’re too far gone
Jedes Mal, wenn sie den Blick über den verlassenen, fast schon gespenstisch wirkenden Hafen, schweifen ließ, glaubte sie, doch noch Schritte zu hören, gepaart mit den Stimmen der vergangenen Zeiten, als die kleine Hafen Stadt St. Louisa noch voll von Leben war und Marktschreier, ebenso wie Piraten hier ein und ausgingen. Damals in ihrer Jugend. Nun, fünfzig Jahre später, musste sie zugeben, dass dies der Vergangenheit angehörte. Aus ihrer einst so wunderbaren Heimat war eine Geisterstadt geworden. Niemand kam mehr her, niemand besuchte die Insel. Alles war einsam und verlassen. Geisterartig.
I strolled through the gardens today and what did I find but a toad stoll ring and the fairy court. Their voice s tinkled like wind chimes and thier feet mashed the grapes into port.
I like sitting looking out the window, late, sun is setting, dinner is over. I enjoy the sweetness of stillness and contemplation of the days events as i sip port beside the fireplace . I pull myself together, pieces that were scattered from working, from feeling pulled in a hundred directions.
My ship is drifting, forever on the sea that bubbles like a cauldron. The rains pour down, adding minuscule ripples among the giant waves. A beam of light pierces through the gathering clouds. Home awaits, the warmth of a fire, and a safe harbor for this vessel.
The water seemed to stop shortly after the surface at the port, but really it was deep enough to lose yourself in. The boats need a deep harbor to IDKMAN I ALREADY WROTE ABOUT THIS I HOPE THE NEXT ONE IS A NEW WORD, IDK WHAT THIS SITE IS
I like sitting looking at the window, late, sun is setting dinner is over. I enjoy the sweetness of stillness and contemplation of the days events as i sit port beside the fireplace . I pull myself together, pieces that were scattered from working, feeling pulled in a hundred directions.
It was a nice afternoon when we went to the port. It looked as it if it might storm, and you could taste the cold air sneaking up on us. It was one of those days where you didn’t fear the rain, you embraced it. There aren’t enough of those days. The waves at the port were strong and ferocious, signaling a shift in the air. There was definitely a storm coming, and I hope to god it would come soon.
port is what they call the place i live. i don’t understand why because the river is too shallow to actually take a ship on, and there’s a dam now, so it’s off limits. I guess the only thing it actually succeeds in reflecting about us is that we have a ghetto portion that likes to come up with cool nicknames for their town. like philly.
port and tort, after dinner delight
I don’t drink the port though, it gives me a headache.
the idea is nice though, thick and sweet and intoxicating.
Things like that should not cause pain.
marine’s life, from port to port. never knowing when the next suprise trip could be. not knowing if it will be for three months or 3 years. who will you meet, a life long friend, or a wife. who did you leave behind. your pet, your life? how awesome it sounds to travel this way, a life with unattachments or a heart big enough to carry everyone and everything you love in such a small compartment….
i dont know what this word is if i knew what this word was i would be answering your question and scince i dont know what this word is i am not going to write anything relevant
I don’t know what this means. That was my first thought. Then, I thought, Yes I know what port is. It’s a place where ships are safe. In the port. But, that’s not why they’re made. Wine keeps popping into my head. And beer. Maybe it’s because I’m a teacher and it’s Friday.
I think I’d like a beer tonight. Yes. beer…I am trying to find a creative joural for my students
He stopped his chemotherapy because he could no longer take it. Night sweats, vomiting, loss of appetite–as a foodie, it was the worst sentence. Worse than no food at all, an eternity of blackness or generic heaven where angels sing and God sits on high.
She poured the port into the glass and looked across at the dapper sea-captain sitting at her bar.
He had two peglegs and two eye patches, and yet somehow managed to simultaneously look inside her soul and charm her heart.
Arrrrrrrr. Piraters…
I’m trying to be too clever for my own good.
This port filled with port isn’t giving me any support.
I just want to write bad puns on the port … port-o-potty … port authority … port o’ the computer … riding portage in a boat … I feel I must re-port that I got too little sleep last night, and have no port in making sense while writing today. ;-)
She was beautiful. He outlined the bones in her cheeks and hung an egg in the sky above her head, an everlasting symbol of what she meant to him. Fertility. Birth. Newness. Mother even though she had given him no children.
anchoring in port, finally after three long months at see, all i want is to find my way to a tavern spend most of my pay, on booze and a pretty women, ah the life of a sailor.
if only i wasn’t so in love with the wide blue ocean, the feeling of freedom, maybe if i wasn’t i would settle down and find a respectable woman, but alas, no.
A new type of medicine to help you grow taller. It’s called port, and you can start asking for it next week. IF you are short and want to be tall, this is the thing for you. Use only as directed.
the ship was coming in. I can’t wait to see him. it’s been nearly three years since he left from this very same port, I was only ten then. sailors start pouring down the ramp and I’m looking for daddy. he must be one of the last to come off the ship. the steady stream is stopping now, but I still haven’t seen him. the captain approaches us. “your husband has died.” he says to mama.
I entered the room and wondered which wine to poor: the white, red or port? I never know which he will prefer. An instinct told me he might want the sweet one; so I poured it for him, then tried to about face and return to him, as gracefully as possible, bound in my heart and shackled by my feet.
The water is rimmed against the dock. Frothy. Dirty. Gross. I look out to the clear blue open waters of Portland. Blasting blue. Dots of islands. Gorgeous. I can’t wait to go out there. The sailboat bumps against the dock, the orange buoys keeping it safe.
The port loomed from the distance. The cruise was coming to an end, nothing but memories left to record in the book she bought just for that purpose.
First thought that popped into my mind was a huge shipping vessel lumbering into port. Perhaps the container is filled with thousands of barrels of port. And the ship itself is listing to port. HA! Whaddaya know….?
last port of call the last place you’d ever want to end up hell on earth a shit hole a rat leaving a sinking ship never mind where he’s going it’s where we’re going that matters down to the depth with him davy jones make a stop on the way anywhere but here it’s too late, we’re too far gone
Jedes Mal, wenn sie den Blick über den verlassenen, fast schon gespenstisch wirkenden Hafen, schweifen ließ, glaubte sie, doch noch Schritte zu hören, gepaart mit den Stimmen der vergangenen Zeiten, als die kleine Hafen Stadt St. Louisa noch voll von Leben war und Marktschreier, ebenso wie Piraten hier ein und ausgingen. Damals in ihrer Jugend. Nun, fünfzig Jahre später, musste sie zugeben, dass dies der Vergangenheit angehörte. Aus ihrer einst so wunderbaren Heimat war eine Geisterstadt geworden. Niemand kam mehr her, niemand besuchte die Insel. Alles war einsam und verlassen. Geisterartig.
I strolled through the gardens today and what did I find but a toad stoll ring and the fairy court. Their voice s tinkled like wind chimes and thier feet mashed the grapes into port.
I like sitting looking out the window, late, sun is setting, dinner is over. I enjoy the sweetness of stillness and contemplation of the days events as i sip port beside the fireplace . I pull myself together, pieces that were scattered from working, from feeling pulled in a hundred directions.
My ship is drifting, forever on the sea that bubbles like a cauldron. The rains pour down, adding minuscule ripples among the giant waves. A beam of light pierces through the gathering clouds. Home awaits, the warmth of a fire, and a safe harbor for this vessel.
The water seemed to stop shortly after the surface at the port, but really it was deep enough to lose yourself in. The boats need a deep harbor to IDKMAN I ALREADY WROTE ABOUT THIS I HOPE THE NEXT ONE IS A NEW WORD, IDK WHAT THIS SITE IS
I like sitting looking at the window, late, sun is setting dinner is over. I enjoy the sweetness of stillness and contemplation of the days events as i sit port beside the fireplace . I pull myself together, pieces that were scattered from working, feeling pulled in a hundred directions.
It was a nice afternoon when we went to the port. It looked as it if it might storm, and you could taste the cold air sneaking up on us. It was one of those days where you didn’t fear the rain, you embraced it. There aren’t enough of those days. The waves at the port were strong and ferocious, signaling a shift in the air. There was definitely a storm coming, and I hope to god it would come soon.
port is what they call the place i live. i don’t understand why because the river is too shallow to actually take a ship on, and there’s a dam now, so it’s off limits. I guess the only thing it actually succeeds in reflecting about us is that we have a ghetto portion that likes to come up with cool nicknames for their town. like philly.
port and tort, after dinner delight
I don’t drink the port though, it gives me a headache.
the idea is nice though, thick and sweet and intoxicating.
Things like that should not cause pain.
trop…
marine’s life, from port to port. never knowing when the next suprise trip could be. not knowing if it will be for three months or 3 years. who will you meet, a life long friend, or a wife. who did you leave behind. your pet, your life? how awesome it sounds to travel this way, a life with unattachments or a heart big enough to carry everyone and everything you love in such a small compartment….
port reminds me of airport. and it makes me think of the word portle.
i dont know what this word is if i knew what this word was i would be answering your question and scince i dont know what this word is i am not going to write anything relevant
i have no idea what this word means so well im done because evers one else knows it and i really dont know
A man that can be big, sounds like portly, whitch i allready said looks like a big man. fat, over size, big, round
I don’t know what this means. That was my first thought. Then, I thought, Yes I know what port is. It’s a place where ships are safe. In the port. But, that’s not why they’re made. Wine keeps popping into my head. And beer. Maybe it’s because I’m a teacher and it’s Friday.
I think I’d like a beer tonight. Yes. beer…I am trying to find a creative joural for my students
He stopped his chemotherapy because he could no longer take it. Night sweats, vomiting, loss of appetite–as a foodie, it was the worst sentence. Worse than no food at all, an eternity of blackness or generic heaven where angels sing and God sits on high.
She poured the port into the glass and looked across at the dapper sea-captain sitting at her bar.
He had two peglegs and two eye patches, and yet somehow managed to simultaneously look inside her soul and charm her heart.
Arrrrrrrr. Piraters…
I’m trying to be too clever for my own good.
This port filled with port isn’t giving me any support.
I just want to write bad puns on the port … port-o-potty … port authority … port o’ the computer … riding portage in a boat … I feel I must re-port that I got too little sleep last night, and have no port in making sense while writing today. ;-)
He was on the left side of the ship, smashing down his finest bottle of dessert wine. Good thing he was docked safely in the harbor.
arriving at the port arriving at the port a port of call or the port arriving
The ship pulled into port, and John thought to himself, “here we go again. another town and another name. whom should i be this time around?”
Wine!
Give me a week to catch up on sleep and I swear this’ll get better.
She was beautiful. He outlined the bones in her cheeks and hung an egg in the sky above her head, an everlasting symbol of what she meant to him. Fertility. Birth. Newness. Mother even though she had given him no children.
The sea area where boats come in and stop to drop off items. Ocean area where people may swim and boats stop.
the boot docked at the port.
the boat dock of a ship. port is
i dont know thew deffincen of port
to teleport
i don’t know this word but i think it means you are in a certain area.
i kind of think of airport when i hear the word port but i dont really know what the word means.
port. it makes me think of a boat porting at a dock.
anchoring in port, finally after three long months at see, all i want is to find my way to a tavern spend most of my pay, on booze and a pretty women, ah the life of a sailor.
if only i wasn’t so in love with the wide blue ocean, the feeling of freedom, maybe if i wasn’t i would settle down and find a respectable woman, but alas, no.
tis the pirates life for me.
A new type of medicine to help you grow taller. It’s called port, and you can start asking for it next week. IF you are short and want to be tall, this is the thing for you. Use only as directed.
the ship was coming in. I can’t wait to see him. it’s been nearly three years since he left from this very same port, I was only ten then. sailors start pouring down the ramp and I’m looking for daddy. he must be one of the last to come off the ship. the steady stream is stopping now, but I still haven’t seen him. the captain approaches us. “your husband has died.” he says to mama.