it helps you. granny’s. it is comfy. it can be oldie. it is beautiful. a chair with arms. creativity burts. thank you. it relaxes you. it helps you to concentrate. an armchair. I have one too
Sophie
The old armchair provided more than physical comfort. It transported her back to a simpler happier time, time that she had spent enveloped by her grandmother’s love.
So basically, as i sat on the chair, i swayed along, like the leaves with the light breeze, that makes your hair flow, and as i swayed, the grandfather clocks arms moved along, tick tock tick tock, the seconds became minutesd and minutes hours, my heart beat got louder and louder…
I wish for the comfort of an armchair in my old age. A luxury I’m too poor to afford. I would love to curl up on it with a blanket and wait till my breathing slowing stops and all that is left is stagnant air in my lungs.
I want to grow old and die old. A luxury I am too poor to accept.
something that offers comfort to rest when we are tired or a nice place to catch up a story or chat or movie
mathu
He sat in the armchair, not doing anything, not saying anything, he just sat. And for the briefest moments he forgotten everything, where he was who he was. He had forgotten that he was living. He forgot that he was breathing. He forgot that he was a live, functioning creature and he was thankful for it.
Jade
The old black cat sat in the armchair as if it were his. All day he perched there looking and dozing enjoying the sun on his warm dark fur.
Armchair for my kingdom! For whether it be a quarterback or lay-z-boy, I will sell my entire kingdom for a moment in an armchair. I will tell everyone what they need to do and what they need to think and be a generally terrible person in the entire process.
The armchair was red, with plush material covering the comfiest of cushions. It was solely inhabited by a marmalade cat, a regal mog.
e
the armchair is smooth, but because it is attached to my wheelchair, i hate it. It is a constant reminder of my crippled status, even though it is only my lower half that is twisted and damaged, it is as if my top has to be reminded of this fact.
jolisa brown
She was resting there, her arms languidly open in a pose reminiscing me of countless fantasies.
She had been doing so for countless years, her skin withered and dry, her eyes two black holes.
My grandmother needed help to get out of the arm chair. My mother would put them out in the garden. One day, as a child, I turned the tap on them. The old lady in the chair.
Archie and Rose threw a bedspread over the Mantle’s armchair then propped it open on one side with the wonky dining chair. A tent, Archie announced. This is where we can make our plans.
The chair was deep and he slipped back into its depths marvelling at how comfortable it felt. Around him the Christmas music jangled in his ears. He wished the season was over. This false joviality was wearing a bit thin.
Alyson
Fine. Everything is fine today. It’s relaxing, it’s a Sunday, and my favourite TV show is on. Nothing could be much better than being here, for the whole day.
There are no arms on this chair
On which I am sitting
Spending my every waking moment on this
Backstabbing chair
I wonder what it sees
At the back of my head
Is it blank?
“Dad?” I said, nudging the door open with my shoulder as I stepped fully into his study. “Jenkins said you wanted to see me?”
The leather armchair swiveled at the sound of my voice revealing not the stoic, graying, fifty-six year old man I’d been expecting but, rather, a young woman. With lightly tanned skin, hair gold from genetics rather than a bottle, and a smile that nearly took my breath away, I found myself at a loss for words.
“Hello, Skylar,” she said cheerfully, heedless of my near slack-jawed reaction to her presence. “It’s nice to finally meet you,”
Lean back. Grab your beer. I will be right there, sitting across from you on the other armchair. We’ll talk of the material, the ethereal and the abstract. We’ll make meaning of meaning and then discard it for the love of everything.
it’s the arm of a chair where mu arm can rest, i like to put it on the theater chairs. There are a lor of shapes and figures of armchairs
it
As i sat in the living room, pondering the dilemma that had my wheels turning all evening, i heard drops hitting the ceiling. It was raining. Now this wouldn’t be a problem any other day except that there was a hole in the kitchen ceiling. So as i stood up from what seemed like rags of an armchair i saw it. I saw the answers to all my problems. Sitting on the dining table was an ad. This ad had a blonde woman pointing to what looked like a small building. She wore a blue dress and she was very slim vor her height.
I wanted an armchair for my room
one from Walmart, white with blue
door handles, hinges solid black.
It could attain
almost everything
that my chamber did posses
souvenirs, movie tickets
memories you could not
forget.
A lamp
laid lightly, on
its right
hand corner
Sweedish imprint, rather
export. to show it has class,
The room, that is.
Jason Ohono
The armchair was beautiful and significant. It held the memories of a long gone grandfather. Happier times watching movies. Loves lost and won. Countless holidays. The chair meant more than the world.
Liz
After dinner, we nestled up together in my grandfather’s armchair, our stomachs slightly swollen from the binge of turkey, mashed potatoes, and casserole. I could still smell marshmallow in your hair after your petulant brother had flung a mushy yam onto your head with his fork, but in the kitchen, I knew pie would be waiting, but only after we had gotten over the initial food coma.
it helps you. granny’s. it is comfy. it can be oldie. it is beautiful. a chair with arms. creativity burts. thank you. it relaxes you. it helps you to concentrate. an armchair. I have one too
The old armchair provided more than physical comfort. It transported her back to a simpler happier time, time that she had spent enveloped by her grandmother’s love.
So basically, as i sat on the chair, i swayed along, like the leaves with the light breeze, that makes your hair flow, and as i swayed, the grandfather clocks arms moved along, tick tock tick tock, the seconds became minutesd and minutes hours, my heart beat got louder and louder…
I wish for the comfort of an armchair in my old age. A luxury I’m too poor to afford. I would love to curl up on it with a blanket and wait till my breathing slowing stops and all that is left is stagnant air in my lungs.
I want to grow old and die old. A luxury I am too poor to accept.
something that offers comfort to rest when we are tired or a nice place to catch up a story or chat or movie
He sat in the armchair, not doing anything, not saying anything, he just sat. And for the briefest moments he forgotten everything, where he was who he was. He had forgotten that he was living. He forgot that he was breathing. He forgot that he was a live, functioning creature and he was thankful for it.
The old black cat sat in the armchair as if it were his. All day he perched there looking and dozing enjoying the sun on his warm dark fur.
Armchair for my kingdom! For whether it be a quarterback or lay-z-boy, I will sell my entire kingdom for a moment in an armchair. I will tell everyone what they need to do and what they need to think and be a generally terrible person in the entire process.
The armchair was red, with plush material covering the comfiest of cushions. It was solely inhabited by a marmalade cat, a regal mog.
the armchair is smooth, but because it is attached to my wheelchair, i hate it. It is a constant reminder of my crippled status, even though it is only my lower half that is twisted and damaged, it is as if my top has to be reminded of this fact.
She was resting there, her arms languidly open in a pose reminiscing me of countless fantasies.
She had been doing so for countless years, her skin withered and dry, her eyes two black holes.
My grandmother needed help to get out of the arm chair. My mother would put them out in the garden. One day, as a child, I turned the tap on them. The old lady in the chair.
What a lovely man. One of my favourite pictures is of him sitting in his lovely old armchair smoking his pipe. How I miss him…..
Archie and Rose threw a bedspread over the Mantle’s armchair then propped it open on one side with the wonky dining chair. A tent, Archie announced. This is where we can make our plans.
The chair was deep and he slipped back into its depths marvelling at how comfortable it felt. Around him the Christmas music jangled in his ears. He wished the season was over. This false joviality was wearing a bit thin.
Fine. Everything is fine today. It’s relaxing, it’s a Sunday, and my favourite TV show is on. Nothing could be much better than being here, for the whole day.
There are no arms on this chair
On which I am sitting
Spending my every waking moment on this
Backstabbing chair
I wonder what it sees
At the back of my head
Is it blank?
“Dad?” I said, nudging the door open with my shoulder as I stepped fully into his study. “Jenkins said you wanted to see me?”
The leather armchair swiveled at the sound of my voice revealing not the stoic, graying, fifty-six year old man I’d been expecting but, rather, a young woman. With lightly tanned skin, hair gold from genetics rather than a bottle, and a smile that nearly took my breath away, I found myself at a loss for words.
“Hello, Skylar,” she said cheerfully, heedless of my near slack-jawed reaction to her presence. “It’s nice to finally meet you,”
She leaned forward in the armchair, willing him to look up at her. “When do you think we’ll be done here? I have somewhere I need to go,” she said.
Lean back. Grab your beer. I will be right there, sitting across from you on the other armchair. We’ll talk of the material, the ethereal and the abstract. We’ll make meaning of meaning and then discard it for the love of everything.
it’s the arm of a chair where mu arm can rest, i like to put it on the theater chairs. There are a lor of shapes and figures of armchairs
As i sat in the living room, pondering the dilemma that had my wheels turning all evening, i heard drops hitting the ceiling. It was raining. Now this wouldn’t be a problem any other day except that there was a hole in the kitchen ceiling. So as i stood up from what seemed like rags of an armchair i saw it. I saw the answers to all my problems. Sitting on the dining table was an ad. This ad had a blonde woman pointing to what looked like a small building. She wore a blue dress and she was very slim vor her height.
I wanted an armchair for my room
one from Walmart, white with blue
door handles, hinges solid black.
It could attain
almost everything
that my chamber did posses
souvenirs, movie tickets
memories you could not
forget.
A lamp
laid lightly, on
its right
hand corner
Sweedish imprint, rather
export. to show it has class,
The room, that is.
The armchair was beautiful and significant. It held the memories of a long gone grandfather. Happier times watching movies. Loves lost and won. Countless holidays. The chair meant more than the world.
After dinner, we nestled up together in my grandfather’s armchair, our stomachs slightly swollen from the binge of turkey, mashed potatoes, and casserole. I could still smell marshmallow in your hair after your petulant brother had flung a mushy yam onto your head with his fork, but in the kitchen, I knew pie would be waiting, but only after we had gotten over the initial food coma.