You crept into my bed, singing “Summertime” and calling me Arabelle. My dad said that I had the cheek of a baby, soft and unmarked. I wanted to lie between you, always a bit of both of you.
Swan Lake Billy Elliot I just watched the movie Billy Elliot, about a boy who aspired to break free from his coal-mining community to become a dancer with the Royal ballet. defy gender restrictions. what is the connection to Swan Lake?
lake
oh i write a lot about a swan? oh shit i was so not prepared for this what is going on oh my god the world is ending. there is no time for diction or good grammar. or witty responses to the word swan. Is it almost over?
John had been helping Sherlock with his physical therapy after the short fall from a second-story balcony which had dislocated his shoulder. The joint had healed very well, and was almost entirely functional again, the stubborn detective urging it forward in its recovery perhaps a little too quickly. John was keen to slow him down whenever he winced at the residual pain or stiffness.
As a final exercise, John had dragged Sherlock back to the university swimming pool, this time during hours of operation. The water-based strain would do the joint good, and John looked forward to the swim. In addition to the lifeguard, there was only one other person in the pool, an elderly fellow who swam steady laps back and forth and minded his own business.
John waited in the shallow end for Sherlock to come out of the locker room and join him, lazily treading water in his swim trunks, diving under to wet his hair as he kept his shoulders beneath the surface out of a slight sense of modesty. The water’s refraction made it hard to make out his scar.
The door to the locker room swung shut, and John looked ’round to see the lanky detective heading instead for the deep end. His lithe form was nearly as white as the linoleum, the surface broken only by a matching blue speedo and swim cap, the dark curls tucked in for protection. Goggles hid the pale eyes, though John was sure that still nothing was hidden from Sherlock’s view. He watched with growing apprehension as Sherlock climbed the ladder of the taller diving board. A light bounce into the air, and soon Sherlock was executing a perfect swan dive into the deep end. John was reminded briefly of the fall that Sherlock had taken off Bart’s those years ago, though this performance was far more streamlined and graceful.
The white dolphin slid easily beneath the surface, angling his momentum to send him shooting along the floor of the pool, only to surface by John’s side. A punch was delivered to his good shoulder.
“You idiot.” The pout given to the doctor was almost comical, given the dark goggles. “You bloody well know this was for recuperation, not showing off. You could have re-injured your shoulder!”
Sherlock huffed softly and worked his elbow in great circles at his side. “No harm done, of course. In fact, I think I may be back to a fully operational status.”
John only rolled his eyes and laid back to float on the surface, successfully averting his gaze from the small blue speedo which left very little to the imagination.
the swan princess had a ring to it, voice swoons more than sirens.
the swan princess had to go through it, the truth doesn’t get the chances that lies get.
there is a bird that captures both love and death by it’s grace. Grey, white, black, much like life. It solemnly swims when alone and croons it’s neck with a mate.
I had a pet swan once. Her feathers were silvery and smooth. Her name was Nancy and she sand sweet, sweet songs while floating on the pond in the afternoon sun.
Noelle took a breath to calm herself. She looked down below and willed herself to feel nothing, think nothing, fear nothing. Then she took a swan-dive off the edge of the pool and faced her greatest fear. She would learn to swim.
Black Swan is the first thing I think of, never saw it yet but the story itself sounds great. Having an inner demon to fight against, i guess we all feel that way at some point
The beautiful swan glided by on the smooth river. Its feathers shined like wet pearls in the fading sun. Th water rippled around it and then slowly disappeared into the form it once had.
I’m afraid of swans. When we were kids, our parents took us to see them at a beautiful cemetery in a nearby town. There was a pond there where several swans resided. One came close to me and let out the most obnoxious sound ever and hissed at me.
And so he spread his wings, gracefully as a swan, escaping this pathetic world which he used to call home. Strange as it may sound, he had been an ugly duckling not that long ago, but that was back when he had been trapped by life. Death was a whole new beginning.
She directed her focus upward, preferring to ignore what was below. Twinkling in the expanse above, millions of luminous lanterns flickered, offering her thoughts a safe harbor to dock. She often pondered existence; the sheer evanescence of life never ceased to baffle her. We live, we eat, and we die. Eighty years is a split-second compared to the longevity of the soil she stands upon. Much to her astonish, she caught glimpse of a swan soaring across a tranquil lake on the horizon. Its ivory wings reflected the moon’s light, casting an angelic glow on the placid waters beneath it.
“I wonder. . .why is it flying?”
There it was, a swan, graceful as can be in the mass of a pond that rippled to the light morning breeze. I sat up a little straighter on the bench and smiled.
And you think you can just swan in here and criticise me? Nothing I have ever said or done would have given you the idea that this was your role. You have no licence here and are given access because I let you. You cannot tell me what to do, who to see or where to go. Believe that and your world will connect to some reality.
Do you see the swan? How it glides through the water? Do you see the pure white feathers, and how they seem radiant as she swims through the lake? I saw a swan- the real thing is more beautiful than any number of ballets. I think it saw me, too, but then it went away.
He pulled a marker out of his pocket and picked up my notebook. Onto it he drew a small, pink heart. He then pulled out the heart and handed it to me, I smiled and gladly took it
The girl was just sitting by the river, watching the horses when out of nowhere a swan attacked her! The horses’ reaction was immediate. They all attacked the swan (it was attempting to, for some reason unbeknownst to the poor girl, remover her jeans) and ran it off watching it cautiously as the horses gathered protectively around her she saw it suddenly evaporate.
Later, when looking up swan lore, she discovered some odd Greek myths about Zeus taking the form of a swan to do terrible things to girls.
The swan was beautiful, like a character in a ballet. It seemed to glide through the lake water, causing a series of ripples. The creature was so graceful, so regal, that for a moment I was in awe of its beauty. Did I mention the pure white feathers?
“Oh crap! Oh crap of crap oh crap!” I exclaimed, standing in the front of my friend’s SUV, hopping in circles around the abomination that lay before us…a roadkill swan. My friend, Roger, had just run over a swan, and now we had to pay. Swan were incredibly rare and endangered, and if anyone of authority found out, (yes, Game and Fish Department have authority), we were as dead as the swan, so to speak.
a beutiful white bird, often fond in a pond. Much bigger than other birds and graceful adn regal like a ship that saild across an ocean without toppling over. White sils and a dark beak, beatiful bird.
Like a graceful, beautiful white swan Ashley danced across the stage, twirling to her heart’s content. The music pounded in her ears as she leapt backwards and forwards, dancing, dancing, dancing. It was all she ever wanted.
Black swan, white swan, and gray swan all danced in a row on a brown stage. The composer leaned back and smiled with crooked teeth. The master of ballet himself balanced on the balls of his feet with excitement. Behind the curtains, the ensemble, all dressed in blue, waited for their moment to shine in front of the crowded, tailcoated, long-gowned audience, scrutinizing their art with tiny brass binoculars.
Swan. whenever i think of swan i think of pure white innocent birds. they an ressemble love or innocent ppl. i had this book that had girls that turned into swans in the morning and human at night.
The swan is beautiful and graceful. When it glides across the water it makes me envious. Why can’t I be like a swan? No one would dare compare me to a swan with my two left feet… sigh.
He hadn’t meant to kill her. No, he just wanted her for his collection. He so desperately wanted her, to keep her. But she fought back and she was strong. So he had to push her down and he had to wrap his hands around her long swan like neck, god, he loved her so much. He just wanted to keep her quiet, just long enough to take her from the park to his home, to his basement, to join the others. That didn’t work out. He had to leave her in the park.
Swan dive off a high board on a clear summers day. Sounds like a childhood memory. If it is, it’s not mine it’s somebody else’s memory. Cultural memory, of all the people who did and didn’t. Nervousness, fear, excitement, I know all the things I should have felt.
Jessica stood at the edge of the pond, in awe of the majestic snow white swan that fluttered over her head and came to a peaceful rest in the center of the water.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her bird loving self coming to the surface, “She’s so beautiful!”
She swam with grace, neck bowed, feathers bright against the black-blue backdrop of the lake. She’d been trapped in this form for so long… so long. When would she ever escape?
‘This is my favourite part of you,’ he whispered in the shade of our tree by the lake, his tone a lazy drawl. ‘Long, graceful… Your neck reminds me of a swan…’
there’s a dilapidated farmer’s market down by the highway—the stretch where the cars all turn off at the last city exit and from there, another interchange, and from there, nothing—
(but yellowgrass and sunflower fields and some occasional tractor, and when you look with a really soft focus, you can almost see there might be an upward slant, as though the curve of the earth is small enough to see)
right before the end of the world, there’s a farmer’s market.
A high dive off a ladder into a tiny pool – or Madeleines.
You crept into my bed, singing “Summertime” and calling me Arabelle. My dad said that I had the cheek of a baby, soft and unmarked. I wanted to lie between you, always a bit of both of you.
Swan Lake Billy Elliot I just watched the movie Billy Elliot, about a boy who aspired to break free from his coal-mining community to become a dancer with the Royal ballet. defy gender restrictions. what is the connection to Swan Lake?
lake
oh i write a lot about a swan? oh shit i was so not prepared for this what is going on oh my god the world is ending. there is no time for diction or good grammar. or witty responses to the word swan. Is it almost over?
John had been helping Sherlock with his physical therapy after the short fall from a second-story balcony which had dislocated his shoulder. The joint had healed very well, and was almost entirely functional again, the stubborn detective urging it forward in its recovery perhaps a little too quickly. John was keen to slow him down whenever he winced at the residual pain or stiffness.
As a final exercise, John had dragged Sherlock back to the university swimming pool, this time during hours of operation. The water-based strain would do the joint good, and John looked forward to the swim. In addition to the lifeguard, there was only one other person in the pool, an elderly fellow who swam steady laps back and forth and minded his own business.
John waited in the shallow end for Sherlock to come out of the locker room and join him, lazily treading water in his swim trunks, diving under to wet his hair as he kept his shoulders beneath the surface out of a slight sense of modesty. The water’s refraction made it hard to make out his scar.
The door to the locker room swung shut, and John looked ’round to see the lanky detective heading instead for the deep end. His lithe form was nearly as white as the linoleum, the surface broken only by a matching blue speedo and swim cap, the dark curls tucked in for protection. Goggles hid the pale eyes, though John was sure that still nothing was hidden from Sherlock’s view. He watched with growing apprehension as Sherlock climbed the ladder of the taller diving board. A light bounce into the air, and soon Sherlock was executing a perfect swan dive into the deep end. John was reminded briefly of the fall that Sherlock had taken off Bart’s those years ago, though this performance was far more streamlined and graceful.
The white dolphin slid easily beneath the surface, angling his momentum to send him shooting along the floor of the pool, only to surface by John’s side. A punch was delivered to his good shoulder.
“You idiot.” The pout given to the doctor was almost comical, given the dark goggles. “You bloody well know this was for recuperation, not showing off. You could have re-injured your shoulder!”
Sherlock huffed softly and worked his elbow in great circles at his side. “No harm done, of course. In fact, I think I may be back to a fully operational status.”
John only rolled his eyes and laid back to float on the surface, successfully averting his gaze from the small blue speedo which left very little to the imagination.
the swan princess had a ring to it, voice swoons more than sirens.
the swan princess had to go through it, the truth doesn’t get the chances that lies get.
there is a bird that captures both love and death by it’s grace. Grey, white, black, much like life. It solemnly swims when alone and croons it’s neck with a mate.
duck beautiful white fly freedom ballet dancing black dark bad good white flying water
animal feathers ugly sad alone happy
I had a pet swan once. Her feathers were silvery and smooth. Her name was Nancy and she sand sweet, sweet songs while floating on the pond in the afternoon sun.
Noelle took a breath to calm herself. She looked down below and willed herself to feel nothing, think nothing, fear nothing. Then she took a swan-dive off the edge of the pool and faced her greatest fear. She would learn to swim.
Black Swan is the first thing I think of, never saw it yet but the story itself sounds great. Having an inner demon to fight against, i guess we all feel that way at some point
The beautiful swan glided by on the smooth river. Its feathers shined like wet pearls in the fading sun. Th water rippled around it and then slowly disappeared into the form it once had.
I’m afraid of swans. When we were kids, our parents took us to see them at a beautiful cemetery in a nearby town. There was a pond there where several swans resided. One came close to me and let out the most obnoxious sound ever and hissed at me.
Swan
Graceful-
something I’ll never be.
Graceful and beautiful,
lithe as she glides through the waters.
But wouldn’t you know,
that beautiful, graceful creature,
began as something different-
She began as something
not quite so stunning
herself.
And so he spread his wings, gracefully as a swan, escaping this pathetic world which he used to call home. Strange as it may sound, he had been an ugly duckling not that long ago, but that was back when he had been trapped by life. Death was a whole new beginning.
She directed her focus upward, preferring to ignore what was below. Twinkling in the expanse above, millions of luminous lanterns flickered, offering her thoughts a safe harbor to dock. She often pondered existence; the sheer evanescence of life never ceased to baffle her. We live, we eat, and we die. Eighty years is a split-second compared to the longevity of the soil she stands upon. Much to her astonish, she caught glimpse of a swan soaring across a tranquil lake on the horizon. Its ivory wings reflected the moon’s light, casting an angelic glow on the placid waters beneath it.
“I wonder. . .why is it flying?”
There it was, a swan, graceful as can be in the mass of a pond that rippled to the light morning breeze. I sat up a little straighter on the bench and smiled.
And you think you can just swan in here and criticise me? Nothing I have ever said or done would have given you the idea that this was your role. You have no licence here and are given access because I let you. You cannot tell me what to do, who to see or where to go. Believe that and your world will connect to some reality.
Do you see the swan? How it glides through the water? Do you see the pure white feathers, and how they seem radiant as she swims through the lake? I saw a swan- the real thing is more beautiful than any number of ballets. I think it saw me, too, but then it went away.
He pulled a marker out of his pocket and picked up my notebook. Onto it he drew a small, pink heart. He then pulled out the heart and handed it to me, I smiled and gladly took it
The girl was just sitting by the river, watching the horses when out of nowhere a swan attacked her! The horses’ reaction was immediate. They all attacked the swan (it was attempting to, for some reason unbeknownst to the poor girl, remover her jeans) and ran it off watching it cautiously as the horses gathered protectively around her she saw it suddenly evaporate.
Later, when looking up swan lore, she discovered some odd Greek myths about Zeus taking the form of a swan to do terrible things to girls.
The swan was beautiful, like a character in a ballet. It seemed to glide through the lake water, causing a series of ripples. The creature was so graceful, so regal, that for a moment I was in awe of its beauty. Did I mention the pure white feathers?
there is no magic. ugly ducklings grow up to be ugly ducks. it’s static, it’s simple. don’t believe the enchantments, don’t blink.
“Oh crap! Oh crap of crap oh crap!” I exclaimed, standing in the front of my friend’s SUV, hopping in circles around the abomination that lay before us…a roadkill swan. My friend, Roger, had just run over a swan, and now we had to pay. Swan were incredibly rare and endangered, and if anyone of authority found out, (yes, Game and Fish Department have authority), we were as dead as the swan, so to speak.
a beutiful white bird, often fond in a pond. Much bigger than other birds and graceful adn regal like a ship that saild across an ocean without toppling over. White sils and a dark beak, beatiful bird.
Like a graceful, beautiful white swan Ashley danced across the stage, twirling to her heart’s content. The music pounded in her ears as she leapt backwards and forwards, dancing, dancing, dancing. It was all she ever wanted.
Too bad it was only a dream.
Black swan, white swan, and gray swan all danced in a row on a brown stage. The composer leaned back and smiled with crooked teeth. The master of ballet himself balanced on the balls of his feet with excitement. Behind the curtains, the ensemble, all dressed in blue, waited for their moment to shine in front of the crowded, tailcoated, long-gowned audience, scrutinizing their art with tiny brass binoculars.
Swan. whenever i think of swan i think of pure white innocent birds. they an ressemble love or innocent ppl. i had this book that had girls that turned into swans in the morning and human at night.
The swan is beautiful and graceful. When it glides across the water it makes me envious. Why can’t I be like a swan? No one would dare compare me to a swan with my two left feet… sigh.
He hadn’t meant to kill her. No, he just wanted her for his collection. He so desperately wanted her, to keep her. But she fought back and she was strong. So he had to push her down and he had to wrap his hands around her long swan like neck, god, he loved her so much. He just wanted to keep her quiet, just long enough to take her from the park to his home, to his basement, to join the others. That didn’t work out. He had to leave her in the park.
Swan dive off a high board on a clear summers day. Sounds like a childhood memory. If it is, it’s not mine it’s somebody else’s memory. Cultural memory, of all the people who did and didn’t. Nervousness, fear, excitement, I know all the things I should have felt.
is a river that is in Perth its also called black swan is bird in Australia especially Perth.
Perth is a City in WA (Western Australia)
Jessica stood at the edge of the pond, in awe of the majestic snow white swan that fluttered over her head and came to a peaceful rest in the center of the water.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her bird loving self coming to the surface, “She’s so beautiful!”
She swam with grace, neck bowed, feathers bright against the black-blue backdrop of the lake. She’d been trapped in this form for so long… so long. When would she ever escape?
‘This is my favourite part of you,’ he whispered in the shade of our tree by the lake, his tone a lazy drawl. ‘Long, graceful… Your neck reminds me of a swan…’
there’s a dilapidated farmer’s market down by the highway—the stretch where the cars all turn off at the last city exit and from there, another interchange, and from there, nothing—
(but yellowgrass and sunflower fields and some occasional tractor, and when you look with a really soft focus, you can almost see there might be an upward slant, as though the curve of the earth is small enough to see)
right before the end of the world, there’s a farmer’s market.
The slender, white neck of the swan was bent forward. Dainty as a ballerina.
As of this moment, I want a giant paper swan for no other purpose but to sit on my desk and look awesome.
The only one who sees her as she truly is.
A swan amidst geese.
A dove among crows.
“Doctor,” Amy said once, “I want to go see a ballet.”
“You do? Hmm, let’s see…”
“Can we go see The Swan Lake?”
“Yes, of course! How about I take you to the first time it was ever performed?”
Amy smiled. “That would be lovely.”