bottles are something which we use for preserving things. lovers preserve letters.. and yeah most people does to store water or sodas.
shreya
Bottles upon bottles lined the walls. Bottles laid on their bellies; bottles upright like soldiers; bottles in boxes still to be unpacked. “Do you drink any of this?” I asked. My answer was a look of utter horror.
One of my favorite books that I used to read my kids was called Those Bottles, and it was about a family of bottles. It was creative and the colors were gorgeous. I love the look and feel of bottles, and when I think of a bottle, I think of Diet Coke, not my babies’ bottles!
Lois Alter Mark
“Why doesn’t this stout come in bottles?” he asked.
The Master Brewer smiled. “We get asked that all the time. Fact is, the really simple answer you won’t believe, is that the magic doesn’t stay.”
“It’s beer. Nor sorcery.”
“You’d be surprised how little difference there is between the two.” The Master Brewer stood, her brown-black eyes flashing in the afternoon sunlight. “It only works in kegs. But only he knew why,” she said, nodding to the portrait hanging behind her desk.
Green and blue, they were scattered all over the floor, glistening in the ruby light of the far off lamp. He waited, listening carefully for the sound of her footsteps on the dark wooden floor. All at once, time stopped, she had come in.
Aqseer Sodhi
Stacked across the shelf, they sorta reminded me of my childhood. I mean, it was the whole corner-store routine, right; after school with my brother back in the 60s. Funny how something so simple gives you so many memories.
Alex
We were smashing bottles againt an old brick bridge on a layby on the wsy to Winslow when I threw one that gashef my thumb. I ran from there to Jonsthan’s with barely a stop. Rosemary, Jonno’s mum, applied a massive bandage that mummifued most of my hand.
Angus
49 bottles of beer on teh wall, 49 bottles of beer…
that’s how many were remaining when she took a closer, bleery-eyed look. had she really consumed 51 fucking bottles already? geez.
she thought she could do better next time. Hoped she could. If only she could get up off this damn floor.
It was so hard and cold and yet, so comforting.
wendy
The bottles were lined up, empty, but not used up. They represented possibilities. Recycled into other objects, art, or household surfaces? I contemplated.
Julie Phelps
Empty bottles everywhere. Makeup bottles from people trying to be pretty. Water bottlers from people who don’t realize that they aren’t biodegradable. Empty bottles of alcohol from people who cannot control themselves. Are we really so clueless? Empty bottles everywhere.
The bottles were left in the rain. The rain drops tinkled as it dropped through the mouth of the glass. Slowly, the bottles filled up. Tink, tink, tink. Soon the water overflowed. The sun came out.
Dane
Empty bottles everywhere. Makeup bottles from people trying to be pretty. Water bottlers from people who don’t realize that they aren’t biodegradable. Empty bottles of alcohol from people who cannot control themselves. Empty bottles everywhere.
bottles are used to store water and any kind of liquids like water, softdrinks
bottles are make up of plastic/glass
there are many variety of bottles available in market with different design
H
There was genie in the bottle. I read it when i was a little child. There was message in the bottle. I read it when i was teenager. Even now, there’s a romantic vision about message in the bottle. Bottles.
Bottles of green and red, broken pieces laying on the beach.
Staring at the bottle of alcohol he wonders if today is the day he’s going to fall off the wagon.
i believe in love at first sight
the smoke of the room
the hum of heart beat
the calm before the storm
there’s no such thing as a honeymoon period
everything is expectations
when you’re waiting for something to happen
it’s funny
how much you drink when you’re stressed
riding around down in an emotional bullet proof vest
broken bottles breaking on the floor
slow motion
just trying to find my way
as i figure out the next step.
Matty M.
A bottle of beer–half joy, half embarrassment.
eiram
Empty bottles – beer mostly – littered the floor, creating a veritable minefield between where I stood, framed in the open doorway, and my goal, Tyra, who was haphazardly strewn across an armchair.
I cleared my throat, a poor attempt at trying to gain her attention; after all, if the noise I’d made forcing the door open hadn’t drowned out the static-tinged yammering of the TV, surely that small sound wouldn’t.
Bottles are the best thing in the world! It also signify’s the human body.When filled its valuable. When not its still useful. Its fragile.
Ila
Lined up, organized, swirling with mysterious liquids. Blue with a dash of golden sparkles. Ombre red ready to burst out of its cap. Mellow yellow with a touch of spring. What will happen when I knock them all down, spill their contents all together?
We get a human with complex emotions constantly at war
The click-clank of milk bottles on a line woke the maid from her sleep, to the conspicuous silence from within the house. It felt heavy, the silence, weighing on mind and shoulder and ear, pressing down on her from vaulted ceilings. The child. The child was silent for the first time in years.
Bottles are a very interesting thing, some you can drink out of like wine, soda and such other are washed up on sea with a message in it and then the decorative bottles that bring a mixture or spunk and personality to home decorations.
Jackie
The word dominated the mind. So many bottles. But what were they really? Vials? Packages? Air, liquid, gas, solid – elaborate arrangements of atoms and molecules. Concepts? Limits? Containers of a different sort…always questions. A tactile turn of the wrist and it twists off in a pop. Whatever it was, I also heard compression.
The bottles were breaking against the pavement, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. It was starting to hurt. The glass crunched under his feet as he continued down the street, trying to find a home that wasn’t really there. After all, the smashed bottles were enough proof. It was too much. He couldn’t return to that place; not with the glass still in his skin.
Steph
I try not to cry out when the bottle’s shards dig into my skin, drawing scarlet liquid. My mother is outside my bedroom, and I can hear her rustling through the chaotic bedroom, searching for a magazine about Gwyneth Paltrow.
Catherine
F**k my car. I just want to throw bottles at it. Bottles filled with gasoline, with sparklers packed at the neck, lit. Yeah. Imma light light that bitch on fire and have a damn good night doing it!
The lenses of his glasses are thick, like coke bottles. Sunlight slants through the windows eerily, glinting across his lenses and making it impossible to see his eyes.
The bottles filled the window sills. There were tall, elegant, blue glass bottles with long graceful throats. Short pebbled glass ones in mottled greens, worn corks haphazardly filling the tops in a whimsy-inspired display. Genie style ones in soft, rose pinks—two with dried yellow daisies poised like antennae. Empty soda bottles tightly filling the between spots in familiar, old fashioned shapes pulling memories out from the cobwebs of time into the glow of yesterday’s smiles.
The bottles rattled across the gravel road as the squirrel ran with the string in his mouth. He didn’t know what he was going to do with those bottles yet, but he did know that his mom was going to be proud of him… finally.
bottles piled high
holding closed my treasure
bottled thoughts
bottled love letters
clear, colored, stained and broken
yet all so beautiful when the sun hits them
like a mirror they reflect me. reflect the light i long to shine
reflect the worries and hopes ive bottled up for years.
theyre plugged and left behind. littering the conscious part of my mind-still sparkling
bottles bottles lined up on a shelf
green and blue and purple
filled with wine and poison
one leads you forward
one leads you behind
through the black and purple flames.
choose wisely.
logic.
Out of broken
sea green glass bottles,
We find
Half mad messages,
thrown to sea,
By those all too desperate.
mae
The bottles clanged together, falling of the end of the bed. George woke, rubbed his eyes, and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings that told a very familiar story of another night of excess.
bottles are something which we use for preserving things. lovers preserve letters.. and yeah most people does to store water or sodas.
Bottles upon bottles lined the walls. Bottles laid on their bellies; bottles upright like soldiers; bottles in boxes still to be unpacked. “Do you drink any of this?” I asked. My answer was a look of utter horror.
One of my favorite books that I used to read my kids was called Those Bottles, and it was about a family of bottles. It was creative and the colors were gorgeous. I love the look and feel of bottles, and when I think of a bottle, I think of Diet Coke, not my babies’ bottles!
“Why doesn’t this stout come in bottles?” he asked.
The Master Brewer smiled. “We get asked that all the time. Fact is, the really simple answer you won’t believe, is that the magic doesn’t stay.”
“It’s beer. Nor sorcery.”
“You’d be surprised how little difference there is between the two.” The Master Brewer stood, her brown-black eyes flashing in the afternoon sunlight. “It only works in kegs. But only he knew why,” she said, nodding to the portrait hanging behind her desk.
Maybe I should have kept all my worries in the bottles I have lined up on the window. Hidden but in plain view? Trust is a big let down somedays.
As a child, my Mother and sisters and I used to go into the woods and dig up old bottles. I have those bottles sitting up in my windows today.
blowing across bottle tops — a delightful sound
why aren’t there more bottle bands?
Green and blue, they were scattered all over the floor, glistening in the ruby light of the far off lamp. He waited, listening carefully for the sound of her footsteps on the dark wooden floor. All at once, time stopped, she had come in.
Stacked across the shelf, they sorta reminded me of my childhood. I mean, it was the whole corner-store routine, right; after school with my brother back in the 60s. Funny how something so simple gives you so many memories.
We were smashing bottles againt an old brick bridge on a layby on the wsy to Winslow when I threw one that gashef my thumb. I ran from there to Jonsthan’s with barely a stop. Rosemary, Jonno’s mum, applied a massive bandage that mummifued most of my hand.
49 bottles of beer on teh wall, 49 bottles of beer…
that’s how many were remaining when she took a closer, bleery-eyed look. had she really consumed 51 fucking bottles already? geez.
she thought she could do better next time. Hoped she could. If only she could get up off this damn floor.
It was so hard and cold and yet, so comforting.
The bottles were lined up, empty, but not used up. They represented possibilities. Recycled into other objects, art, or household surfaces? I contemplated.
Empty bottles everywhere. Makeup bottles from people trying to be pretty. Water bottlers from people who don’t realize that they aren’t biodegradable. Empty bottles of alcohol from people who cannot control themselves. Are we really so clueless? Empty bottles everywhere.
The bottles were left in the rain. The rain drops tinkled as it dropped through the mouth of the glass. Slowly, the bottles filled up. Tink, tink, tink. Soon the water overflowed. The sun came out.
Empty bottles everywhere. Makeup bottles from people trying to be pretty. Water bottlers from people who don’t realize that they aren’t biodegradable. Empty bottles of alcohol from people who cannot control themselves. Empty bottles everywhere.
bottles are used to store water and any kind of liquids like water, softdrinks
bottles are make up of plastic/glass
there are many variety of bottles available in market with different design
There was genie in the bottle. I read it when i was a little child. There was message in the bottle. I read it when i was teenager. Even now, there’s a romantic vision about message in the bottle. Bottles.
Bottles of green and red, broken pieces laying on the beach.
Staring at the bottle of alcohol he wonders if today is the day he’s going to fall off the wagon.
The bottles formed uniform little lines against Patrick’s wall. He’d been collecting for years, for reasons clear to no one, least of all Patrick.
i believe in love at first sight
the smoke of the room
the hum of heart beat
the calm before the storm
there’s no such thing as a honeymoon period
everything is expectations
when you’re waiting for something to happen
it’s funny
how much you drink when you’re stressed
riding around down in an emotional bullet proof vest
broken bottles breaking on the floor
slow motion
just trying to find my way
as i figure out the next step.
A bottle of beer–half joy, half embarrassment.
Empty bottles – beer mostly – littered the floor, creating a veritable minefield between where I stood, framed in the open doorway, and my goal, Tyra, who was haphazardly strewn across an armchair.
I cleared my throat, a poor attempt at trying to gain her attention; after all, if the noise I’d made forcing the door open hadn’t drowned out the static-tinged yammering of the TV, surely that small sound wouldn’t.
Bottles are the best thing in the world! It also signify’s the human body.When filled its valuable. When not its still useful. Its fragile.
Lined up, organized, swirling with mysterious liquids. Blue with a dash of golden sparkles. Ombre red ready to burst out of its cap. Mellow yellow with a touch of spring. What will happen when I knock them all down, spill their contents all together?
We get a human with complex emotions constantly at war
The click-clank of milk bottles on a line woke the maid from her sleep, to the conspicuous silence from within the house. It felt heavy, the silence, weighing on mind and shoulder and ear, pressing down on her from vaulted ceilings. The child. The child was silent for the first time in years.
Bottles are a very interesting thing, some you can drink out of like wine, soda and such other are washed up on sea with a message in it and then the decorative bottles that bring a mixture or spunk and personality to home decorations.
The word dominated the mind. So many bottles. But what were they really? Vials? Packages? Air, liquid, gas, solid – elaborate arrangements of atoms and molecules. Concepts? Limits? Containers of a different sort…always questions. A tactile turn of the wrist and it twists off in a pop. Whatever it was, I also heard compression.
The bottles were breaking against the pavement, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. It was starting to hurt. The glass crunched under his feet as he continued down the street, trying to find a home that wasn’t really there. After all, the smashed bottles were enough proof. It was too much. He couldn’t return to that place; not with the glass still in his skin.
I try not to cry out when the bottle’s shards dig into my skin, drawing scarlet liquid. My mother is outside my bedroom, and I can hear her rustling through the chaotic bedroom, searching for a magazine about Gwyneth Paltrow.
F**k my car. I just want to throw bottles at it. Bottles filled with gasoline, with sparklers packed at the neck, lit. Yeah. Imma light light that bitch on fire and have a damn good night doing it!
The lenses of his glasses are thick, like coke bottles. Sunlight slants through the windows eerily, glinting across his lenses and making it impossible to see his eyes.
The bottles filled the window sills. There were tall, elegant, blue glass bottles with long graceful throats. Short pebbled glass ones in mottled greens, worn corks haphazardly filling the tops in a whimsy-inspired display. Genie style ones in soft, rose pinks—two with dried yellow daisies poised like antennae. Empty soda bottles tightly filling the between spots in familiar, old fashioned shapes pulling memories out from the cobwebs of time into the glow of yesterday’s smiles.
He set his bottle on the shelf, half empty, as he slurred his speculations on God.
Bottles lay in the street,
empty from suffocation.
Dried from lustful thirst.
Bled out on the curb.
Shattered on the sidewalk.
The bottles rattled across the gravel road as the squirrel ran with the string in his mouth. He didn’t know what he was going to do with those bottles yet, but he did know that his mom was going to be proud of him… finally.
bottles piled high
holding closed my treasure
bottled thoughts
bottled love letters
clear, colored, stained and broken
yet all so beautiful when the sun hits them
like a mirror they reflect me. reflect the light i long to shine
reflect the worries and hopes ive bottled up for years.
theyre plugged and left behind. littering the conscious part of my mind-still sparkling
bottles bottles lined up on a shelf
green and blue and purple
filled with wine and poison
one leads you forward
one leads you behind
through the black and purple flames.
choose wisely.
logic.
Bottles. Alcohol. Full. Empty. Soul. Empty. Gaping. Bottles. Alcohol. Full. Empty. Falling. Falling. Falling. Bottles. Alcohol. Full. Empty. Falling. Dead.
Out of broken
sea green glass bottles,
We find
Half mad messages,
thrown to sea,
By those all too desperate.
The bottles clanged together, falling of the end of the bed. George woke, rubbed his eyes, and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings that told a very familiar story of another night of excess.