brand watches wiki – rolex watches, omega watches, replica watches

Here it is:

The Difference

Laughter echoes across the field,
Sun warms the metal swings.

A girl sits on a wooden bench
By the playground,
Stuffing her new shoes in the woodchips
As she awaits an arrival.

A gleaming Mercedes rolls smoothly
Into the parking lot,
like a raindrop down glass.
Springing up, the girl
Sprints to the car,
Excited to share the events
Of her school day.

Across the street,
In the world of Dorathea Lange,
Another girl hugs her tattered jacket
Round her frail body.

Her nails are painted
With dirt, unwanted,
Yet permanent polish.

The silver Mercedes slides down the street.
The girl under the tree looks up,
Catching sight of another girls’ face in the window.
Her shoulders slumping, enveloped in the tree’s shadows,
The girl realizes what could have been.

Answer by Beth Holland
It’s good

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A Lange & Sohne Question&Answer:

http://wpcontent.answers.com/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/54/Lange-MigrantMother02.jpg/300px-Lange-MigrantMother02.jpg

can Someone Write A Poem On That Image?

Answer by Addison
Well, since this picture if from the Great Depression. You can do some research on it and create a poem about the struggle this woman must face.

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Question by Eve: Decipher meaning of poem..?
May I know what writer’s technique this poet used? And the overall meaning of this poem, and what you think ’bout it. Please. Thanks.

The Emperor’s Poet – Sharon Patterson.

Mist, white as rice paper,
hangs over the Imperial Gardens
of the Summer Palace near Beijing.

Vendors haggle with tourists
over the price of Gucci purses
and Rolex watches.

A poet carries a bucket
of charcoal-tinted water
and a life-sized brush
draws Chinese characters
on the stone pavers.

It’s a poem, our guide says
as the poet forms his gift.

Diluted ink penetrates his palest of days
but the guide has not time to stop
to wait for a poem to flow
from the poet’s brush.

Later we find his words
fading into the stones
shadows carved on the paper morning
undecipherable and indelible.

Best answer:

Answer by Golden Seaman
nice poem !
whats its name again ?
made in china ?

What do you think? Answer below!

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Question by Eve: Decipher the meaning of this poem..?
May I know what writer’s technique this poet used? And the overall meaning of this poem, and what you think ’bout it. Please. Thanks.

The Emperor’s Poet – Sharon Patterson.

Mist, white as rice paper,
hangs over the Imperial Gardens
of the Summer Palace near Beijing.

Vendors haggle with tourists
over the price of Gucci purses
and Rolex watches.

A poet carries a bucket
of charcoal-tinted water
and a life-sized brush
draws Chinese characters
on the stone pavers.

It’s a poem, our guide says
as the poet forms his gift.

Diluted ink penetrates his palest of days
but the guide has not time to stop
to wait for a poem to flow
from the poet’s brush.

Later we find his words
fading into the stones
shadows carved on the paper morning
undecipherable and indelible.

Best answer:

Answer by Daryl K
some dude drew some things on a wall in china, and now they are not as easy to understand.

ya dig?

Know better? Leave your own answer in the comments!

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Question by Intrusivosity With Medium Doubt: How might this Garland Cinquain Poem be improved ?
Wilson’s Glove
===========

Used lot
Porsche cabrio
Tanned high-water willies
Netherparts cologned in Jockey’s
Players

Dugout
A field of dreams
Sluggish drips on the road
Loaded back-washed memories
Glory

Strutting
Bottom of 9th
Low-hangers – swingin’ foul
Stick adjust, legs spread, elbows up
Shower

Rolex
Macau design
Bar-fly’s Lucky 7
Jell-O shots at a Motel 6
Waiver

Used lot
Bottom of 9th
Sluggish drips on the road
Stick adjust, legs spread, elbows up
Waiver

Best answer:

Answer by neonman
Ah…the Cactus League. Improvement may be the swing or at least a protector while at the plate. Meanwhile, they will leave the lights on!

Know better? Leave your own answer in the comments!

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cheap rolex Question&Answer:
Question by Just Another Guy with an Avatar: Do you like this poem?
And tell me what you like about it or don’t like about it. I’m sending it to a friend so I want to make it as good as it can be.

The Funeral

Where the sunlight comes down in crystals
Against a sky that shouldn’t be so blue
Mourners group like penguins
In expensive clothes of suitcase-black.

Humble eyes of smeared mascara
Tragic eyes of puffy pink
Are so beautiful to see amongst
The sea of solemn apathy.

Death feels cheap, like it might at war
And the pasty white corpse wears his finest suit
But forgot the coins he needs to cross
The River Styx.

The gray priest has a slight lisp as he
Reads stories from a secondhand prayer book
The magazine-cover businessman in the second row
Keeps glancing at his Rolex watch.

Emotions travel through stares
And those who never feel the sting of tears
Don’t seem to feel the death
At funerals.

Best answer:

Answer by Fishbone Jim
Nicely structured poem, my comment is that the word “gray” is really spelt as grey, I understand too this could be a localised spelling for parts of the US but your poem would stand better if this word is corrected.

I am very much liking this piece as it is, don’t change the structure if you can help it because it is great just the way it is.

What do you think? Answer below!

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Question by Just Another Guy with an Avatar: Hey you! Do you like this poem?
The Funeral

Where the sunlight comes down in crystals
Against a sky that shouldn’t be so blue
Mourners group like penguins
In expensive clothes of suitcase-black.

Humble eyes of smeared mascara
Tragic eyes of puffy pink
Are so beautiful to see amongst
The sea of solemn apathy.

Death feels cheap, like it might at war
And the pasty white corpse wears his finest suit
But forgot the coins he needs to cross
The River Styx.

The gray priest has a slight lisp as he
Reads stories from a secondhand prayer book
The magazine-cover businessman in the second row
Keeps glancing at his Rolex watch.

Emotions travel through stares
And those who never feel the sting of tears
Don’t seem to feel the death
At funerals.

Best answer:

Answer by Airylizard
Thats a miniature book my friend. Stop writing poems its not cool anymore. Last i checked it hasn’t been the 1890s for a couple of years now.

Add your own answer in the comments!

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Question by <3: **NEW** poem comments/critique please?
Ding, Dong, Deception

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow
soundlessly echoing a dogwood
being chopped, chopped.

He sits alone in the center
of the edge of raw emotion.
In a seamless red plastic chair,
as unforgiving as it is temperate.
“Dont lean too far boy, for you might
just fall.”

He smells the fresh oak scent,
and feels the face of a mirror forgotten.
smooth, black, effortless,
envy of luxury and time itself-
in the form of a rolex.

This is a door.
without depth, measure, or emotion-
hardly a door at all.
He tries to use the reflection in his eyes to find
something, everything. fate. destiny. change.
but it is nothing. For nothing is perfect.

He severs the red and blue ties to humanity.
fear of the door itself
propels him with a pulse-like jolt
past the deep unknown.

He is alone in a room
With a black door, and a red chair.
He treads lightly, foot steps ticking
to the last syllable of recorded time.
Now, there are four walls.

Best answer:

Answer by IloveChad♥
cool.

Give your answer to this question below!

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Question by <3: my new poem… comments/critique please???
Ding, Dong, Deception

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow
soundlessly echoing a dogwood
being chopped, chopped.

He sits alone in the center
of the edge of raw emotion.
In a seamless red plastic chair,
as unforgiving as it is temperate.
“Dont lean too far boy, for you might
just fall.”

He smells the fresh oak scent,
and feels the face of a mirror forgotten.
smooth, black, effortless,
envy of luxury and time itself-
in the form of a rolex.

This is a door.
without depth, measure, or emotion-
hardly a door at all.
He tries to use the reflection in his eyes to find
something, everything. fate. destiny. change.
but it is nothing, but nothingness.

He severs the red and blue ties to humanity.
fear of the door itself
propels him with a pulse-like jolt
past the deep unknown.

He is alone in a room
With a black door, and a red chair.
He treads lightly, foot steps ticking
to the last syllable of recorded time.
Now, there are four walls.

Best answer:

Answer by kooliokk
more ryming and other wise exellent

Add your own answer in the comments!

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Question by <3: my poem?? comments please?
Ding, Dong, Deception

To-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow
soundlessly echoing a dogwood
being chopped, chopped.

He sits alone in the center
of the edge of raw emotion.
In a seamless red plastic chair,
as unforgiving as it is temperate.
“Dont lean too far boy, for you might
just fall.”

He smells the fresh oak scent,
and feels the face of a mirror forgotten.
smooth, black, effortless,
envy of luxury and time itself-
in the form of a rolex.

This is a door.
without depth, measure, or emotion-
hardly a door at all.
He tries to use the reflection in his eyes to find
something, everything. fate. destiny. change.
but it is nothing, but nothingness.

He severs the red and blue ties to humanity.
fear of the door itself
propels him with a pulse-like jolt
past the deep unknown.

He is alone in a room
With a black door, and a red chair.
He treads lightly, foot steps ticking
to the last syllable of recorded time.
Now, there are four walls.
ahh sorry i didnt realize i alreadyy posted this earlier… but if u didnt see it then comments are greatlyy appreciated =]

Best answer:

Answer by Krista
thats really good.

What do you think? Answer below!

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