feta, white creamy and tart…..a glass of wine, some sunshine, warmth and the sound of a breeze rustling through the leaves…..total peace,complete contentment
just a little speck of black abyss in the palm of my hand which doesn’t really taste all that grand and well it has a very bitter taste come to think of it i don’t really like the taste of it at all but i was under the impression that i had so i guess i was hoodwinked
dining garnish with a tart taste that is rather slimy and lumpy i am not really sure why i like them come to think of it i just happen to love the black ones but not cause i don’t like green things or red peppers
Wasn’t this yesterdays word? I remember writing about this particularly hard word to write about. I don’t know I don’t care for the word nor the taste.
And like that she was gone, gone into the wind and all that was left was her smell in the sheets, her olive sweater on the ground and a single earring on the dresser. Like that I was left with three signs she’d ever existed and I wondered if it would ever get better. If life would return to normal. If I would return to normal. If the smell would fade, if the olive sweater would become meaningless, if the earring would get lost in the daily shuffle. I knew one day she’d be a memory I just wish that day came sooner.
her eyes were olive green, but sparkling with tears as she held onto her pillow, she sobbed quietly,one hand covering her mouth, muffling her cries so her family wouldn’t hear.
she felt so alone, she wasnt home with her friends or her boyfriend, no she was stuck with family who couldnt care less about her and just beat on her with cruel words and laughing eyes.
she wanted to be home with the people she loved and cared for. the people who loved her. she cried.
Kalamata olive taken and consumed from every grocery store- as a ritual, to turn into a personal tradition. To provide structure- to provide, the taste of kalamata olives, on my tongue. Because I cannot abide by every stricture.
Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese.
All of Her? Mary All of Her?
Challenge accepted.
Olive Juice. Olive You. Because you’re too afraid to really say it. For instance, she is my squirrel friend, but most certainly not my girl friend.
Or a more poetic version of that notion.
Sprinkle in the powdered poetry.
Just add Olive Juice.
I was prepared to eat my burrito and curl up under the sodden oak leaves and hope I could transform terror to amusement. Then you were there and cackling with the young celebrity clone and said, “you don’t have to be alone tonight” and fore go the challenge of intense exposed solitude again and again as I do why stop now so I did it, yes, I joined you, both- though you were/are/were 7 years younger than me, which at the time felt like a difference- I joined you and we fell asleep beneath the dragon themed play structure and it was fucking cold but we cuddled close for warmth and I giggled when you kissed each other and Olive goddammit you said the trees are purple and why can’t everyone see the trees are purple and then there’s your whole “I don’t have to eat or sleep because I’m not a human” that I can really get behind but goddamit Olive let’s find another way out.
Her eyes were the color of a fresh olive, but they were quickly fading. I held her in my hands her life drained away. My only light in this darkness was gone.
Olive, the fruit of Athens. Athens was the heart Of Greece’s knowledge, of its culture of its thinking. I was bound to find my purpose here. No where else in the world would give me so much access. so much freedom.
one day i was living in the tree and another day , they picked me up. They touched their yellow , soft, smooth skin against mine and put a whole inside me. They didn’t care about me, all they wanted to do, was to eat me and enjoy my salt taste in the mouth. What a surprise that no one loves me that much anymore. Everyone used to like me but now they find me revolting.
an extra virgin for a extremely deprecating slum. paired with a fine vintage calls for a night of debauchery and cruelty. maybe repentance will help, maybe not? add a drizzle and a flagon and call it a night under moonlight.
He looked at her once more, green as olive her eyes were, but there was also a softness and brightness that he couldn’t even compare to all the things he had ever seen. There was something in those eyes
they called her Olive. Just an ugly name for such a pretty girl. When she smiled, it felt as if she had ensnared you in her gaze. And I was not one to fight it.
It was just after lunch that an olive branch fell and hit my right in the head. I have no idea why or how, just that Lindsay laughed hysterically at me. It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life and I’m not even sure why. It isn’t as if it was my own fault. For all I know, a bird sent by God dropped it while flying overhead.
yael laid her head in the crooked foot of an olive tree. her heart was hard but bright and hopeful for her people and her city. there would be fire tomorrow and for many days, but today she rested.
the olive tree spread its branches wide… providing the only shade for this part of the garden. birds found their way into its branches, and hopping around its burgeoning roots. Smaller animals too, flitted in and out of its leaves… meeting each other around the the clusters of ripe fruit.
olivejuice from far away reads as I Love You on the lips of the person who is saying it. I don’t like olives, but my wife loves saying that. Olive was Popeye’s wife. I love my wife. I hope you love yours too.
She was olive oil and brown sugar. Sweet and earthy. She made me want to swallow her whole, made me want to savour each bite. She was beauty. She was everything I was not.
She was olive oil and brown sugar. Sweet and earthy. It made me want to swallow her up, made me want to savour each bite. She was beauty. She was everything I did not have.
Olive juice.
Green olives
Black olives
Kalamata olives
Olives go well in cocktails such as the infamous Bloody Mary or a Dirty Martini.
I don’t care much for green olives but love the stuffed variations in a good cocktail.
Black olives are best on pizza and tacos.
Olive juice.
Shit, they were out of olive oil. Theresa would have to improvise. But with what? The doorbell rang. Double shit, they were already here. Now she’d have to listen to her mother-in-law go on about what a terrible cook she was.
Olives are delicious. They also remind me of my ex. He used to carefully inspect the olive cart at stop and shop before picking out what he wanted. Then we would go home and he would drink too much beer and hit me.I still like olives though.
He popped it into his mouth, clearly unaware of what it was. Then again, most two-year-olds had no idea what they were putting in their mouths. His eyes squinted up as his expression showed first surprise, then uncertainty, then horror. As he attempted to spit it out, he began to yell.
i love olives, well black olives. chopped, sliced, whole, they are tasty in almost everything. i put them on sandwiches, burritos, pastas, or just by themselves. there is something about olives that seems slightly decadent.
An olive. Well it’s something you might find in a salad, or a drink… It could also be a girl’s name. Reminds me of the cartoon series ‘Popeye the Sailor Man’. His girlfriend’s name is Olive… Wow I don’t seem to be very creative. Come on brain… Oh look at that. Time’s up.
olives immediately remind me of my time in spain.Every drink out, meal, or social gathering seemed to be accomplanied by the smallsalty green fruit, every bread, pasta orsalad coated in golden olive oil.
I had a boyfriend whose father owned a small olive tree orchard, one day i went help harvest the olives, this is not quite as i had imagined and not as romantic and idealitistic as portrayed in media instead it isincredibly had work. olives are harversted during the hottest months and they weigh a lot, instead of climbing ladders and casually throwing olives down into a wicker basket in a delightful manner, i found myself waving a rake like object through the branched and then picking hundreds of olives into a sac i was carrying, copy and repeat. By the end of the day i was thoroughly exhausted, aching and seemed to be covered in many scrapes. However it was another new experience and i had loved it :)
Green pits texture salad icky don’t like black vegetable round not pitted goes with martini
feta, white creamy and tart…..a glass of wine, some sunshine, warmth and the sound of a breeze rustling through the leaves…..total peace,complete contentment
just a little speck of black abyss in the palm of my hand which doesn’t really taste all that grand and well it has a very bitter taste come to think of it i don’t really like the taste of it at all but i was under the impression that i had so i guess i was hoodwinked
dining garnish with a tart taste that is rather slimy and lumpy i am not really sure why i like them come to think of it i just happen to love the black ones but not cause i don’t like green things or red peppers
Wasn’t this yesterdays word? I remember writing about this particularly hard word to write about. I don’t know I don’t care for the word nor the taste.
And like that she was gone, gone into the wind and all that was left was her smell in the sheets, her olive sweater on the ground and a single earring on the dresser. Like that I was left with three signs she’d ever existed and I wondered if it would ever get better. If life would return to normal. If I would return to normal. If the smell would fade, if the olive sweater would become meaningless, if the earring would get lost in the daily shuffle. I knew one day she’d be a memory I just wish that day came sooner.
her eyes were olive green, but sparkling with tears as she held onto her pillow, she sobbed quietly,one hand covering her mouth, muffling her cries so her family wouldn’t hear.
she felt so alone, she wasnt home with her friends or her boyfriend, no she was stuck with family who couldnt care less about her and just beat on her with cruel words and laughing eyes.
she wanted to be home with the people she loved and cared for. the people who loved her. she cried.
Olives are good on pizza and salads. Olive you.
olives yucky ugh disgusting or olive greencolor wierd
Kalamata olive taken and consumed from every grocery store- as a ritual, to turn into a personal tradition. To provide structure- to provide, the taste of kalamata olives, on my tongue. Because I cannot abide by every stricture.
Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese.
All of Her? Mary All of Her?
Challenge accepted.
Olive Juice. Olive You. Because you’re too afraid to really say it. For instance, she is my squirrel friend, but most certainly not my girl friend.
Or a more poetic version of that notion.
Sprinkle in the powdered poetry.
Just add Olive Juice.
I was prepared to eat my burrito and curl up under the sodden oak leaves and hope I could transform terror to amusement. Then you were there and cackling with the young celebrity clone and said, “you don’t have to be alone tonight” and fore go the challenge of intense exposed solitude again and again as I do why stop now so I did it, yes, I joined you, both- though you were/are/were 7 years younger than me, which at the time felt like a difference- I joined you and we fell asleep beneath the dragon themed play structure and it was fucking cold but we cuddled close for warmth and I giggled when you kissed each other and Olive goddammit you said the trees are purple and why can’t everyone see the trees are purple and then there’s your whole “I don’t have to eat or sleep because I’m not a human” that I can really get behind but goddamit Olive let’s find another way out.
the branches of the old tree hung fairly low. Fruits hung fromthe branches. Oh how long it took for the tree to be so fruitful.
Her eyes were the color of a fresh olive, but they were quickly fading. I held her in my hands her life drained away. My only light in this darkness was gone.
Olives are green. Some are black. I don’t like to eat them. My mom makes me eat them. I am done writing now.
Olive, the fruit of Athens. Athens was the heart Of Greece’s knowledge, of its culture of its thinking. I was bound to find my purpose here. No where else in the world would give me so much access. so much freedom.
one day i was living in the tree and another day , they picked me up. They touched their yellow , soft, smooth skin against mine and put a whole inside me. They didn’t care about me, all they wanted to do, was to eat me and enjoy my salt taste in the mouth. What a surprise that no one loves me that much anymore. Everyone used to like me but now they find me revolting.
an extra virgin for a extremely deprecating slum. paired with a fine vintage calls for a night of debauchery and cruelty. maybe repentance will help, maybe not? add a drizzle and a flagon and call it a night under moonlight.
He looked at her once more, green as olive her eyes were, but there was also a softness and brightness that he couldn’t even compare to all the things he had ever seen. There was something in those eyes
they called her Olive. Just an ugly name for such a pretty girl. When she smiled, it felt as if she had ensnared you in her gaze. And I was not one to fight it.
The colour of bathrooms from the 1970’s, the name of elderly ladies once endowed with great spirit and a food I detest.
It was just after lunch that an olive branch fell and hit my right in the head. I have no idea why or how, just that Lindsay laughed hysterically at me. It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life and I’m not even sure why. It isn’t as if it was my own fault. For all I know, a bird sent by God dropped it while flying overhead.
yael laid her head in the crooked foot of an olive tree. her heart was hard but bright and hopeful for her people and her city. there would be fire tomorrow and for many days, but today she rested.
i love an olive salad. it is so tasty and not very sweet. Olives are very nutritious and have many varieties. can be bought from the store
you eat them and you can make food out of them.
you can use them on some things. and are good for you.
olives are something you eat and use on your salads
the olive tree spread its branches wide… providing the only shade for this part of the garden. birds found their way into its branches, and hopping around its burgeoning roots. Smaller animals too, flitted in and out of its leaves… meeting each other around the the clusters of ripe fruit.
olivejuice from far away reads as I Love You on the lips of the person who is saying it. I don’t like olives, but my wife loves saying that. Olive was Popeye’s wife. I love my wife. I hope you love yours too.
She was olive oil and brown sugar. Sweet and earthy. She made me want to swallow her whole, made me want to savour each bite. She was beauty. She was everything I was not.
She was olive oil and brown sugar. Sweet and earthy. It made me want to swallow her up, made me want to savour each bite. She was beauty. She was everything I did not have.
The tree was definitely am Olive tree the wonderful gnarly branches twisted and turned around each other forming living green jigsaw puzzles
“Who do you think you are? Olive Oyl?” He yelled angrily at her. “Stop acting that way!”
Olive juice.
Green olives
Black olives
Kalamata olives
Olives go well in cocktails such as the infamous Bloody Mary or a Dirty Martini.
I don’t care much for green olives but love the stuffed variations in a good cocktail.
Black olives are best on pizza and tacos.
Olive juice.
Shit, they were out of olive oil. Theresa would have to improvise. But with what? The doorbell rang. Double shit, they were already here. Now she’d have to listen to her mother-in-law go on about what a terrible cook she was.
Olives are delicious. They also remind me of my ex. He used to carefully inspect the olive cart at stop and shop before picking out what he wanted. Then we would go home and he would drink too much beer and hit me.I still like olives though.
He popped it into his mouth, clearly unaware of what it was. Then again, most two-year-olds had no idea what they were putting in their mouths. His eyes squinted up as his expression showed first surprise, then uncertainty, then horror. As he attempted to spit it out, he began to yell.
i love olives, well black olives. chopped, sliced, whole, they are tasty in almost everything. i put them on sandwiches, burritos, pastas, or just by themselves. there is something about olives that seems slightly decadent.
An olive. Well it’s something you might find in a salad, or a drink… It could also be a girl’s name. Reminds me of the cartoon series ‘Popeye the Sailor Man’. His girlfriend’s name is Olive… Wow I don’t seem to be very creative. Come on brain… Oh look at that. Time’s up.
round, green, sort of, don’t like, Pop. Italy, persistence, oil, patience,
olives immediately remind me of my time in spain.Every drink out, meal, or social gathering seemed to be accomplanied by the smallsalty green fruit, every bread, pasta orsalad coated in golden olive oil.
I had a boyfriend whose father owned a small olive tree orchard, one day i went help harvest the olives, this is not quite as i had imagined and not as romantic and idealitistic as portrayed in media instead it isincredibly had work. olives are harversted during the hottest months and they weigh a lot, instead of climbing ladders and casually throwing olives down into a wicker basket in a delightful manner, i found myself waving a rake like object through the branched and then picking hundreds of olives into a sac i was carrying, copy and repeat. By the end of the day i was thoroughly exhausted, aching and seemed to be covered in many scrapes. However it was another new experience and i had loved it :)