Running through the town clutching the pouch he’d just knicked from a famous woman’s purse, he felt the sweat starting to cover him, both from exhaustion and nervousness.
kangaroos have pouches. They carry there young in it. People use pouches to put other things in such as cigarettes, money, etc. They are usually small and can fit inside your pocket.
A kangaroo’s pouch is really weird. I don’t understand why God made them like that. The little joeys have to crawl over the hair to get to the pouch, and all for what? Why can’t they just grow inside like all other mammals? I do think, though, as a human, that I would like a pouch, too.
A little boy ate my phone that I kept in my favorite pouch
Kangaroo Pouch
love drunk
love love love
pumped kicks faster than my bullet
a bullet
hes coming home late again
I have a pouch. You can sit in it if you’d like. I would like to take you everywhere in my pouch. Across town, in the park, to a movie. Everywhere. It would be fun. Then i can pull you out of the pouch and button it up and put you on the bed stand so you can watch me sleep Goodnight.
She carries the necessities in her pouch, her ID, her credit card, her sultry sipper lipstick, and her empty locket. It isn’t a purse so much as a carry all, a pouch really. The most fitting term.
Pouches are very small and kind of annoying. Sure, they hold stuff but the stuff has to be small, and most things aren’t small. Big pouches are fine, but handbags are much more helpful. Seriously, it’s not that hard to get something big. And then we’re on the topic of pockets and things.
pouch. like a kangaroo. wouldn’t that be kinda cool? well I think so. I mean c’mon ! that would SO FREAKING COOL. well yeah, it would, so uh yeah. buhbye
i put everything that I miss about you in this pouch. It’s small and safe and it has a clasp so that when I want to you to go away and stay there, you do. You stay safe and quiet, unassuming and unaffecting in my little pouch with a clasp. You like this pouch too. It’s your blindfold. You can’t see what I’m doing, hear what I’m doing. You are living in blissful ignorance. In this pouch, in my pocket. This pouch is made out of fabric. Woven with all different colors that you would appreciate. Sailing is in the pouch. Dubstep is in the pouch. Rhode Island is in the pouch. Your dimples are in the pouch. Your hands are in the pouch. Your words are in the pouch. Your voice, your music. Our laughter. Our jokes. Our trust. Our past. Our love. I pull the strings taught and strangle the pouch.I put it in my back pocket. I put the jeans in the wash. I take the jeans out of the dryer. I left the pouch for someone else to clutch.
I use my pouch for many things, all sorts of things. For carrying things. For hiding things. For covering things. For Protecting things. A pouch is a very useful thing, which rhymes with couch, and slouch and vouch, I love my pouch.
Could it really be that simple?
I reached down into my pocket and pulled out the key. It was a perfect fit. With a short turn of my hand the chest clicked open.
Andrew was right. I should have never left them.
There was a pouch in the middle of the road. It didn’t do a whole lot, just kind of sat there. The people would pass the pouch everyday on their way to work and school. No one said anything about it. One day the pouch was gone and nobody noticed. Quite sad, actually.
Marrie carefully picked up the spilled seeds and placed them in her cheeks. Alexander was nearby doing the same. It wouldn’t be long before the woman came back with her broom so as soon as one cheek was full, Marrie leapt back under the protection of the cupboards. Alexander forgot.
i put everything that I miss about you in this pouch. It’s small and safe and it has a clasp so that when I want to you to go away and stay there, you do. You stay safe and quiet, unassuming and unaffecting in my little pouch with a clasp. You like this pouch too. It’s your blindfold. You can’t see what I’m doing, hear what I’m doing. You are living in blissful ignorance. In this pouch, in my pocket. This pouch is made out of fabric. Woven with all different colors that you would appreciate. Sailing is in the pouch. Dubstep is in the pouch. Rhode Island is in the pouch. Your dimples are in the pouch. Your hands are in the pouch. Your words are in the pouch. Your voice, your music. Our laughter. Our jokes. Our trust. Our past. Our love. I pull the strings taught and strangle the pouch. Suddenly everything quiets. I put the pouch in my back pocket. I put my jeans in the wash. The pouch falls out. I leave it in the dryer. I leave the pouch.
A little pouch of faded, blue velvet, dangled from her belt. The contents were never revealed but the assumption was that it held something strange, something powerful, something that meant you didn’t cross her… just in case.
The small, rounded container in which she kept her change. no bills, no cards, just the loose change that accumulated throughout her week. It weighed heavy, a little brick in the bottom of her purse. It
A pouch full of pooch she wears on her shoulder. Her phone is her weapon. Type, type, typing. Secrets sent into the world with the tap of one polished finger. The world is angry with her. They frown but she is powerful. Powerful and winning. They hate her but they can’t mess with her. They can’t hate her. She wins. She beats them. They are losers.
She sighed, turning to him. “Where is it?”
He snickered. “I really like your new stuffed animal. it has a pouch.”
She snarled at him, diving to the bed, picking up the kangaroo. She grabbed the necklace out of the stuffed animal, turning away from him with a dignified glare.
something to put stuff in. imediatly think of the renasance, and the leather pouches they sell there. then i think of basalics and the pouches that they sometimes depending on the mythology have in their front.
non ho la più squallida idea di cosa sia il pouch.forse il suono che fa un sasso nello stagno? o magari una goccia di crema in un recipiente pieno? mi riempie la bocca cmq
is a small purse. It is also a place for a baby Kangaroo to be held by its mother. It can contain many wonderful things like money, jewelry, trinkets. It can be full of mystery and suspense. What is in that pouch? Everything you can Imagine.
my best friend used to have a pouch where she carried her baby teeth. i never had a pouch, no, what were they called, fanny packs, i never had a fanny pack, i never carried my teeth around. i wanted one though. hers was pink and blue with glitter swirls on it. i was very jealous
pouchs are on a kangaroos front side to hold their little ones. they are used for many things, to hold money in a servers apron, to hold cell phones, lip sticks, whatever. i am not sure there can be any other meaning to the word pouch. i will have to look it up in the dictionary to be sure if there is
His pouch held so many treasures, it was hard to tell just what he was fishing for. After a long minute, he finally straightened and revealed an old picture book. It’s cover was ragged and worn. On the front, still legible, were the words “A life unlike any other.”
The pale green cotton liner of the frayed like a bottomless nest hemp coin pouch I purchased from a street vendor in Barcelona, Spain while studying abroad during my Junior year at Iowa State (finally) gave way to the weight of my nickles and dimes while I was standing in line at Good Harbor Coffee. The change fell from my waist height to the brown tile floor and rolled in various directions, redirected by the dips and edges formed by the grout and tile. I knew I was on borrowed time with this purse, but found it terribly inconvenient that it had to give way at that moment in time – in a crowded coffee shop – in the morning before I purchased my coffee – on the tile floor.
She kept everything she ever needed in her pouch. It was her home away from home. When she felt alone, her company was her pouch. When she was hungry, it often held food. When she was tired, it was her pillow. It was the closest thing to a family she had yet.
I have in my pouch the answer to what captures human attention more than sex or anything else. Although it’s not a drug it’s addictive, gives the partaker joy and hope for their future existences on this planet before they croak. Some may tune in and catch the vibe and work it for themselves, which is great, but the others, they will just keep on coming back to me for more sprinkles of magic from my pouch…
I have a fat pouch on my belly. This pouch held my babies at one point in life. I guess I should be proud of it but I hate it. I want to have a tummy tuck. Pouch is a nasty word. Someone should eliminate it from everyday use.
The kangaroo had been in labour for hours. Zoo workers everywhere watched with nervous anticipation as the baby joey they had waited for months to see finally came out of its hiding place. One of them squealed eagerly as the young creature’s head poked out of its mother’s pouch, large brown eyes scanning over the surroundings. It let out a confused squeak, but its mother simply nuzzled it to calm it down. The workers smiled, then turned to go back to their duties, letting the baby and mother duo explore their world on their own.
The long chain was tangled as I pulled it out of the pouch. The gold glinted, though evidence of age was visible. The gem that hung from it shone emerald… my grandmother’s favorite gem. And now it was mine…
i think about a Capri Sun, or a kangaroo pouch.. and i start to think about punch, the kind that your g-ma makes so good.. or the kind you get at those wild, crazy parties..that punch makes you feel like everything will be okay.. and gives you a miniature break from reality.
He picked up the pouch and inside was for a check for One Million Dollars “What am I going to do with this?” He wondered.
Running through the town clutching the pouch he’d just knicked from a famous woman’s purse, he felt the sweat starting to cover him, both from exhaustion and nervousness.
kangaroos have pouches. They carry there young in it. People use pouches to put other things in such as cigarettes, money, etc. They are usually small and can fit inside your pocket.
A kangaroo’s pouch is really weird. I don’t understand why God made them like that. The little joeys have to crawl over the hair to get to the pouch, and all for what? Why can’t they just grow inside like all other mammals? I do think, though, as a human, that I would like a pouch, too.
pouch? Kangaroos, I thought of apples. Kangaroos apples but listening to the background music all I can help to think abou is love love love love
A little boy ate my phone that I kept in my favorite pouch
Kangaroo Pouch
love drunk
love love love
pumped kicks faster than my bullet
a bullet
hes coming home late again
kangeroo, weed, jump into, in my purse, roo, stomach, in a breast pocket, something that carries things,
Pouch.
not in the mood, I guess.
Just breath
hold it in…
Let it out…
Pouch.
I have a pouch
in my belly it is
gradually growing closer
silently getting older
as my love grows longer
I have a pouch. You can sit in it if you’d like. I would like to take you everywhere in my pouch. Across town, in the park, to a movie. Everywhere. It would be fun. Then i can pull you out of the pouch and button it up and put you on the bed stand so you can watch me sleep Goodnight.
garp my brain
swatch th-oi
okura be ein
She carries the necessities in her pouch, her ID, her credit card, her sultry sipper lipstick, and her empty locket. It isn’t a purse so much as a carry all, a pouch really. The most fitting term.
Pouches are very small and kind of annoying. Sure, they hold stuff but the stuff has to be small, and most things aren’t small. Big pouches are fine, but handbags are much more helpful. Seriously, it’s not that hard to get something big. And then we’re on the topic of pockets and things.
pouch. like a kangaroo. wouldn’t that be kinda cool? well I think so. I mean c’mon ! that would SO FREAKING COOL. well yeah, it would, so uh yeah. buhbye
The pouch was small and grey, leaking some sort of black tar liquid.
“Ew.” Cassie said, her hands covered in the sticky substance. “Just ew.”
‘What is it?!” Gina said, staring in disbelief. The answer was a scream, coming deep from within Cassie as her skin melted away.
i put everything that I miss about you in this pouch. It’s small and safe and it has a clasp so that when I want to you to go away and stay there, you do. You stay safe and quiet, unassuming and unaffecting in my little pouch with a clasp. You like this pouch too. It’s your blindfold. You can’t see what I’m doing, hear what I’m doing. You are living in blissful ignorance. In this pouch, in my pocket. This pouch is made out of fabric. Woven with all different colors that you would appreciate. Sailing is in the pouch. Dubstep is in the pouch. Rhode Island is in the pouch. Your dimples are in the pouch. Your hands are in the pouch. Your words are in the pouch. Your voice, your music. Our laughter. Our jokes. Our trust. Our past. Our love. I pull the strings taught and strangle the pouch.I put it in my back pocket. I put the jeans in the wash. I take the jeans out of the dryer. I left the pouch for someone else to clutch.
I use my pouch for many things, all sorts of things. For carrying things. For hiding things. For covering things. For Protecting things. A pouch is a very useful thing, which rhymes with couch, and slouch and vouch, I love my pouch.
Could it really be that simple?
I reached down into my pocket and pulled out the key. It was a perfect fit. With a short turn of my hand the chest clicked open.
Andrew was right. I should have never left them.
There was a pouch in the middle of the road. It didn’t do a whole lot, just kind of sat there. The people would pass the pouch everyday on their way to work and school. No one said anything about it. One day the pouch was gone and nobody noticed. Quite sad, actually.
Marrie carefully picked up the spilled seeds and placed them in her cheeks. Alexander was nearby doing the same. It wouldn’t be long before the woman came back with her broom so as soon as one cheek was full, Marrie leapt back under the protection of the cupboards. Alexander forgot.
i put everything that I miss about you in this pouch. It’s small and safe and it has a clasp so that when I want to you to go away and stay there, you do. You stay safe and quiet, unassuming and unaffecting in my little pouch with a clasp. You like this pouch too. It’s your blindfold. You can’t see what I’m doing, hear what I’m doing. You are living in blissful ignorance. In this pouch, in my pocket. This pouch is made out of fabric. Woven with all different colors that you would appreciate. Sailing is in the pouch. Dubstep is in the pouch. Rhode Island is in the pouch. Your dimples are in the pouch. Your hands are in the pouch. Your words are in the pouch. Your voice, your music. Our laughter. Our jokes. Our trust. Our past. Our love. I pull the strings taught and strangle the pouch. Suddenly everything quiets. I put the pouch in my back pocket. I put my jeans in the wash. The pouch falls out. I leave it in the dryer. I leave the pouch.
A little pouch of faded, blue velvet, dangled from her belt. The contents were never revealed but the assumption was that it held something strange, something powerful, something that meant you didn’t cross her… just in case.
The small, rounded container in which she kept her change. no bills, no cards, just the loose change that accumulated throughout her week. It weighed heavy, a little brick in the bottom of her purse. It
A pouch full of pooch she wears on her shoulder. Her phone is her weapon. Type, type, typing. Secrets sent into the world with the tap of one polished finger. The world is angry with her. They frown but she is powerful. Powerful and winning. They hate her but they can’t mess with her. They can’t hate her. She wins. She beats them. They are losers.
She sighed, turning to him. “Where is it?”
He snickered. “I really like your new stuffed animal. it has a pouch.”
She snarled at him, diving to the bed, picking up the kangaroo. She grabbed the necklace out of the stuffed animal, turning away from him with a dignified glare.
something to put stuff in. imediatly think of the renasance, and the leather pouches they sell there. then i think of basalics and the pouches that they sometimes depending on the mythology have in their front.
non ho la più squallida idea di cosa sia il pouch.forse il suono che fa un sasso nello stagno? o magari una goccia di crema in un recipiente pieno? mi riempie la bocca cmq
is a small purse. It is also a place for a baby Kangaroo to be held by its mother. It can contain many wonderful things like money, jewelry, trinkets. It can be full of mystery and suspense. What is in that pouch? Everything you can Imagine.
my best friend used to have a pouch where she carried her baby teeth. i never had a pouch, no, what were they called, fanny packs, i never had a fanny pack, i never carried my teeth around. i wanted one though. hers was pink and blue with glitter swirls on it. i was very jealous
pouchs are on a kangaroos front side to hold their little ones. they are used for many things, to hold money in a servers apron, to hold cell phones, lip sticks, whatever. i am not sure there can be any other meaning to the word pouch. i will have to look it up in the dictionary to be sure if there is
His pouch held so many treasures, it was hard to tell just what he was fishing for. After a long minute, he finally straightened and revealed an old picture book. It’s cover was ragged and worn. On the front, still legible, were the words “A life unlike any other.”
The pale green cotton liner of the frayed like a bottomless nest hemp coin pouch I purchased from a street vendor in Barcelona, Spain while studying abroad during my Junior year at Iowa State (finally) gave way to the weight of my nickles and dimes while I was standing in line at Good Harbor Coffee. The change fell from my waist height to the brown tile floor and rolled in various directions, redirected by the dips and edges formed by the grout and tile. I knew I was on borrowed time with this purse, but found it terribly inconvenient that it had to give way at that moment in time – in a crowded coffee shop – in the morning before I purchased my coffee – on the tile floor.
She kept everything she ever needed in her pouch. It was her home away from home. When she felt alone, her company was her pouch. When she was hungry, it often held food. When she was tired, it was her pillow. It was the closest thing to a family she had yet.
I have in my pouch the answer to what captures human attention more than sex or anything else. Although it’s not a drug it’s addictive, gives the partaker joy and hope for their future existences on this planet before they croak. Some may tune in and catch the vibe and work it for themselves, which is great, but the others, they will just keep on coming back to me for more sprinkles of magic from my pouch…
I have a fat pouch on my belly. This pouch held my babies at one point in life. I guess I should be proud of it but I hate it. I want to have a tummy tuck. Pouch is a nasty word. Someone should eliminate it from everyday use.
The kangaroo had been in labour for hours. Zoo workers everywhere watched with nervous anticipation as the baby joey they had waited for months to see finally came out of its hiding place. One of them squealed eagerly as the young creature’s head poked out of its mother’s pouch, large brown eyes scanning over the surroundings. It let out a confused squeak, but its mother simply nuzzled it to calm it down. The workers smiled, then turned to go back to their duties, letting the baby and mother duo explore their world on their own.
The long chain was tangled as I pulled it out of the pouch. The gold glinted, though evidence of age was visible. The gem that hung from it shone emerald… my grandmother’s favorite gem. And now it was mine…
pouch
i think about a Capri Sun, or a kangaroo pouch.. and i start to think about punch, the kind that your g-ma makes so good.. or the kind you get at those wild, crazy parties..that punch makes you feel like everything will be okay.. and gives you a miniature break from reality.
Kangaroo’s have a pouch. So do koalas. They carry there babies in the pouches! That is cool!!!!!