The grain silo loomed over the horizon and he kept walking toward it, because it shined in the sun and because that was where the gold was.
He walked despite the fact that the blisters on his feet had formed blisters, despite the fact that every muscle in his hamstrings was telling him that he should stop and rest before he died of exhaustion, despite the fact that the voice next to him was telling him there was nothing in the grain silo but musty, old grain.
He didn’t know why he was so set on this. After all, the farm had been abandoned for decades. The shine was only in his imagination.
Silos seem so innocent. A simple building full of the harvest. The skyscrapers of the country. But they have a darker secret. People meet their demise in them. Drowning,screaming, sinking into the crop, sucked in. And they die. Just like that. A life snuffed out.
We stayed in our own camp. The rules we lived by were ones created by those who came before us. The rules of the island were just guidelines as far as we were concerned. The other campus had their own rules too. And even though they looked like us and occupied the same island, we distrusted them because they were not of us.
The silo at the bottom of the field was filled with gold. The leparchauns had left it there, abandoned, if gold can ever be abandoned. the other face was asking to be opened at the bottom of t
bharat shekhar
nothing makes you more fluent
in the language of selfishess
than simple economics.
supply and demand–
in a house full of hungry children
only the fastest,
the strongest,
the ones who know where to hide
for later
get to eat.
i will always take the last spot
if i can help it.
i will push and shove and grapple
and step on
if it means i get to have something
for once.
at least, i thought that.
then you.
you are the only thing i have
not by luck or chance
or by being the best
but because you chose me.
in our case,
i love you
translates to
i didn’t have to fight for you
at all.
Silo sounds like a name. A black-haired kid with freckles and bangs. Tiny hands and fast legs carrying the child from one end of the yard to the next in 10 seconds flat.
Silo. The word was easy on a spelling test, but Mary had no real idea what it was. She didn’t know the meaning of half the words. She was sure they’d been taught… But some of them just didn’t stick in her memory like they were supposed to. She thought it was a little silly that they were tested on how to spell the words, but not whether or not they actually knew them. But that was school for you. There didn’t seem to be any real logic to half the things teachers did.
Vhubj be hkghbkb ghbhkbhk. Jkb
Bbnbn n
Junky
Join junky
Jlklnnknnk
N,m,m,,mkhkvcfgxhgv hkghbkb gag. I. By h. Nub but. By. NBC. U. Have vhbjjnjbbb. B jbbm m. Vg. No n hangnail n. job n in John. B. m jbj m up. N no n n. n n n
Doug Pettitt
The silo filled of corn
came tumbling down
in the middle of September
like an eerie reminder
of a day gone
lost in the sands of time
and in the aftermath
corndust filled our lungs.
like an errie reminder
The silo rose to the sky like a gnarled and knuckly finger. It had begun to buckle over the years, losing its sleek silhouette. Much of its paint had flaked off and there were cow-sized patches of rust blotching its surface.
Due to pressure for room to live, in the small town far from the mainland, many people have invaded the silos in the area, for shelter, although of the danger that they pose.
There was a large water tank, painted blue, with the name of the town on it. Several of the town’s old folk told stories about how it was actually a missile silo. They were right.
tonykeyesjapan
I think of corn. A big pile of corn fills the silo. I remember when Mom used to walk into a health food store with me, she would say it smelled like silage. I had never heard of that word and she told me that silage is what fills a silo. Go figure.
“Oh, that? It’s just old man McGreagor’s old silo. He hasn’t used it in years; not since his wife disappeared.” I said absently.
Jamie stared at it for a long moment. “You think he put her in there?”
“What?”
“Do. You. Think. He. Put her. In there?” she repeated slowly.
I stared at her, mouth slowly falling open. “No! He’s a creepy old dude but he’s not a murderer.”
there is nothing there for a man but a shovel. you move closest to the pitch hole, trying to suck in good air, cherish every breeze, your sweat mixing with the corn, sometimes there is water
In the sandbox: he builds walls of sand around his men. They lie on their bellies in foxholes, their guns pointed towards an enemy who is also made of plastic.
In the cornfield, beyond: the barbed wire fence, around the missile silo.
The grain silos across the plains lasted longer than the human race did. It was a lot better than in the cities. The pipes were all that was left, and humans were remembered as being so very filthy and messy. The grain silos at least meant that we had forethought.
Ted
Silo had a pretty soul, but every single day all she did was cry and cry and cry. As the tears go down her ivory face, she realizes that it’s not just sadness she’s feeling – it’s a certain kind of emptiness that is gnawing at her soul. She’s lost at sea and she’s struggling to keep afloat – struggling, yes, but determined.
Ida
Golden.
Oh, the lyrics sung in silos.
Like echo location of the soul.
Drenched in natural reverb.
Ethereal.
Never hear much like it on the radio, unless you go for choirs in cathedrals.
Rotten, spoiled, tainted; the grain gave off a faint greenish glow in the light leaking from the crack in the silo, the same crack that had let the late summer storm leak in last week. The entire harvest was gone, but he couldn’t help marveling at fuzzy mounds, the miniature mountains, verdant and sprawling across his once golden crop. Life goes on, even if it doesn’t always take the form one expects.
I wish I knew what a silo was. I think it’s a container but I’m not sure. It sounds like a bunker. It’s the first 4 letters of silhouette, but I doubt that has any relation to silos.
Jasmine
yaruzo, yaru
i only know people how know of this kind of stuff
i don’t know about it personally
texas landscapes, long and flat land that i’d like to run on
why do people say they love texas but hate its flatness
i love it
tjhe number of times I’ve heard about explosions because of grain dust– woah!
Elizabeth fry
A blinding yellow peeked its head over the silo, only a dark cylinder now. I laid down, welcoming the warm sunshine on my cold skin, and watched the sun raise up gloriously slow illuminating the features of the silo. Squares of metal stitched carelessly together, the occasional one bent over or at the corner. Time was plainly streaked across the rust framed red patches. A questionable ladder clinged to the side of the silo. The entire piece spoke of love and decay.
Alibay
On the ninth day, they took us to the silo. It stood, creaking and ancient, in an overgrown field they hardly used for anything other than a junkyard. They swung the rusty door open and invited us to look at its interior. I was too busy trying to get grain out of my boots to notice that there was no door handle on the inside.
We lok at eachother. We cant belive it finally came around, wasnt the cold war over? Putin seemed reasonable. But here we are, last generations worst fears, come to play. So, we turn the key, and let the world burn.
In art class, I designed a farm poster complete with a silo.
did I think that I was destined for the farming life?
I did, after all, meet you.
The rusty silo out on the slope of the green hill
So desolate,
The grain silo loomed over the horizon and he kept walking toward it, because it shined in the sun and because that was where the gold was.
He walked despite the fact that the blisters on his feet had formed blisters, despite the fact that every muscle in his hamstrings was telling him that he should stop and rest before he died of exhaustion, despite the fact that the voice next to him was telling him there was nothing in the grain silo but musty, old grain.
He didn’t know why he was so set on this. After all, the farm had been abandoned for decades. The shine was only in his imagination.
Nuclear silos?
cone
YOUR SILOS ARE EMPTY- YOUR GRAINS OF SAND ARE OUT
YOUR LOST YOUR CAR, YOUR DOG, WIFE AND HOUSE
DRINKING DRUGS AND SMOKING TROUT
Silos seem so innocent. A simple building full of the harvest. The skyscrapers of the country. But they have a darker secret. People meet their demise in them. Drowning,screaming, sinking into the crop, sucked in. And they die. Just like that. A life snuffed out.
We stayed in our own camp. The rules we lived by were ones created by those who came before us. The rules of the island were just guidelines as far as we were concerned. The other campus had their own rules too. And even though they looked like us and occupied the same island, we distrusted them because they were not of us.
The silo at the bottom of the field was filled with gold. The leparchauns had left it there, abandoned, if gold can ever be abandoned. the other face was asking to be opened at the bottom of t
nothing makes you more fluent
in the language of selfishess
than simple economics.
supply and demand–
in a house full of hungry children
only the fastest,
the strongest,
the ones who know where to hide
for later
get to eat.
i will always take the last spot
if i can help it.
i will push and shove and grapple
and step on
if it means i get to have something
for once.
at least, i thought that.
then you.
you are the only thing i have
not by luck or chance
or by being the best
but because you chose me.
in our case,
i love you
translates to
i didn’t have to fight for you
at all.
Silo sounds like a name. A black-haired kid with freckles and bangs. Tiny hands and fast legs carrying the child from one end of the yard to the next in 10 seconds flat.
Silo. The word was easy on a spelling test, but Mary had no real idea what it was. She didn’t know the meaning of half the words. She was sure they’d been taught… But some of them just didn’t stick in her memory like they were supposed to. She thought it was a little silly that they were tested on how to spell the words, but not whether or not they actually knew them. But that was school for you. There didn’t seem to be any real logic to half the things teachers did.
Vhubj be hkghbkb ghbhkbhk. Jkb
Bbnbn n
Junky
Join junky
Jlklnnknnk
N,m,m,,mkhkvcfgxhgv hkghbkb gag. I. By h. Nub but. By. NBC. U. Have vhbjjnjbbb. B jbbm m. Vg. No n hangnail n. job n in John. B. m jbj m up. N no n n. n n n
The silo filled of corn
came tumbling down
in the middle of September
like an eerie reminder
of a day gone
lost in the sands of time
and in the aftermath
corndust filled our lungs.
like an errie reminder
We’re millions of little grains
In the same dark tower
We’d like to know each other, but we have no lungs to yell
Soon we’ll be on different trains
To be ground into flour
Like ghosts freed from burned ashes, we will break free from our shell
But now we lie, silent as death
All we do is dream
Lay against those nearby, waiting in an infinite cell.
We wait for the day when we can take a deep breath,
Our lungs fill with steam
We’ll rise, simple as bread. Farewell.
The silo rose to the sky like a gnarled and knuckly finger. It had begun to buckle over the years, losing its sleek silhouette. Much of its paint had flaked off and there were cow-sized patches of rust blotching its surface.
Due to pressure for room to live, in the small town far from the mainland, many people have invaded the silos in the area, for shelter, although of the danger that they pose.
There was a large water tank, painted blue, with the name of the town on it. Several of the town’s old folk told stories about how it was actually a missile silo. They were right.
I think of corn. A big pile of corn fills the silo. I remember when Mom used to walk into a health food store with me, she would say it smelled like silage. I had never heard of that word and she told me that silage is what fills a silo. Go figure.
“Oh, that? It’s just old man McGreagor’s old silo. He hasn’t used it in years; not since his wife disappeared.” I said absently.
Jamie stared at it for a long moment. “You think he put her in there?”
“What?”
“Do. You. Think. He. Put her. In there?” she repeated slowly.
I stared at her, mouth slowly falling open. “No! He’s a creepy old dude but he’s not a murderer.”
there is nothing there for a man but a shovel. you move closest to the pitch hole, trying to suck in good air, cherish every breeze, your sweat mixing with the corn, sometimes there is water
In the sandbox: he builds walls of sand around his men. They lie on their bellies in foxholes, their guns pointed towards an enemy who is also made of plastic.
In the cornfield, beyond: the barbed wire fence, around the missile silo.
The grain silos across the plains lasted longer than the human race did. It was a lot better than in the cities. The pipes were all that was left, and humans were remembered as being so very filthy and messy. The grain silos at least meant that we had forethought.
Silo had a pretty soul, but every single day all she did was cry and cry and cry. As the tears go down her ivory face, she realizes that it’s not just sadness she’s feeling – it’s a certain kind of emptiness that is gnawing at her soul. She’s lost at sea and she’s struggling to keep afloat – struggling, yes, but determined.
Golden.
Oh, the lyrics sung in silos.
Like echo location of the soul.
Drenched in natural reverb.
Ethereal.
Never hear much like it on the radio, unless you go for choirs in cathedrals.
Rotten, spoiled, tainted; the grain gave off a faint greenish glow in the light leaking from the crack in the silo, the same crack that had let the late summer storm leak in last week. The entire harvest was gone, but he couldn’t help marveling at fuzzy mounds, the miniature mountains, verdant and sprawling across his once golden crop. Life goes on, even if it doesn’t always take the form one expects.
I wish I knew what a silo was. I think it’s a container but I’m not sure. It sounds like a bunker. It’s the first 4 letters of silhouette, but I doubt that has any relation to silos.
yaruzo, yaru
i only know people how know of this kind of stuff
i don’t know about it personally
texas landscapes, long and flat land that i’d like to run on
why do people say they love texas but hate its flatness
i love it
tjhe number of times I’ve heard about explosions because of grain dust– woah!
A blinding yellow peeked its head over the silo, only a dark cylinder now. I laid down, welcoming the warm sunshine on my cold skin, and watched the sun raise up gloriously slow illuminating the features of the silo. Squares of metal stitched carelessly together, the occasional one bent over or at the corner. Time was plainly streaked across the rust framed red patches. A questionable ladder clinged to the side of the silo. The entire piece spoke of love and decay.
On the ninth day, they took us to the silo. It stood, creaking and ancient, in an overgrown field they hardly used for anything other than a junkyard. They swung the rusty door open and invited us to look at its interior. I was too busy trying to get grain out of my boots to notice that there was no door handle on the inside.
We lok at eachother. We cant belive it finally came around, wasnt the cold war over? Putin seemed reasonable. But here we are, last generations worst fears, come to play. So, we turn the key, and let the world burn.