birds are feathered. Feathers here, feather there, feathers everywhere! I wish I had feathers to.. and wings, so I could fly! I’d fly all around the world. And I’d fly so fast.. with my feathered wings.
Dint
Birds are feathered. They are our feathered friends, after all. If they had scales, we’d called them our scaled friends.
Feathers are much prettier than scales…although they tend to get stuck between one’s teeth. Hmm..i suppose the same could be said for scales.
Suzanne H
nest is feathered and turkeys are feathered and hats are feathered and dogs legs are feathered and CEOs have the biggest feathered nests especially at the expense of the people who made the product or the money to be invested or whatever else the CEO is in charge of. Sad but true.
AJ
reminds me of a silly hat or boa, like in a fancy night club where all the women are wearing fishnets and sitting on the men’s laps. it also occurs to me that anything feathered is probably inherently useless and frivilous.
gina
like a little bird,
dying in the frosting wind…
Kathy
feathered am i not, and feathered i wish i was. to float endlessly above into an endless sky, to see the end of the world and return. the freedom that comes with feathers.
kaitlyn posey
Feathered. Like soft and smooth. Silky almost. I think of birds, flying high in the sky. Birds and freedom. Feathered birds. Soft to the touch. If only they let you touch them on a regular basis. I love watching the birds fly.
Brittany
a slight breeze ruffles the intricate details of my being. I aid the movement of some of the greatest living creatures. My existence allows small schoolgirls to look at birds and go ‘awwwww’!
I am an inspiration. I am practical.
Cameo
Like a bird.. on his fair wing… on the tree outside my window.. loving feeding hopping… tweets outside my window annoying and peaceful… i like my small backyard in virginia.. love peace hardships… the bird is always feathered molting us around.
marissa
my hat is feathered. i bought it from an Indian man in the square, near Moscow. It was a snowy eve, the coldest I can remember. The birds fought for shelter; we all did. The winds blasted like it was fucking cold. Your mom didn’t say hello to me that day. I wondered if she knew I was stoned, or maybe she thought I was tired.
marc
A long beaked bird soared through the air, feathers dangling from the wings, bristling as the wind whistled through them. The feathers were red, blood-red, and the bird itself was as long as a city block, large enough to blot out the sun, large enough to consume anyone or anything that entered its field of vision. It was enormous. It was a monster. It was a god. And, as far as Larry was concerned, it was pretty friggin’ cool.
Blake Petit
birds of a feather stick together in a feathered mass, ceaselessly trying to reach someplace they’re not sure they’re going towards. Hiding behind a mass of plumes, these cocks are confident yet insecurely trying to find their place in the world.
shay
birds. I didn’t know I liked birds until a yellow tiny parakeet flew into our back yard and hung out with us for 11 years. Today, I hear birds, see birds, look for birds every day. Humming birds, mocking birds, crows, sparrows, and birds I have no idea of what they’re called. I’m glad Cu Pie had stopped in.
susie mac
That was how the day started; feathered. Everything was hazy, but softly so, and he didn’t quite mind. He left the apartment, his scarf around his neck, and walked down the street. A man was wearing a chicken suit near one of the local shops. A woman was selling feather boas farther down the street.
Everything was feathered that day.
C. Gregory
Feathered is about feathers, but I think it means someone got covered with feathers and looks like a chicken, it can be embarassing. But that might accually be called tared. Man I stink at spelling.
Ben
my hair used to do this once. on the buses to all the shows, right beside you. headphones on, joint behind ear. message of positivity. all those folks were mad jealous of us. easy on the earth, easy on the eyes. i miss you. i think i’m in love with you. NIALL. love.
nameless
Pillows. fluffy, vintage pillows. Also, big coats that you have to pay at least 1000 dollars for. wings, birds flying through the skies as fast as possible, nothing stopping them.
Rachie
The duster ran around the room with a flourish. It’s feathered hide was pink and fluffy and dropped tiny bits and pieces all over the carpet. The cat pounced on the feathered debris and purred invitingly. Laughing, I dropped the feather duster and picked up the piece that she had claimed. Flicking it in front of her face, I watched her eyes tracking it with glee. She pounced.
Cassandra
bird is soft with feather like a soft blanket
alexbean
the feathers of a bird are flocking, cut off and stuffed into my pillow. i sleep fine at night. the turkey on thanksgiving. The pigeon in the park. i found it on the beach yesterday and felt its soft bristles then threw it into the lake. The Superior lake. Lake Superior. Soft. Smooth to my touch.
alan
Her hair was feathered in the style of Farrah Fawcett back in the ’70s. In fact, she had the vacuous smile down pat. As she shook her head from side to side, shivers went down her back as the hair caressed her neck.
Susan Lopez
They fell from the sky. I looked up, my eyes watering in the bright sunlight.
something flew past, white wings against white backdrop. My heart leapt a little, an exhilirated rush that i couldn’t identify.
i wonder what it’s like to fly…
Momo
This makes me think back to the days as a child of how the “cool” guys wore their hair. I hope we never go back to that style ever again…
Timmay
Feathers are soft, warm, inviting, and comforting. They remind me simultaneously of birds and pillows and beds. Beds make me think of Greg. This would be so much nicer if he were here. Now I’m thinking about the shape of feathers, and of wings. They’re nice. I love their shape.
Sarah
The bird flew
like my feelings.
Lydia
i love you you are soft i want to hold you wings soft love peace pillow blanket down comforter beds birds wings owls ducks hawks mice rabbits squirrels love easy warm touch nice thank you.
Sarah
His feathered body flew away, off into the darkness of nowhere, like peterpan.
Lindsey
feathered what can i say about this word.. when i think about this word i think about some sort of bird. Perhaps a chicken or a pigeon, I don’t like feathered things.. especially feathered chickens.. they are hard to eat when they are feathered… but other things feathered can be quite nice such as .. a feathered bola or something especially if a hot girl is wearing one.
musti
I see a light feathered window beside me. Ancient and crucified is the crust of its wings.
Clean and simple. Help me, I want to live I want to live I want to live. Be free. See the feather in the sun wanting to get out. Can I really be dancing without the wings? Leave me here to die in this dry place. Scare me out of here.
Carl
this light piece of object belongs to a creature that has evlovled from the dinosausrs known as raptors. and if you use it in a sentence it is in a past tense fomrm due to the -ed part of the word. it is spelled with an f.
steven
why such ignorance?
is everyone just as feathered as the next?
she sat looking at the dirt of her nails, and the blood on her hands. doing such dirty work required her to be strongwilled.
but she had fantasized many years of being dressed in beautiful lace, and gowns. with pearls around her neck. yes, this vision was surreal, too beautiful for a butcher’s wife.
dottie-sparks
Her hair, 70’s. Big feathered, wispy at the edges. It curled in big puffs, a ridiculous cloud surrounding her face. But hey, I’m into clouds. And that 70’s look just makes me hot for Charlie’s Angels. Big wispy heaven.
Jorge
The feathered pimp cap atop his head was the first thing that tipped me off. That, and also when he slapped my old girlfriend, Julia, across the face. She had fallen on hard times.
Julia also fell flat on her face on the grimy concrete alley way.
They stood just outside of the service entrance to Chung Lee’s, garlic and steam wafting out over her shoulder as she raised her head. Her makeup was already racooned on her face, and blood leaked from painted lips.
“I fuckin’ told you that I can’t keep carryin’ ‘ya girl.” Half of his sentence had a Jamaican lilt to it. Perhaps he thought that made him more real, or maybe he was ashamed of his heritage.
Either way, it made me feel ashamed to be a male.
The pimp was excited now, moving around like a boxer who had just downed an opponent. He landed a pointed boot into her stomach, and was too busy celebrating to notice me sidling up to him. I didn’t want to sucker punch him, either, so I tapped him on the shoulder.
His cap flew from his dreadlocked head, the ostrich feather coming to rest in a brown puddle in the broken concrete. We both took a moment to look at the feather, each of us knowing a line had been crossed. When he looked back, his face started folding,like slowly crumpling up another of my rejection letters. This was one letter that was clear in it’s hatred. There was no polite, innocuous “Thank you Mr. Smith, but…” here. Something inside of me felt this guy’s face didn’t have the right to look at me like that.
His jacketed arm flew up towards my face, and my arm jumped up on it’s own. The crumpled face looked surprised, and then disgusted. My body reacted without any prompting from myself, and the little pimp whirled in the air when my left hook connected to his jaw. He fell into the same puddle his feathered cap had, and he didn’t get up.
Julia was nowhere to be found in the alleyway, but I could hear a clacking of heels in the distance. That was gratitude for you.
Jason Shinn
Her makeup was feathered in a way that suggested she was extremely self-conscious. Exaggerated, like her sense of well-being, it tapered off into smudged rivers of black and blue. She often wonders what it would be li
Brittany
the feather fell down slowly on my shoulder, silent and soft. i looked at it, measmerized by it’s essenstial, beauty.
it had a delicate aura around it, as if saying thousands of words to one, yet not speaking at all.
dottie-sparks
the feather blew in the wind and nobody thought twice. nobody wondered where it came from or where it was going. they all sit on their front porches drinking hot tea with their fancy hats and never even noticed the feather blowing in the wind. they were all too deep in their conversation about the latest gossip.
tara
the feathered pillow was warm and inviting
amanda
My feathered friend. He is enigmatic. An angel? A god? I don’t know. Maybe something else entirly. All i know is he is old and powerful and he needs a favour and i owe him one. Damn I hate Mondays
Fergal
The feather drops down from the sky, falling toward me as if the bird it came from was gifting me a part of itself.
Pat
Horny should be replaced by the word “feathery.” When someone says, “I’m horny.” It sounds so ugly. It should be said like, “I’m feathery.” It sounds nicer. It describes the feeling better, too.
birds are feathered. Feathers here, feather there, feathers everywhere! I wish I had feathers to.. and wings, so I could fly! I’d fly all around the world. And I’d fly so fast.. with my feathered wings.
Birds are feathered. They are our feathered friends, after all. If they had scales, we’d called them our scaled friends.
Feathers are much prettier than scales…although they tend to get stuck between one’s teeth. Hmm..i suppose the same could be said for scales.
nest is feathered and turkeys are feathered and hats are feathered and dogs legs are feathered and CEOs have the biggest feathered nests especially at the expense of the people who made the product or the money to be invested or whatever else the CEO is in charge of. Sad but true.
reminds me of a silly hat or boa, like in a fancy night club where all the women are wearing fishnets and sitting on the men’s laps. it also occurs to me that anything feathered is probably inherently useless and frivilous.
like a little bird,
dying in the frosting wind…
feathered am i not, and feathered i wish i was. to float endlessly above into an endless sky, to see the end of the world and return. the freedom that comes with feathers.
Feathered. Like soft and smooth. Silky almost. I think of birds, flying high in the sky. Birds and freedom. Feathered birds. Soft to the touch. If only they let you touch them on a regular basis. I love watching the birds fly.
a slight breeze ruffles the intricate details of my being. I aid the movement of some of the greatest living creatures. My existence allows small schoolgirls to look at birds and go ‘awwwww’!
I am an inspiration. I am practical.
Like a bird.. on his fair wing… on the tree outside my window.. loving feeding hopping… tweets outside my window annoying and peaceful… i like my small backyard in virginia.. love peace hardships… the bird is always feathered molting us around.
my hat is feathered. i bought it from an Indian man in the square, near Moscow. It was a snowy eve, the coldest I can remember. The birds fought for shelter; we all did. The winds blasted like it was fucking cold. Your mom didn’t say hello to me that day. I wondered if she knew I was stoned, or maybe she thought I was tired.
A long beaked bird soared through the air, feathers dangling from the wings, bristling as the wind whistled through them. The feathers were red, blood-red, and the bird itself was as long as a city block, large enough to blot out the sun, large enough to consume anyone or anything that entered its field of vision. It was enormous. It was a monster. It was a god. And, as far as Larry was concerned, it was pretty friggin’ cool.
birds of a feather stick together in a feathered mass, ceaselessly trying to reach someplace they’re not sure they’re going towards. Hiding behind a mass of plumes, these cocks are confident yet insecurely trying to find their place in the world.
birds. I didn’t know I liked birds until a yellow tiny parakeet flew into our back yard and hung out with us for 11 years. Today, I hear birds, see birds, look for birds every day. Humming birds, mocking birds, crows, sparrows, and birds I have no idea of what they’re called. I’m glad Cu Pie had stopped in.
That was how the day started; feathered. Everything was hazy, but softly so, and he didn’t quite mind. He left the apartment, his scarf around his neck, and walked down the street. A man was wearing a chicken suit near one of the local shops. A woman was selling feather boas farther down the street.
Everything was feathered that day.
Feathered is about feathers, but I think it means someone got covered with feathers and looks like a chicken, it can be embarassing. But that might accually be called tared. Man I stink at spelling.
my hair used to do this once. on the buses to all the shows, right beside you. headphones on, joint behind ear. message of positivity. all those folks were mad jealous of us. easy on the earth, easy on the eyes. i miss you. i think i’m in love with you. NIALL. love.
Pillows. fluffy, vintage pillows. Also, big coats that you have to pay at least 1000 dollars for. wings, birds flying through the skies as fast as possible, nothing stopping them.
The duster ran around the room with a flourish. It’s feathered hide was pink and fluffy and dropped tiny bits and pieces all over the carpet. The cat pounced on the feathered debris and purred invitingly. Laughing, I dropped the feather duster and picked up the piece that she had claimed. Flicking it in front of her face, I watched her eyes tracking it with glee. She pounced.
bird is soft with feather like a soft blanket
the feathers of a bird are flocking, cut off and stuffed into my pillow. i sleep fine at night. the turkey on thanksgiving. The pigeon in the park. i found it on the beach yesterday and felt its soft bristles then threw it into the lake. The Superior lake. Lake Superior. Soft. Smooth to my touch.
Her hair was feathered in the style of Farrah Fawcett back in the ’70s. In fact, she had the vacuous smile down pat. As she shook her head from side to side, shivers went down her back as the hair caressed her neck.
They fell from the sky. I looked up, my eyes watering in the bright sunlight.
something flew past, white wings against white backdrop. My heart leapt a little, an exhilirated rush that i couldn’t identify.
i wonder what it’s like to fly…
This makes me think back to the days as a child of how the “cool” guys wore their hair. I hope we never go back to that style ever again…
Feathers are soft, warm, inviting, and comforting. They remind me simultaneously of birds and pillows and beds. Beds make me think of Greg. This would be so much nicer if he were here. Now I’m thinking about the shape of feathers, and of wings. They’re nice. I love their shape.
The bird flew
like my feelings.
i love you you are soft i want to hold you wings soft love peace pillow blanket down comforter beds birds wings owls ducks hawks mice rabbits squirrels love easy warm touch nice thank you.
His feathered body flew away, off into the darkness of nowhere, like peterpan.
feathered what can i say about this word.. when i think about this word i think about some sort of bird. Perhaps a chicken or a pigeon, I don’t like feathered things.. especially feathered chickens.. they are hard to eat when they are feathered… but other things feathered can be quite nice such as .. a feathered bola or something especially if a hot girl is wearing one.
I see a light feathered window beside me. Ancient and crucified is the crust of its wings.
Clean and simple. Help me, I want to live I want to live I want to live. Be free. See the feather in the sun wanting to get out. Can I really be dancing without the wings? Leave me here to die in this dry place. Scare me out of here.
this light piece of object belongs to a creature that has evlovled from the dinosausrs known as raptors. and if you use it in a sentence it is in a past tense fomrm due to the -ed part of the word. it is spelled with an f.
why such ignorance?
is everyone just as feathered as the next?
she sat looking at the dirt of her nails, and the blood on her hands. doing such dirty work required her to be strongwilled.
but she had fantasized many years of being dressed in beautiful lace, and gowns. with pearls around her neck. yes, this vision was surreal, too beautiful for a butcher’s wife.
Her hair, 70’s. Big feathered, wispy at the edges. It curled in big puffs, a ridiculous cloud surrounding her face. But hey, I’m into clouds. And that 70’s look just makes me hot for Charlie’s Angels. Big wispy heaven.
The feathered pimp cap atop his head was the first thing that tipped me off. That, and also when he slapped my old girlfriend, Julia, across the face. She had fallen on hard times.
Julia also fell flat on her face on the grimy concrete alley way.
They stood just outside of the service entrance to Chung Lee’s, garlic and steam wafting out over her shoulder as she raised her head. Her makeup was already racooned on her face, and blood leaked from painted lips.
“I fuckin’ told you that I can’t keep carryin’ ‘ya girl.” Half of his sentence had a Jamaican lilt to it. Perhaps he thought that made him more real, or maybe he was ashamed of his heritage.
Either way, it made me feel ashamed to be a male.
The pimp was excited now, moving around like a boxer who had just downed an opponent. He landed a pointed boot into her stomach, and was too busy celebrating to notice me sidling up to him. I didn’t want to sucker punch him, either, so I tapped him on the shoulder.
His cap flew from his dreadlocked head, the ostrich feather coming to rest in a brown puddle in the broken concrete. We both took a moment to look at the feather, each of us knowing a line had been crossed. When he looked back, his face started folding,like slowly crumpling up another of my rejection letters. This was one letter that was clear in it’s hatred. There was no polite, innocuous “Thank you Mr. Smith, but…” here. Something inside of me felt this guy’s face didn’t have the right to look at me like that.
His jacketed arm flew up towards my face, and my arm jumped up on it’s own. The crumpled face looked surprised, and then disgusted. My body reacted without any prompting from myself, and the little pimp whirled in the air when my left hook connected to his jaw. He fell into the same puddle his feathered cap had, and he didn’t get up.
Julia was nowhere to be found in the alleyway, but I could hear a clacking of heels in the distance. That was gratitude for you.
Her makeup was feathered in a way that suggested she was extremely self-conscious. Exaggerated, like her sense of well-being, it tapered off into smudged rivers of black and blue. She often wonders what it would be li
the feather fell down slowly on my shoulder, silent and soft. i looked at it, measmerized by it’s essenstial, beauty.
it had a delicate aura around it, as if saying thousands of words to one, yet not speaking at all.
the feather blew in the wind and nobody thought twice. nobody wondered where it came from or where it was going. they all sit on their front porches drinking hot tea with their fancy hats and never even noticed the feather blowing in the wind. they were all too deep in their conversation about the latest gossip.
the feathered pillow was warm and inviting
My feathered friend. He is enigmatic. An angel? A god? I don’t know. Maybe something else entirly. All i know is he is old and powerful and he needs a favour and i owe him one. Damn I hate Mondays
The feather drops down from the sky, falling toward me as if the bird it came from was gifting me a part of itself.
Horny should be replaced by the word “feathery.” When someone says, “I’m horny.” It sounds so ugly. It should be said like, “I’m feathery.” It sounds nicer. It describes the feeling better, too.