The daisies scattered the yard that was overgrown from lack of care and love. Their beauty reminded him of the care his wife had taken in planting each group as a ‘cluster’ around their yard. That was 15 years ago. Fifteen years before they had met, married and were lost in the day to day survival known as life. Now the daisies stood as a reminder of her. He missed her more each day. Each daisy encompassing the memories they held of better times. She was gone now. Lost to the other world.
The daises wake me up
even when I don’t want to be waked,
I monetize every parameter,
because life is a diameter,
every angle is key,
every dangle is a mean,
every haggle is the straggle,
seismic shifts happen every day to the man without a graduate degree
its just a buisness fee that need be collected
not interjected.
The daisies were flowing like water in the wind. I watched them from my window. I had never left my house to see them. But how I longed to. I knew, however, that I never could.
She plucked one of the flowers and spun it between her fingers. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
She pushed her eyebrows down in apprehension. “Oh, yeah, sure, I totally believe that.”
“Really. What are YOU thinking about?”
“Two can play at that game, bub.”
“Take this with you, when you go. So that the last thing you will ever see, is something beautiful.” She had told him. Not even an if in that fucking sentence. Even she believed he would not return from this battle. Even she had made her peace with his death. How come she could do that so easily… when he could not? Yes, he had been a brave soldier for as long as he could remember, but he had always been on the winning side. Always had the better numbers. But today he would share the frontline with only a few familiar faces again. Faces everyone around him was sure he would see for the last time. They all would soon be nameless corpses on the ground anyways. And for what did he fight anyways? A king he had never met.
He was looking at the flower this very fateful morning when he decided to leave his armor behind and went for the wine and his usual clothes. I am not going to die today, he had told himself. His king can fight his own battles from now on. He made his way out the door and ran as fast as his feet could take him away from the battlefield. The flower stayed behind in his old house, for he decided that dying was something he was not really in the mood for. At least not today.
Ring around the roses
Pocket full of daisies
in the end everything dies
just the same way it came into this world
one day the daisies will turn brown
and their leaves will fall off
the roses too will disappear
but they’ll come back
in some other form
in some other way
in some other norm
As we came over the hill, the little girl next to me exclaimed, “look at al the daisies – they are taking over the whole world!” It was a glorious sight. Let’s cover the whole world with peace and beauty like the daisies!!
Daisies are yellow and white and a symbol of simplicity and childlike optimism. They flower in the summer, when the weather is warm, and all seems possible.
A liliomok puhán értek földet, ahogy Mic ujjai megadták magukat a holtsúlynak 0 Aizawa Shota, a legkedvesebb barátja most is aludt, mint mindig. De ez most más volt. Fájt az ébrenlét, muszáj volt aludnia. Hát aludjon.
“I love these flowers, what are they called mister Mitchell?” She was so inquisitive about so many things. Mitchell was having a hard time figuring out how he was going to keep up with her.
“Daisies. Those are daisies.” He smiled at her. Lily was such a sweet kid.
The sun shone over the stacks of daisys that adorned the meadow they climbed up to see. Each daisy danced shyly with the wind as the echoing sound of children giggling cheered them on, fingers glided over the small daisies as a soft singing breezed through each individual flower.
The daisies that docrated the meadows sung to her. Her eyes welled up with tears as she remembered a song singing voice echoing at the back of her mind. She held back these tears as she tried to force a smile on her face, bending down, her fingers snatched a small daisy to which she brought towards the little girl in front of her.
“This is for you,” she says,
She looked up at the tall figure with the top hat, her sweet round face full of innocent trust. He twirled his walking stick, and smiled a malevolent smile.
The shadows of winter Fridays were long and purple. Their giant tendrils stretched entire length of our back yard. The tall pines over at the Whitelys refused entry to the sun almost entirely, and thats why we would find ourselves always huddled up in the very same corner, every afternoon while we waited for Mamma to come. It was the only place where the light touched our face and the daisies found the courage to break up through the surface of the buffalo grass.
One by one, I filled my hands with daisies until some of them were peeking through my fingers, until I could no longer close my hands around the stems. I hugged them tight to my chest, sobbing as I gazed down at them, pressing my face into the petals and leaves, as if an attempt to keep the flowers alive with my tears.
The field was full of daisies. Not your normal every day daisies. Multicolored daisies. Giant daises. Almost microscopic daisies. Talking ones. Nodding ones. Hugging ones. They invited me to come, and lie down in them. I did. I’ll be back every day.
Innocent and sincere, she reminded me all too much of daisies; and especially of my youth.
Of my cherry flushed face and vanilla ice-cream like complexion, how the apples of my cheeks seemed to glow under the warm sunlight. She reminded me of happiness. Of denim overalls and picking apples off the tree in the backyard and asking my mother how many stars were in the sky.
But most of all, most of all she reminded me of daisies.
The smell of daisies drifted into the kitchen through the light green window, paint chipping of off the frame. The smell was always there to welcome the spring.
I guess they are here too, those common little flowers of purity. Except it seems here they have begun to mean something different, as the internet takes grasp of a single image of the flowers warped and mutated, making the connection to a nuclear disaster. Whether this fairly common mutation was exacerbated by the invisible poison no one can say definitively, but no one wants to hear it anyway. A guess is as good as fact, and we can all drown in the lukewarm browned lake of ambiguity and of facts being opinions and opinions being facts. The child-like flowers grow deformed as they cling to their innocence. They fuse and grow circular in ignorance.
I told you they were my favourite flowers – well it’s one of them. I told you over the phone how beautiful white flowers were because of how pure they seemed to be, how nice they look dried up and messily stuck on the pages of my diary. I told you how gorgeous white flowers looked in bouquets, in hopes that you would get me some white flowers that could end up on the pages of my diary, and I could look back and think of you. Thinking that “he got me my favourite flowers because he knew they were my favourite.”
But you didn’t. The dried daisies on my diary come from the lonesome walks I take when you’re too busy to even ask how I am; when I’m trying my hardest to pull myself out of the thoughts of you that drown me. I pick them up along the way because daisies are just so goddamn gorgeous.
She used her thumb and index finger to zoom the camera on her iphone screen, bringing the purple daisy petals into focus, ensuring the frame captured the dirt, moss and artfully fallen tree limb in the periphery. Daisies had always been her favourite.
All flowers were pretty to Katie but daisies were always the prettiest. While other flowers glowed, daisies radiated with such a shine that could make the sun seem as dull as old cement. While other flowers were soft, daisies were so silky Katie didn’t need a fluffy kitten, she could just stroke the daisies. And even though other flowers were far more colorful, all Katie wanted to see was the bright white and the golden yellow. Other flowers smelled better too, but Katie didn’t desire to smell a sweet fragrance that would be made into a perfume, she wanted to smell the nice smell of daisies that brought back memories of the good times of her childhood. She knew of all the imperfections of the daisy, but that only made her love and care for them even more. Nobody and nothing should be absolutely flawless. The daisies reminded Katie of herself, and they were her sisters, her teachers, and her friends. They were a part of her family.
Paisley suits, rubber boots – we’ll pick a daisy or two. Roses and hoses to wash away the gloom. Picnic baskets, empty caskets, watch the graveyard bloom. For the poor saps already underground, some wreaths of daisies will do.
i like daisys but i have no problem killing them cheers. :)
The daisies in the field wave gently in the wind. It would be pretty, the blackbird thinks, if it did not smell so heavily of death.
A wolf howls somewhere in the distance, to the North, and the bird flaps its wings. Somewhere nearby, a body drops.
Daisies make me sniffle but there color makes fiddle.
The daisies scattered the yard that was overgrown from lack of care and love. Their beauty reminded him of the care his wife had taken in planting each group as a ‘cluster’ around their yard. That was 15 years ago. Fifteen years before they had met, married and were lost in the day to day survival known as life. Now the daisies stood as a reminder of her. He missed her more each day. Each daisy encompassing the memories they held of better times. She was gone now. Lost to the other world.
The daises wake me up
even when I don’t want to be waked,
I monetize every parameter,
because life is a diameter,
every angle is key,
every dangle is a mean,
every haggle is the straggle,
seismic shifts happen every day to the man without a graduate degree
its just a buisness fee that need be collected
not interjected.
daisies is a cool flower, i don’t know a lot about flowers so this is going to be short and boring so have fun reading this.
The daisies were flowing like water in the wind. I watched them from my window. I had never left my house to see them. But how I longed to. I knew, however, that I never could.
She plucked one of the flowers and spun it between her fingers. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
She pushed her eyebrows down in apprehension. “Oh, yeah, sure, I totally believe that.”
“Really. What are YOU thinking about?”
“Two can play at that game, bub.”
“Take this with you, when you go. So that the last thing you will ever see, is something beautiful.” She had told him. Not even an if in that fucking sentence. Even she believed he would not return from this battle. Even she had made her peace with his death. How come she could do that so easily… when he could not? Yes, he had been a brave soldier for as long as he could remember, but he had always been on the winning side. Always had the better numbers. But today he would share the frontline with only a few familiar faces again. Faces everyone around him was sure he would see for the last time. They all would soon be nameless corpses on the ground anyways. And for what did he fight anyways? A king he had never met.
He was looking at the flower this very fateful morning when he decided to leave his armor behind and went for the wine and his usual clothes. I am not going to die today, he had told himself. His king can fight his own battles from now on. He made his way out the door and ran as fast as his feet could take him away from the battlefield. The flower stayed behind in his old house, for he decided that dying was something he was not really in the mood for. At least not today.
Ring around the roses
Pocket full of daisies
in the end everything dies
just the same way it came into this world
one day the daisies will turn brown
and their leaves will fall off
the roses too will disappear
but they’ll come back
in some other form
in some other way
in some other norm
As we came over the hill, the little girl next to me exclaimed, “look at al the daisies – they are taking over the whole world!” It was a glorious sight. Let’s cover the whole world with peace and beauty like the daisies!!
daisies smell like doo doo, if you step on them after you have stepped in poo. I enjoy the smell of poo especially when it’s on the bottom of my shoe.
I like daisies, they are beautiful. I often find my self looking at pictures of daisies and wondering what it would be like to be one.
Daisies are yellow and white and a symbol of simplicity and childlike optimism. They flower in the summer, when the weather is warm, and all seems possible.
My grandmother went into the backyard to get flowers. at that time she found daises and took them with her.
A liliomok puhán értek földet, ahogy Mic ujjai megadták magukat a holtsúlynak 0 Aizawa Shota, a legkedvesebb barátja most is aludt, mint mindig. De ez most más volt. Fájt az ébrenlét, muszáj volt aludnia. Hát aludjon.
She was strolling down the lane carrying a bouquet of daisies
“I love these flowers, what are they called mister Mitchell?” She was so inquisitive about so many things. Mitchell was having a hard time figuring out how he was going to keep up with her.
“Daisies. Those are daisies.” He smiled at her. Lily was such a sweet kid.
The sun shone over the stacks of daisys that adorned the meadow they climbed up to see. Each daisy danced shyly with the wind as the echoing sound of children giggling cheered them on, fingers glided over the small daisies as a soft singing breezed through each individual flower.
The daisies that docrated the meadows sung to her. Her eyes welled up with tears as she remembered a song singing voice echoing at the back of her mind. She held back these tears as she tried to force a smile on her face, bending down, her fingers snatched a small daisy to which she brought towards the little girl in front of her.
“This is for you,” she says,
the daises i see are memories of wordsworth, he wrote the the daffodils, but the daffodils are far away from the daises , that much i hope.
She looked up at the tall figure with the top hat, her sweet round face full of innocent trust. He twirled his walking stick, and smiled a malevolent smile.
The shadows of winter Fridays were long and purple. Their giant tendrils stretched entire length of our back yard. The tall pines over at the Whitelys refused entry to the sun almost entirely, and thats why we would find ourselves always huddled up in the very same corner, every afternoon while we waited for Mamma to come. It was the only place where the light touched our face and the daisies found the courage to break up through the surface of the buffalo grass.
One by one, I filled my hands with daisies until some of them were peeking through my fingers, until I could no longer close my hands around the stems. I hugged them tight to my chest, sobbing as I gazed down at them, pressing my face into the petals and leaves, as if an attempt to keep the flowers alive with my tears.
The field was full of daisies. Not your normal every day daisies. Multicolored daisies. Giant daises. Almost microscopic daisies. Talking ones. Nodding ones. Hugging ones. They invited me to come, and lie down in them. I did. I’ll be back every day.
It’s the third time she gives you daisies, as if she’d be trying to tell you a secret coded in flowers. You’ve got to decipher their meaning.
Innocent and sincere, she reminded me all too much of daisies; and especially of my youth.
Of my cherry flushed face and vanilla ice-cream like complexion, how the apples of my cheeks seemed to glow under the warm sunlight. She reminded me of happiness. Of denim overalls and picking apples off the tree in the backyard and asking my mother how many stars were in the sky.
But most of all, most of all she reminded me of daisies.
The smell of daisies drifted into the kitchen through the light green window, paint chipping of off the frame. The smell was always there to welcome the spring.
I like daisies
the type of work you want to do = I want to work as a business analyst and I want my job to be easy
how you want to feel in your job = I want to feel satisfied and happy. I need to feel the job as easy.
the type of company you want to work for = I want to work in the entertainment business. Warner Bros. is my favorite company.
the kind of people you want to work with = I want to work with people who are chill and sweet to me.
the hours you want to work = I want office from 10am to 4pm Monday – Friday.
where you want your job to be = I want my job to be in California, USA.
and the salary you want to receive = I want $8000 per month.
Get very clear about what you want in the job
by thinking it through thoroughly and writing
all the details down
a beautiful cute looking flower. Sweet like a person. Daisies looking up to the sun and wonder why aren’t they as grand as sunflowers.
I guess they are here too, those common little flowers of purity. Except it seems here they have begun to mean something different, as the internet takes grasp of a single image of the flowers warped and mutated, making the connection to a nuclear disaster. Whether this fairly common mutation was exacerbated by the invisible poison no one can say definitively, but no one wants to hear it anyway. A guess is as good as fact, and we can all drown in the lukewarm browned lake of ambiguity and of facts being opinions and opinions being facts. The child-like flowers grow deformed as they cling to their innocence. They fuse and grow circular in ignorance.
I told you they were my favourite flowers – well it’s one of them. I told you over the phone how beautiful white flowers were because of how pure they seemed to be, how nice they look dried up and messily stuck on the pages of my diary. I told you how gorgeous white flowers looked in bouquets, in hopes that you would get me some white flowers that could end up on the pages of my diary, and I could look back and think of you. Thinking that “he got me my favourite flowers because he knew they were my favourite.”
But you didn’t. The dried daisies on my diary come from the lonesome walks I take when you’re too busy to even ask how I am; when I’m trying my hardest to pull myself out of the thoughts of you that drown me. I pick them up along the way because daisies are just so goddamn gorgeous.
She used her thumb and index finger to zoom the camera on her iphone screen, bringing the purple daisy petals into focus, ensuring the frame captured the dirt, moss and artfully fallen tree limb in the periphery. Daisies had always been her favourite.
All flowers were pretty to Katie but daisies were always the prettiest. While other flowers glowed, daisies radiated with such a shine that could make the sun seem as dull as old cement. While other flowers were soft, daisies were so silky Katie didn’t need a fluffy kitten, she could just stroke the daisies. And even though other flowers were far more colorful, all Katie wanted to see was the bright white and the golden yellow. Other flowers smelled better too, but Katie didn’t desire to smell a sweet fragrance that would be made into a perfume, she wanted to smell the nice smell of daisies that brought back memories of the good times of her childhood. She knew of all the imperfections of the daisy, but that only made her love and care for them even more. Nobody and nothing should be absolutely flawless. The daisies reminded Katie of herself, and they were her sisters, her teachers, and her friends. They were a part of her family.
They are very colorful and can be found at parks and smell lovely
i was daises and sugar to everyone but inside i was acid burning burning
i hate daisies i do like the disney charater daisy i like the gun company daisy well bye
Paisley suits, rubber boots – we’ll pick a daisy or two. Roses and hoses to wash away the gloom. Picnic baskets, empty caskets, watch the graveyard bloom. For the poor saps already underground, some wreaths of daisies will do.
yellow and white flowers that light up the room. Bright and soft, they light up the room.