striped

February 19th, 2014 | 83 Entries

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83 Entries for “striped”

  1. My heart is striped:
    one red stripe for the pain;
    one blue stripe for the joyful gaze
    – sunk into the sky;
    one green stripe for the wide field
    in front of my eyes;
    one black stripe for fears, sorrow
    and the shadows inside;
    one golden stripe for my mute love,
    you can’t hear:

    it’s echoing around us.
    Pay attention;
    do you feel my waves of emotion?

    By gargouillis on 02.19.2014

  2. Sunlight striped her face in strange, golden bars.

    By WearyWater URL on 02.19.2014

  3. Zebra cakes are silly names for the delicious striped delicacies on my pantry shelf. They aren’t black and white. They are just covered in love. Smooth creamy frosting on a beautiful white cake makes eating them a wonderful experience.

    By Sabrina on 02.19.2014

  4. I stared down at the striped ground before me. I could not have told you why it was striped. This was all new to me, everything. The travelling, the strangely harsher sunlight, and the oddly striped ground. What was this place anyway?

    By Katie URL on 02.19.2014

  5. from the welts laid down by the lash, the goad those nine-armed hindu goddesses wield. pay attention, not to what you think, but what your heart throbs out

    By lara on 02.19.2014

  6. her colors were striped. her clothes were stripped. she was stripped of her ability to care about being so bare. Her skin stripped from her bones. her muscles stripped from her heart.

    By nicole URL on 02.19.2014

  7. The suit was striped. It hung around the thin boy like a garish costume. Petunia rolled her eyes at the absurd nature of it. What were these people thinking? A skinny boy in a suit was not going to convince anyone. Neither was the elephant sized hat adorning her head. These people were all insane. But so was she. If she wasn’t she would be somewhere else right now.

    By Bethany URL on 02.19.2014

  8. rastriped, reminds me of a zebra. wild and free. striped is also some sort of casing system like how many strips you have…….the more you have the higher you are on the command! it also makes me think of red strip beer, jamacia and my honeymoon. Many good memories, but some not so good as well! all lessions….all lesson’s……this is an intersting process and one that I am just starting…..

    By nora on 02.19.2014

  9. the pattern seemed to dazzle her to start with until the animal ahead came into focus

    By smr URL on 02.19.2014

  10. the tigers hid behind their striped pelts, morphing into the wilderness

    By Vallos URL on 02.19.2014

  11. Striped. That’s what it looked like a really big striped zebra. And my mother wanted me to wear this dress to prom? Was she insane?
    “Mom, it’s so not happening. No freaking way.”
    Mom frowned. “Don’t use that word, Jasmine. It’s not for young ladies.”
    “Mom this isn’t the 18th century. And there are worse words to use.”
    “Doesn’t mean you should be using that no one. Now come on. Try it on! I think it’s beautiful.”
    I rolled my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out through my mouth. Well, if it would make her happy… then I could come up with some kind of convenient (and reasonable, in her opinion) excuse for why I simply couldn’t wear it later.

    By Alexa URL on 02.19.2014

  12. your stubbornness. and your striped shirt. and your never calling me now. wrapped in prison bared pattern shadows we were friends, we were friends or more, i don’t recall. now my puppy is crying i think he misses you maybe even a little more than me but no. no, infinity isn’t that much and forever wasn’t that long after all, was it.

    By juliar on 02.19.2014

  13. stuttered thoughts between the positive and negative…to which neither is the prominent reaching for something of the unknown. I lunge hoping to fall. prepared to open the wound that exists..engaging a moment determined to accept either black or white…stripes.

    By lorissa URL on 02.19.2014

  14. Striped shadows cast by the prison bars upon the floor just inches away… I see them daily, a representation of all that was taken from me.

    By Te'Bazile Eiryk URL on 02.19.2014

  15. “What do you think? Striped or dots?” my sister asks me about her tight selection, one dangling on each leg.
    “They both look fine.”
    “Fine isn’t enough!”

    By Beth A URL on 02.19.2014

  16. There it lay, his body, striped and torn. Sinews of skin hanging from deep torn wounds. The scent of warm blood filling the air. The depth of the wounds deeper beyond comprehension. For in every wound lay our every sin. Our every sin leaving deep, burning, searing wounds. There he lay, a king, striped and torn.

    By Jose on 02.19.2014

  17. The sit covers in his sisters car were striped. He opened the door for me, like a true gentleman. The door shut with a click, and I settled in over the striped seat covers. He looked at me and asked where I wanted to go. With a tug at several bobby pins my hair fell out of the fancy bun. I wiped a tear away, and sucked in some air. “The grand canyon” I sighed, he listened to me talk, and just drove. I didn’t know why he was being so nice, or why I was crying. Something about big momentous occasions made me upset. Like the passage of time itself makes me angry, so prom night was bound to be bad. I tried to explain that, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he focused on the road. I knew he didn’t understand, but he was trying, and I had a lot on my mind, and to talk about, and the words just keep spilling, and it felt right, and… And… I didn’t know where to go… And my thoughts scrambled around him, but he listened….

    By Brooke Tuinei on 02.19.2014

  18. Crossing patterns, diagonal, vertical, up, down, across. Rigid, boundaries kept.

    By Leah URL on 02.19.2014

  19. In the morning, the sun slants through the blinds, making a striped pattern on your sleeping face. I wake you by tracing the lines with my fingertips, leaning in for a kiss. And before you even open your eyes, you begin to recite your dreams.

    By Shineapple URL on 02.19.2014

  20. Today’s Oneword: Patterns

    I need to write about patterns.
    I need to write about patterns.
    The ones that distract your eyes for the
    moment it takes to consume your thoughts eternally.
    And not pattern’s appearance, but the “why not?” ‘s the
    “Why doesn’t every driver slow down at a yellow light?” or the
    “Why don’t people wake different ways each day?”

    The kind of patterns that mesh thirteen stripes with the heart of this nation, the kind of patterns that reveal alliteration’s weakness, and the kind of patterns that bear repeating “the kind of patterns.” Our country ’tis of thee.

    Today, the sky feeds me my own thoughts.

    Hail’s genesis is hintless. It begins.
    Metal clinks like BB bullets relentless in beat, scratchy in pitch.
    The thump-thump-thumping on asphalt and concrete together?
    Sky’s iced dreams fucking their dreamcatcher.
    Skin welts. Shocking coldness soothes, then skin shivers. The hail
    ends. Dreams, no longer icy, continue falling with apologetic kindness.
    But the pattern isn’t this appearance,
    that hail happens the same why every time.

    It’s the, “Why doesn’t hail do something else? Resound differently, or happen
    asynchronously?”
    It’s the “Will hail never stop?”
    Not a pleading to cease, but an earnest longing
    for the eternal.

    The pattern is these questions and their answer
    “Because. Because when those dreams melt their iced armor,
    their destructive capacity becomes beauty’s creator. Cross ripples, slow ripples, hard ones, slow ones. Prophetic waves in the puddles of your path.
    Because every drop, each dream, becomes a reminder that the microscopic mimics the universal, that reality is a reflection of dreams.”

    {ongoing thoughts for poetryslam}
    Patterns of hypocrisy, abuse, and lies.
    And patterns of bad things:

    By La Bête becomes Man URL on 02.19.2014

  21. his hands were worn with the faded lines that spoke of hauling yards and yards of rope. his brow bore the lines that come with squinting at the sun across an open sea. he was full of sailor’s lines, and while on anyone else they would have aged poorly, his only made him look stronger

    By Maya on 02.19.2014

  22. his hands were worn with the faded lines that spoke of hauling yards and yards of rope. his brow bore the lines that come with squinting at the sun across an open sea. he was full of sailor’s lines, and while on anyone else they would have aged poorly, his only made him look stronger

    (This is mine, just re-posting it now that I have an actual account!)

    By M. Kanga URL on 02.19.2014

  23. All money is here
    All money is in my wallet
    All money is not lost
    but its striped.

    By Justin URL on 02.19.2014

  24. She stared at the full length mirror just before heading out to accept her Nobel Prize. Her contributions to mankind are muted by a nagging voice telling her the striped gown makes her look fat.

    By Mighty Magulang URL on 02.19.2014

  25. Reconsiderations

    {4th stanza}
    But the pattern isn’t this appearance,
    that hail happens the same way* every time.

    {6th stanza}
    Hard ripples, fast ripples,
    ripples that cross mathematically into a new ripple, this new complexity crossing with other ripples. A pattern of beauty etched on my iris.

    By La Bête becomes Man URL on 02.19.2014

  26. Her pants were striped and her heart was cold. She longed for life away from here.

    By Avery on 02.19.2014

  27. Her shirt was striped with blood and torn in all pieces. I couldn’t believe I did this to her.
    “I’m… I don’t even know.” I muttered. Her face was scratched from where my paws were.
    She whimpered and sobbed, trying to cat

    By Rebecca on 02.19.2014

  28. He was stripped of everything he had, all his clothes and belongings. He no longer felt like himself standing there in the pale grey uniform as every other man in the endless line of broken souls who no longer seemed like real men. They were all the same empty gray coevals.

    By Renee Halusla on 02.19.2014

  29. Everything was striped in the picture. The ball being thrown. The man in the red and white shirt, muscles bulging on the toss. The dog was striped. That’s what the trick was. There were no striped dogs, were there? Striped cats sure, but dogs? The whole painting was done in stripes. It was ‘abstract reflections on perception.’ It was bullshit.

    By DMM URL on 02.19.2014

  30. striped like a zebra
    tiger
    tabby cat
    or fancy pajamas made of silk
    I would love to sleep in fancy pajamas
    in a big feather bed
    with a soft tabby cat
    and samoa cookies

    By Jamilyn Morris on 02.19.2014

  31. It lay across his forehead
    Braille, Morse, hieroglyphic, all in one
    A burning, frozen sketch
    from that special friday night/saturday morning
    Where the noun glass, emptied and argued over
    became a verb
    its slivers in the slipstream
    that the contents made in the blood

    By gsk URL on 02.19.2014

  32. He seemed a straight up person when you met him,
    open, warm, a good listener.
    He had a wild side, though,
    a side that knew no boundaries,
    no shame
    He was at times ruthless and self indulgent,
    malicious and scheming,
    his outer veneer a temporary illusion,
    a tool for managing social situations
    but knowing him longer, better, closer,
    he never really changed his stripes,
    just masked them when it suited him
    to get his foot in the door.

    By Miss Ann Thrope URL on 02.19.2014

  33. Different colors. Different personalities. Different personas. We have different stripes depending on our surroundings, our circumstances. To be striped is to camouflage, to blend in. Having the wrong stripes, is disaster.

    By Jennifer on 02.19.2014

  34. I found the barber shop with the typical striped pole which name I couldn’t remember, and I found Mister Shambly sitting in the same corner, snipping the edges off of an old man’s receding hairline. His stylist partner, a young woman with a cattledog puppy named Rascal, was sweeping off the long, red locks of the hippie-ish man who had just sauntered out the door.

    “Usual?” asked Mister Shambly as I reached for a magazine.

    By Belinda Roddie URL on 02.19.2014

  35. His striped shirt fluttered in the breeze as he stood on the hill looking at me. I couldn’t move as his eyes bore into my soul.

    By marylou wynegar URL on 02.19.2014

  36. I parked the bowl of popcorn between me and David as he turned on the DVD player. We were going to watch my favorite movie, “The Boy With The Striped Pajamas”; David’s never been too fond of it but it was my turn to choose this week. The credits began to roll and then the doorbell rang. I sighed and went to go see who it was.

    When the door flew open I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. I could feel my legs buckle and I hit the ground. I looked up, trying to get a glimpse at my attacker but he or she had already darted away. Lifting my hand to my face, I was horrified to see it covered in blood.

    By AJ Kenobi URL on 02.19.2014

  37. Blue and black stripes. That was the tie he wore on our first date.
    Pink polka dots on a black background. My dress for the second date.
    We never matched in clothes.
    We always laughed at the same things, though.

    By Bekah Joan URL on 02.19.2014

  38. “Big brother! Big brother! Look at that animal!” Sam shouted excitedly, big green eyes glowing with excitement.
    “Ya like the striped zebra, hm?” Alan asked as he looked down to his twelve-year-old sibling. It was a nice day, for once, between the two. Usually they’d argue over something stupid and end up having a pure hatred for each other that lasted for up to a week.

    By Kenzie URL on 02.19.2014

  39. Her back, once as smooth and unblemished as a fresh canvas, was awash in brutal stripes of rose and scarlet. The intermixed and overlapping welts and slashes – all of which bore the distinctive origins of a whip – stained her skin countless times over while bruises, some dark, some light, lined the areas beneath and between, turning her once alabastrine features into a veritable portrait of pain and suffering.
    “Oh, Elsa…” she whispered, her voice breaking as her fingers hovered, trembling, above her.

    By S.C. Lovelace URL on 02.19.2014

  40. Standing in front of the mirror I see the wounds. Tell tale lines striped along the curve of my back. I stare …perplexed that I have come so far without ever noticing.

    By ldf URL on 02.19.2014