Look at this team dude. Yes I was a kid, I can assure you my teams are much more realistic now and I know how to take a screenshot of my playstation screen now too.
Anyone got any advice or tips or a general fact file for doing Israel in UNSC. My research is solid but I would like to get best. So any advice or key documents to read would be much appreciated.
Poem about birdsongs
/
All the great songs have been written—
But there's much left to say,
Birds still sing for us and I still—
Remember your sweet way.
/
It pains that we had not the time—
To keep nothing secret,
Perhaps with lives counted to nine,
We would choose to do what—
/
The bird and its song already does,
With little effort, they are—
Honest without inhibitions
If for you, one so far.
/
End.
I guess you can easily tell whose work has been influencing me as of late. I did also try to write in common metre though there's far too many substitutions for it to count and the last stanza. Please provide feedback for me to improve, friends.
Below is a very short write-up of mine. Please give me feedback friends.
/
"Water, no ice please." said she, coal-ish hair nestling her brow. Languid arm nudging oak that had seen better days.
"Odd drink choice, that"
"I guess so."
Hardly those words fell when he turned to fill up a glass and as if one swift pirouette turned again and spoke,
"Funny word isn't it? 'Teetotal', sounds almost musical, no? Teetotal Teetotal Teetotal."
"I guess it does sound funny, though I do drink"
"Never a strange order."
As he said those words, a little droplet of precipitate formed on his aquiline ridge.
He was nervous. He liked her. He wanted to ask her about her day though he had just met her. But, as is often the case all the words reflected off his cranium and returned. What could he say? Or she?
"Keep the change. Thank you"
She rose, adjusted the bag on her shoulder and walked out of an establishment which had seen fairer days. He remained soundless and so, again, the buzz of an old neon sign and the hum of an old air conditioner filled his head.
*end*
Any and all feedback is much appreciated.
"Water, no ice please." said she, coal-ish hair nestling her brow. Languid arm nudging oak that had seen better days.
"Odd drink choice, that"
"I guess so."
Hardly those words fell when he turned to fill up a glass and as if one swift pirouette turned again and spoke,
"Funny word isn't it? 'Teetotal', sounds almost musical, no? Teetotal Teetotal Teetotal."
"I guess it does sound funny, though I do drink"
"Never a strange order."
As he said those words, a little droplet of precipitate formed on his aquiline ridge.
He was nervous. He liked her. He wanted to ask her about her day though he had just met her. But, as is often the case all the words reflected off his cranium and returned. What could he say? Or she?
"Keep the change. Thank you"
She rose, adjusted the bag on her shoulder and walked out of an establishment which had seen fairer days. He remained soundless and so, again, the buzz of an old neon sign and the hum of an old air conditioner filled his head.
*end*
Any feedback would be much appreciated!
Did Gondor have plumbing? Did Rivendell and Lothlorien have plumbing? Did they all use chamberpots and communal toilets like dark age europe? Do elves even produce waste? Dwarves? Orcs?
Edit: this is not a shitpost, despite the subject matter
"Water, no ice please." said she, coal-ish hair nestling her brow. Languid arm nudging oak that had seen better days.
"Odd drink choice, that"
"I guess so."
Hardly those words fell when he turned to fill up a glass and as if one swift pirouette turned again and spoke,
"Funny word isn't it? 'Teetotal', sounds almost musical, no? Teetotal Teetotal Teetotal."
"I guess it does sound funny, though I do drink"
"Never a strange order."
As he said those words, a little droplet of precipitate formed on his aquiline ridge.
He was nervous. He liked her. He wanted to ask her about her day though he had just met her. But, as is often the case all the words reflected off his cranium and returned. What could he say? Or she?
"Keep the change. Thank you"
She rose, adjusted the bag on her shoulder and walked out of an establishment which had seen fairer days. He remained soundless and so, again, the buzz of an old neon sign and the hum of an old air conditioner filled his head.
*End*
Got nowhere else to share this piece of short prose.
All the great songs have been written—
But there's much left to say,
Birds still sing for us and I still—
Remember your sweet way.
/
It pains that we had not the time—
To keep nothing secret,
Perhaps with lives counted to nine,
We would choose to do what—
/
The bird and its song already does,
With little effort, they are—
Honest without inhibitions
If for you, one so far.
All the great songs have been written—
But there's much left to say,
Birds still sing for us and I still—
Remember your sweet way.
/
It pains that we had not the time—
To keep nothing secret,
Perhaps with lives counted to nine,
We would choose to do what—
/
The bird and its song already does,
With little effort, they are—
Honest without inhibitions
If for you, one so far.
/
End.
I guess you can easily tell whose work has been influencing me as of late. I did also try to write in common metre though there's far too many substitutions for it to count and the last stanza....