i looked out the window and saw the bus heading towards me. I scrambled to grab my school items off of the kitchen counter. stumbling towards the door. i grabbed my shoes in my hands. I reached for the door handle, turned the door knob and fling the door. sprinting outside only to realize that it was too late.
Kendyl Arden
In a dash of time she was down the stairs. He sat there, staring at her. From the look on his face she could understand that it was over. “Hi,” she said.
stef
She ran, not taking another second to think about what she was doing. Sprinting. Getting far away. She didn’t look back. She felt the strain in her legs.
Dashing through the snow. Christmas is over. It’s not that fun, honestly. I thought I would like it better once there were children in the picture. My sister’s kids are nuts. Particularly the oldest. I love him, but I am having a hard time having fun with them, and therefore my family. It’s exhausting. I’m glad to be back home.
Tess
In a hurry to get things done, running but not in an orderly fashion. It’s really racing something or someone or time. it’s a dash to the finish line or a dash to the end. Dashing through the snow. Or dashing through the “no” sometimes when you really need to get things done that haven’t been done before and no one believes in you.
Sarah E Wetzel
Scooping up the cat into her arms, Emily dashed for cover, crashing down between the bushes and the porch. She watched, breathing tensely, as Clarence came onto the scene, swinging his rifle. “Someone’s stolen my cat,” he declared in a sing-song voice. “Ohh Trixie!”
The fat tabby squirmed in Emily’s arms, but she held tight to its middle, praying it would keep quiet. Praying this would all be over soon, and the monsters would disappear.
As I dash through my life, enjoying every second of my existence on this planet, I cannot help but to think of all the people who do not realize how awesome they are. How special they are. How enough they are. I feel sorry fo them. but you have to help yourslef first.
I dashed to the end of the finish line out of breath. When I run, vivid flashbacks of that horrid night come back to me. I remember what the air smelled like. How the air’s warmth brushed against my shoulders.
Emma Smith
She dashed away. Dear God, she knew she was small, but come ON. Did all the cheetahs need to go after her? Bobby was way smaller than her. He even had a limp! But nooooo, let’s go after Shawna. She supposed it was because she didn’t have antlers like Bobby. Either way, it was a load of lion crap.
Paige B
The bullets were flying overhead. Along the road that was called “sniper’s ally,” he saw that one woman had taken the chance as well, probably to get food for her children. As he made a dash for the other side of the road, he noticed strange and incongruous things – a bird in a tree, which seemed immune to the sound, water between the cobblestones, the bottle of milk which had smashed to pieces when the woman fell.
So as the girl dashed away from her home she used to know, she ran towards the woods where she had no idea of what was to come. She had a few things with her, but not much. She knew that she was on her own now. Where would she go, how would she manage. How would she survive?
A dash of hope and a sprinkle of laughter. The elderly man sat on the front porch and watched the volunteers work on his dilapidated home. A tear came to his eye. His wife came out and he put his arm around her. Who knew such love could come from a group of teenagers.
Anon
It makes me think of the little boy in the incredible’s or a line on a paper. Something fast. Something to cross out a mistake. A dash or to dash. Sometime’s I think I am not quick enough or my words aren’t correct so I must “dash” them out or cross them out.
Grace
arms crossed and the goods careening out
grocery bags stumble and kiss the ground
she’s running and-
is something before or behind?
is a woman more likely to run away or have
something desperate to get to before her?
the rape statistics, the catcalls, the fear in her
eyes never turns down
the dial up high – but still
damn, there’s a lot, a goal, a peaked tower
a place to be and woman’s right to fucking be there –
to aim for
run, run
as fast as you can
we only have so much time
let’s make the dash
as beautiful as we can
live to the fullest
spend your time on the things you love
follow your heart
chase your dreams
time will disappear
it’s never as long as it seems.
poetwarrior
she looked at his dashboard
so clean
only the stain
of last night’s coffee cup
and the blood of the deer
stained the black leather
as they looked over the car
in the wrecking yard.
Courtney
You train your whole life. You are 26. You’ve never had a drink of anything but water. You’ve never had anything with any sugar. You have only ever known a life of work and sweat. You only know what it is to push.
You travel half way across the world, you are signed up for a race that really can’t last more than eleven seconds.
Your trainer gives you the same pep talk, your mom says she’s proud, your friend says you will win no matter what: “It’s inevitable.”
You are ready.
You breathe in.
You breathe out.
The shot rings out-
And you’ve lost.
You’ve just lost the Olympics:
by .02 seconds.
dashing through the snow, on skies and under the sky, clear as day or black as night. cold air swirling around him, snowflakes falling, falling with him.
Every nerve screaming with fire. Pain. urgency as my lungs are about to burst. My legs quaver and wobble but I musn’t stop. If I stop, if i look back, pause, or hesitate for only a moment, they’ll be upon me. And what happens after that puts more speed to my flight. Freedom is elusive, but as long as I am running, I may still have a chance. As long as I’m moving I might still get free.
Once I stop, everything will stop. And for me it will never start again.
So he’s skipping through the lanes, finding leaves that look rustled, and he’s gone. The sun’s out. Past the tree’s, the barrier hiding his horizon. Under the dirt, the water flows. Land moves, terrain scribbles, dirt and insects dashing past his feet as he runs. Lights on and she’s waiting
Dash away from the pain, from the memories of the olden days and open yourself up to the new opportunities that life gives you. Give yourself that opportunity to learn how to love yourself and love others the way you want to be loved. You are worth better!
Madi
I was craving a sandwich, and I needed some cash, so I made a mad dash to the ATM to pick up some green stash. The blinking lights on the console gave me super grim news; my bank account was wiped out (good ol’ financial blues). So I sat by the bus stop, begging for change, aching for two slices of bread with cheese and meat that was free range.
Belinda Roddie
One finger slid down the communiqué to hold his place, while the shockwaves of the shells pushed the walls in an out and caused the gas lamp to pirouette in desperate bids to escape the hung nail, while the local people pushed desperately in and out against each other to escape the city walls and save themselves from a final pirouette to the ground, clasping hands over the hole in their chests. The other finger listened carefully to the blown lines of brain transmitting from the other end of the table, resting on the bronze crown of the thumb lever, sometimes pounding quickly in staccato, mimicking the hollow echoes from the near distance, transmitting, at a speed at which all those clumping bodies in the streets would like to have moved, somewhere in the far distance and the unseen distance and only if the lines were not cut, more or less because the transmitter’s body shook independent of the walls, the news of the retreat. And sometimes between explosive bursts the finger fell and rested, like the bodies on the far end of the city, and stayed down like a long sigh in the lines, or like the last exhalation of a body slumped over a still desk, the cracks of death moved past him and further into the distance, and a final transmission held indefinitely by the weight of a leaking chest.
dash. Das könnte irgendwas mit Geschirr sein. Oder Müll. Trash. Ich weiß es nicht. Ich bin genervt, weil ich heute so lange an der Übersetzung gearbeitet hab und weil sie immer noch nicht fertig ist. Weil das alles so kompliziert ist. Weil ich die Wörter nicht kann.
i looked out the window and saw the bus heading towards me. I scrambled to grab my school items off of the kitchen counter. stumbling towards the door. i grabbed my shoes in my hands. I reached for the door handle, turned the door knob and fling the door. sprinting outside only to realize that it was too late.
In a dash of time she was down the stairs. He sat there, staring at her. From the look on his face she could understand that it was over. “Hi,” she said.
She ran, not taking another second to think about what she was doing. Sprinting. Getting far away. She didn’t look back. She felt the strain in her legs.
Dashing through the snow. Christmas is over. It’s not that fun, honestly. I thought I would like it better once there were children in the picture. My sister’s kids are nuts. Particularly the oldest. I love him, but I am having a hard time having fun with them, and therefore my family. It’s exhausting. I’m glad to be back home.
In a hurry to get things done, running but not in an orderly fashion. It’s really racing something or someone or time. it’s a dash to the finish line or a dash to the end. Dashing through the snow. Or dashing through the “no” sometimes when you really need to get things done that haven’t been done before and no one believes in you.
Scooping up the cat into her arms, Emily dashed for cover, crashing down between the bushes and the porch. She watched, breathing tensely, as Clarence came onto the scene, swinging his rifle. “Someone’s stolen my cat,” he declared in a sing-song voice. “Ohh Trixie!”
The fat tabby squirmed in Emily’s arms, but she held tight to its middle, praying it would keep quiet. Praying this would all be over soon, and the monsters would disappear.
As I dash through my life, enjoying every second of my existence on this planet, I cannot help but to think of all the people who do not realize how awesome they are. How special they are. How enough they are. I feel sorry fo them. but you have to help yourslef first.
I dashed to the end of the finish line out of breath. When I run, vivid flashbacks of that horrid night come back to me. I remember what the air smelled like. How the air’s warmth brushed against my shoulders.
She dashed away. Dear God, she knew she was small, but come ON. Did all the cheetahs need to go after her? Bobby was way smaller than her. He even had a limp! But nooooo, let’s go after Shawna. She supposed it was because she didn’t have antlers like Bobby. Either way, it was a load of lion crap.
The bullets were flying overhead. Along the road that was called “sniper’s ally,” he saw that one woman had taken the chance as well, probably to get food for her children. As he made a dash for the other side of the road, he noticed strange and incongruous things – a bird in a tree, which seemed immune to the sound, water between the cobblestones, the bottle of milk which had smashed to pieces when the woman fell.
So as the girl dashed away from her home she used to know, she ran towards the woods where she had no idea of what was to come. She had a few things with her, but not much. She knew that she was on her own now. Where would she go, how would she manage. How would she survive?
A dash of hope and a sprinkle of laughter. The elderly man sat on the front porch and watched the volunteers work on his dilapidated home. A tear came to his eye. His wife came out and he put his arm around her. Who knew such love could come from a group of teenagers.
It makes me think of the little boy in the incredible’s or a line on a paper. Something fast. Something to cross out a mistake. A dash or to dash. Sometime’s I think I am not quick enough or my words aren’t correct so I must “dash” them out or cross them out.
arms crossed and the goods careening out
grocery bags stumble and kiss the ground
she’s running and-
is something before or behind?
is a woman more likely to run away or have
something desperate to get to before her?
the rape statistics, the catcalls, the fear in her
eyes never turns down
the dial up high – but still
damn, there’s a lot, a goal, a peaked tower
a place to be and woman’s right to fucking be there –
to aim for
run, run
as fast as you can
we only have so much time
let’s make the dash
as beautiful as we can
live to the fullest
spend your time on the things you love
follow your heart
chase your dreams
time will disappear
it’s never as long as it seems.
she looked at his dashboard
so clean
only the stain
of last night’s coffee cup
and the blood of the deer
stained the black leather
as they looked over the car
in the wrecking yard.
You train your whole life. You are 26. You’ve never had a drink of anything but water. You’ve never had anything with any sugar. You have only ever known a life of work and sweat. You only know what it is to push.
You travel half way across the world, you are signed up for a race that really can’t last more than eleven seconds.
Your trainer gives you the same pep talk, your mom says she’s proud, your friend says you will win no matter what: “It’s inevitable.”
You are ready.
You breathe in.
You breathe out.
The shot rings out-
And you’ve lost.
You’ve just lost the Olympics:
by .02 seconds.
dashing through the snow, on skies and under the sky, clear as day or black as night. cold air swirling around him, snowflakes falling, falling with him.
Every nerve screaming with fire. Pain. urgency as my lungs are about to burst. My legs quaver and wobble but I musn’t stop. If I stop, if i look back, pause, or hesitate for only a moment, they’ll be upon me. And what happens after that puts more speed to my flight. Freedom is elusive, but as long as I am running, I may still have a chance. As long as I’m moving I might still get free.
Once I stop, everything will stop. And for me it will never start again.
Dash
A dash of hope
A dash of regret
A dash of hatred
A dash of exhaustion
These are the things that make up my mind,
And I’m feeling dashed over
By the one who should love me
So he’s skipping through the lanes, finding leaves that look rustled, and he’s gone. The sun’s out. Past the tree’s, the barrier hiding his horizon. Under the dirt, the water flows. Land moves, terrain scribbles, dirt and insects dashing past his feet as he runs. Lights on and she’s waiting
Dashing or to do a dash.
Dash away from the pain, from the memories of the olden days and open yourself up to the new opportunities that life gives you. Give yourself that opportunity to learn how to love yourself and love others the way you want to be loved. You are worth better!
I was craving a sandwich, and I needed some cash, so I made a mad dash to the ATM to pick up some green stash. The blinking lights on the console gave me super grim news; my bank account was wiped out (good ol’ financial blues). So I sat by the bus stop, begging for change, aching for two slices of bread with cheese and meat that was free range.
One finger slid down the communiqué to hold his place, while the shockwaves of the shells pushed the walls in an out and caused the gas lamp to pirouette in desperate bids to escape the hung nail, while the local people pushed desperately in and out against each other to escape the city walls and save themselves from a final pirouette to the ground, clasping hands over the hole in their chests. The other finger listened carefully to the blown lines of brain transmitting from the other end of the table, resting on the bronze crown of the thumb lever, sometimes pounding quickly in staccato, mimicking the hollow echoes from the near distance, transmitting, at a speed at which all those clumping bodies in the streets would like to have moved, somewhere in the far distance and the unseen distance and only if the lines were not cut, more or less because the transmitter’s body shook independent of the walls, the news of the retreat. And sometimes between explosive bursts the finger fell and rested, like the bodies on the far end of the city, and stayed down like a long sigh in the lines, or like the last exhalation of a body slumped over a still desk, the cracks of death moved past him and further into the distance, and a final transmission held indefinitely by the weight of a leaking chest.
dash. Das könnte irgendwas mit Geschirr sein. Oder Müll. Trash. Ich weiß es nicht. Ich bin genervt, weil ich heute so lange an der Übersetzung gearbeitet hab und weil sie immer noch nicht fertig ist. Weil das alles so kompliziert ist. Weil ich die Wörter nicht kann.