I walked out into the small kitchen, morning sun flooding in through the window. At the center of the table he left flowers for me today. It was the perfect centerpiece to that dull room. It brightened up the room, and my day.
what my mom love to put in the middle of the table, glass, flowers. sometimes looks corny. i think it should look really simple so it doesnt distract from the people who you are with. thats what is important. the centerpiece sets the mood.
I don’t want the center.
I want the front.
I want to be one among none
Not one in the middle of many,
Eyes stay to the centerpiece but
veer off to see the rest.
His little sister is the centerpiece in the room. She’s kneeling on the floor with silver chains around her wrists and throat. Brendon is standing above her, dark eyed and he looks back at the brother to the sister.
She took her time picking out the perfect centerpiece. She picked out flower after flower for the arrangement, plus the added features. She brought it home and placed it on the table, setting the plates and silverware around it. The guests arrived and no one commented on the centerpiece. And then he arrived, and he looked her in the eye and told her it was the most beautiful centerpiece he had ever seen, only he wasn’t talking about the flowers.
There was a centerpiece that has always caught my interest. My entire childhood I have had questions about its elegance and mysteriousness. Was it a family heirloom? No one spoke about it. I would study it for awhile. I asked everyone but they just shook there head and told me to run along. It was only then did I realize that they were hiding something from me.
I can only focus on the centerpiece in the middle of this table: four Lillies with but a single rose. This centerpiece marks the beginning of a relationship that I longed for, a relationship with him. But alas, I am but his mere friend, someone he relies on me for when he can’t take the hardships. And I allow him to. But today, it’s his day, with HER, who is quite possibly everything I am not.. But I will never know her. I do not trust HER, who has broken the man I desire many times over. I hate these flowers… I hate this table… and as I stare from the sidelines as he makes a vow to love her forever, I cannot help, but hate her too.
I’m thinking of events where centerpieces exist… bar/bat mitzvahs… award ceremonies… hotels…
I remember making “memory candles” at bar/bat mitzvahs. It was the cool “in” thing to do. Grab a glass of water from the table with a nice stem, and put in mementos from the event. Things like the birthday boy/girl’s name tag from the table, and maybe a flower from the centerpiece. Sometimes bits of food but ideally not! Non perishables if possible. Then you were supposed to take a candle from the table (there were always candles on the table!) and drip wax all along the surface of the water and up the edges of the glass to seal everything in. Like a time capsule.
I doubt any “memory candles” ever left a restaurant! They were probably all thrown away. I’m kind of curious now about exactly how futile those attempts were, and how long it’d take for that wax seal to start to ooze? Hours I’d think. But who knows? I never had a bat mitzvah so I was never presented with one of those “works of teenage art” ;) I probably *would* have tried to keep it!
Centerpieces. I might have to be thinking about them pretty soon, as Formals come up and I have to be the centerpiece at one of them, at least to a point.
But what should be the centerpiece of my focus right now, is not that Chrome isn’t saying that centerpiece is a correct word, but my homework. I need to focus on that, let it be the centerpiece of my mind, and get it all done, so that no one will miss out on the wonders that are in my head. (supposedly.)
Down, feathers. If the sky had been any more greyer the commotion would be barely visible. As it was, people were already rushing about it, to and fro, screaming things. Amid the carnage, even the vultures held back. And in the middle of it all laid an egg.
in the middle of the table
careful not to chose one too large
so that to see across you must crane your neck
slouch in your chair
jam your elbow into your sister and wiggle for a peephole
awkward
There isn’t a centerpiece on our table. Sometimes we put one there for the holidays…but that’s only sometimes. I drive by people’s houses and see the Christmas lights the blow up Santa and snowmen decorations, and I wonder. Whats the point of all these decorations?? What is their purpose? When really, Christmas isn’t about all this flashy lights, white-bearded fat man in a red suit who comes down your chimney (which is a really creepy concept by the way), or fancy wrapping. Its all about Jesus. I know that “Jesus is the reason for the season” sounds so cheesy, but really. Jesus was born and he came to die for our sins. This is something so amazing! And the celebration of the birth of our wonderful Savior has been masked by Christmas lights and centerpieces.
It was beautiful. Like watching a man serenade me on my wedding night. I had never felt so magnificant and I wanted this feeling to las. Sadly, my mother roughly dragged me out of the house without warning. She pulled away my veiw of this art work. I frowned.
The centerpiece glittered and shimmered with the gold trim and white candles. Orchids graced the arrangement and a mirror under the hand blown crystal bowl added depth. This was one of the most beautiful centerpieces I had ever seen and I noticed
that the other guests thought so also, as their eyes were drawn to it’s beauty.
If he were a table set with a meal, no part of him shined above the others to create a centerpiece. There was so much of him that I wanted to kiss and ravish and mumble words of worship against, that none of him stood out against the rest. There was no vase of flowers in the middle of my imaginary set-up.
There were no washboard abs, no bulging biceps. And so, hugging all of him, I mumbled my “I love you” against his smooth, soft shoulder.
the centerpiece of a solemn clay face piece of art crafted by my own hands
i remember working the clay with my fingers
it sunk underneath my nails as i formed his eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, gauges…
he looks peaceful, sad, thoughtful, complex, longing…
it’s like my emotions of the time took hold of my hands and formed his face
Everyone’s eyes turn to it. Nothing around it matters, diverts attention away from it to themselves. They’re nothing in comparison, negligible in its presence. Are they jealous, envious of its command over people’s attention and curiosity? Perhaps.
hmmm. random as fuck, isn’t it? i mean, i have nothing to say about a damn centrepiece, you know. i’d probably need to talk about it when i eventually get hitched, but till then, really, i’ve nothing to say about it.
The centrepiece of the proposal is the idea of the new site as a bookend to this key axis in the city. It will represent the present and the future, while the Shrine represents the past and our ancestors.
cceeeeinprt
print
cretin
creep
a cool exercise would be to make a sentence in which all the words used only the letters of the word centerpiece. can’t do it in a minute.
they’re supposed to be insignificant, meant for nothing more than to look pretty – right? we have feelings of our own, you know? and we’re capable of communicating something more than some aesthetic beauty. we can show you joy, anger, a way through sadness and darkness, the sensual things, enlightenment, divinity. if you only let us in.
It was the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen. It was the centerpiece of the room. His skin was a perfect amount of white. His lips a pale pink. His stubble coming in, forming a 5 o’clock shadow. It was pure beauty as I saw him smile at me from across the room.
Donna had been excited to win the centerpiece at the Christmas party. But once she got it home she saw it for what it really was. Some crudely moulded plastic bits hastily glued together and sprinkled with some glitter. Kind of like some of the women at the party, she thought.
You’re not the centerpiece of my life, after tomorrow, oh Paper.
You’re going to be due, and I won’t have to worry about you, any longer.
No more Paper Cuts.
Or Paper Prompts.
Or Paper Topics.
Or Paper Planes, even, because I’m out of middling school, and on to bigger, better things, like writing for fun again, instead of because someone else demands to see how I compose my thoughts on paper.
Except, I still can’t.
Oh god. Papers.
I’m sick of the word centerpiece. I want to write, and I want other words to write about. I was hoping that I could sit and write and write and write tonight. But, I’m done with the word centerpiece. It’s an annoying word after awhile. Why can’t there be more words to choose from? Centerpiece is the centerpiece of the day on this website.
The centerpiece flowed over the table, draping itself artfully. It paid to be a wizard, and be able to make your centerpiece create itself. It was a wonder muggles ever got anything done. I mean really? Actually working to do something? When you could just swish and flick?! Those poor poor creatures.
the centerpiece was made of the flesh of his latest kill.. although this sounds like the intro to a serial killer story, i was actually refering to the fish he caught earlier. either way this is a gross scene. but atleast it’s more humane.
There is a house. It is whitewashed with white shingles and a green yard in front. Curtains edged with lace are open over the kitchen windows. Inside is a table. The glass swan centerpiece lies broken upon it.
Our hearts: the perfect centerpiece to the universe’s table: living, bloody vessels, makes quite the statement for the ultimate dinner party. Just wait and see what the nations will be enjoying for the main courses…
I don’t know what else to write about centerpiece. Well, that’s not true. The other day, I was at the florist trying to find the perfect centerpiece for my mother-in-law’s party. I ended up finding something that wasn’t perfect and didn’t fit into a centerpiece. Instead, I came across a festive Christmas tree.
The centerpiece at the wedding was the most beautiful sight. The jeweled tone flowers sparkled and the vase was clear. The vivid memories of that day stick with me due to the centerpiece.
I never thought the idea of being a mother would be the centerpiece of my life. Sure, I’ve always liked children and loved family. But, now that I am experiencing infertility for the first time, it is consuming me. I need to divert my mind and let God be my centerpiece in 2012.
the handmade ones never seem to be the right size; either so small they make no impact, or so large you can’t see the person across from you. my mother always had it right; long and low, lots of sparkle and texture. it always felt like a holiday. branches, candles.
Commercial on tv – a centerpiece for a table. Decoration. Pretty. Colorful. Don’t know what to say, I don’t come across this word very often. Blaaahhhhhh
Centerpiece?
I don’t even know… Wasting timeee…
the centerpiece was a bouquet of lilies and tulips, all white, pink and tourpe. and a pale green ribbon around the glass vase. and other vases of dark red roses praised it as it was the vocal point of the whole party
She laughed, red dripping from her chin as she ran her fingers down her porcelain face. The dying screams at her feet made her shift in a sudden rush of emotions, like some morbid high that made her all tingly inside. She looked down, blindfold loosely slipping from her face, as in the heat of the moment she’d been negligent to fix it. The violence was a centerpiece in her life, something steady she could always trust to be there.
I walked out into the small kitchen, morning sun flooding in through the window. At the center of the table he left flowers for me today. It was the perfect centerpiece to that dull room. It brightened up the room, and my day.
what my mom love to put in the middle of the table, glass, flowers. sometimes looks corny. i think it should look really simple so it doesnt distract from the people who you are with. thats what is important. the centerpiece sets the mood.
I don’t want the center.
I want the front.
I want to be one among none
Not one in the middle of many,
Eyes stay to the centerpiece but
veer off to see the rest.
His little sister is the centerpiece in the room. She’s kneeling on the floor with silver chains around her wrists and throat. Brendon is standing above her, dark eyed and he looks back at the brother to the sister.
She took her time picking out the perfect centerpiece. She picked out flower after flower for the arrangement, plus the added features. She brought it home and placed it on the table, setting the plates and silverware around it. The guests arrived and no one commented on the centerpiece. And then he arrived, and he looked her in the eye and told her it was the most beautiful centerpiece he had ever seen, only he wasn’t talking about the flowers.
There was a centerpiece that has always caught my interest. My entire childhood I have had questions about its elegance and mysteriousness. Was it a family heirloom? No one spoke about it. I would study it for awhile. I asked everyone but they just shook there head and told me to run along. It was only then did I realize that they were hiding something from me.
I can only focus on the centerpiece in the middle of this table: four Lillies with but a single rose. This centerpiece marks the beginning of a relationship that I longed for, a relationship with him. But alas, I am but his mere friend, someone he relies on me for when he can’t take the hardships. And I allow him to. But today, it’s his day, with HER, who is quite possibly everything I am not.. But I will never know her. I do not trust HER, who has broken the man I desire many times over. I hate these flowers… I hate this table… and as I stare from the sidelines as he makes a vow to love her forever, I cannot help, but hate her too.
The only thing better than the centrepiece was being able to take it home from the party. It was a fight, but I was the one who won the fight.
Centerpiece
I’m thinking of events where centerpieces exist… bar/bat mitzvahs… award ceremonies… hotels…
I remember making “memory candles” at bar/bat mitzvahs. It was the cool “in” thing to do. Grab a glass of water from the table with a nice stem, and put in mementos from the event. Things like the birthday boy/girl’s name tag from the table, and maybe a flower from the centerpiece. Sometimes bits of food but ideally not! Non perishables if possible. Then you were supposed to take a candle from the table (there were always candles on the table!) and drip wax all along the surface of the water and up the edges of the glass to seal everything in. Like a time capsule.
I doubt any “memory candles” ever left a restaurant! They were probably all thrown away. I’m kind of curious now about exactly how futile those attempts were, and how long it’d take for that wax seal to start to ooze? Hours I’d think. But who knows? I never had a bat mitzvah so I was never presented with one of those “works of teenage art” ;) I probably *would* have tried to keep it!
the uncomfortable stillness of the room makes for the centerpiece of a shitty night.
Centerpieces. I might have to be thinking about them pretty soon, as Formals come up and I have to be the centerpiece at one of them, at least to a point.
But what should be the centerpiece of my focus right now, is not that Chrome isn’t saying that centerpiece is a correct word, but my homework. I need to focus on that, let it be the centerpiece of my mind, and get it all done, so that no one will miss out on the wonders that are in my head. (supposedly.)
Down, feathers. If the sky had been any more greyer the commotion would be barely visible. As it was, people were already rushing about it, to and fro, screaming things. Amid the carnage, even the vultures held back. And in the middle of it all laid an egg.
in the middle of the table
careful not to chose one too large
so that to see across you must crane your neck
slouch in your chair
jam your elbow into your sister and wiggle for a peephole
awkward
There isn’t a centerpiece on our table. Sometimes we put one there for the holidays…but that’s only sometimes. I drive by people’s houses and see the Christmas lights the blow up Santa and snowmen decorations, and I wonder. Whats the point of all these decorations?? What is their purpose? When really, Christmas isn’t about all this flashy lights, white-bearded fat man in a red suit who comes down your chimney (which is a really creepy concept by the way), or fancy wrapping. Its all about Jesus. I know that “Jesus is the reason for the season” sounds so cheesy, but really. Jesus was born and he came to die for our sins. This is something so amazing! And the celebration of the birth of our wonderful Savior has been masked by Christmas lights and centerpieces.
It was beautiful. Like watching a man serenade me on my wedding night. I had never felt so magnificant and I wanted this feeling to las. Sadly, my mother roughly dragged me out of the house without warning. She pulled away my veiw of this art work. I frowned.
“But mother-” I started, but she cut meoff
“I like it.” She finished for me.
I smiled. “How did you know.”
The centerpiece glittered and shimmered with the gold trim and white candles. Orchids graced the arrangement and a mirror under the hand blown crystal bowl added depth. This was one of the most beautiful centerpieces I had ever seen and I noticed
that the other guests thought so also, as their eyes were drawn to it’s beauty.
If he were a table set with a meal, no part of him shined above the others to create a centerpiece. There was so much of him that I wanted to kiss and ravish and mumble words of worship against, that none of him stood out against the rest. There was no vase of flowers in the middle of my imaginary set-up.
There were no washboard abs, no bulging biceps. And so, hugging all of him, I mumbled my “I love you” against his smooth, soft shoulder.
the centerpiece of a solemn clay face piece of art crafted by my own hands
i remember working the clay with my fingers
it sunk underneath my nails as i formed his eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, gauges…
he looks peaceful, sad, thoughtful, complex, longing…
it’s like my emotions of the time took hold of my hands and formed his face
Everyone’s eyes turn to it. Nothing around it matters, diverts attention away from it to themselves. They’re nothing in comparison, negligible in its presence. Are they jealous, envious of its command over people’s attention and curiosity? Perhaps.
hmmm. random as fuck, isn’t it? i mean, i have nothing to say about a damn centrepiece, you know. i’d probably need to talk about it when i eventually get hitched, but till then, really, i’ve nothing to say about it.
The centrepiece of the proposal is the idea of the new site as a bookend to this key axis in the city. It will represent the present and the future, while the Shrine represents the past and our ancestors.
cceeeeinprt
print
cretin
creep
a cool exercise would be to make a sentence in which all the words used only the letters of the word centerpiece. can’t do it in a minute.
they’re supposed to be insignificant, meant for nothing more than to look pretty – right? we have feelings of our own, you know? and we’re capable of communicating something more than some aesthetic beauty. we can show you joy, anger, a way through sadness and darkness, the sensual things, enlightenment, divinity. if you only let us in.
It was the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen. It was the centerpiece of the room. His skin was a perfect amount of white. His lips a pale pink. His stubble coming in, forming a 5 o’clock shadow. It was pure beauty as I saw him smile at me from across the room.
Donna had been excited to win the centerpiece at the Christmas party. But once she got it home she saw it for what it really was. Some crudely moulded plastic bits hastily glued together and sprinkled with some glitter. Kind of like some of the women at the party, she thought.
You’re not the centerpiece of my life, after tomorrow, oh Paper.
You’re going to be due, and I won’t have to worry about you, any longer.
No more Paper Cuts.
Or Paper Prompts.
Or Paper Topics.
Or Paper Planes, even, because I’m out of middling school, and on to bigger, better things, like writing for fun again, instead of because someone else demands to see how I compose my thoughts on paper.
Except, I still can’t.
Oh god. Papers.
I’m sick of the word centerpiece. I want to write, and I want other words to write about. I was hoping that I could sit and write and write and write tonight. But, I’m done with the word centerpiece. It’s an annoying word after awhile. Why can’t there be more words to choose from? Centerpiece is the centerpiece of the day on this website.
The centerpiece flowed over the table, draping itself artfully. It paid to be a wizard, and be able to make your centerpiece create itself. It was a wonder muggles ever got anything done. I mean really? Actually working to do something? When you could just swish and flick?! Those poor poor creatures.
the centerpiece was made of the flesh of his latest kill.. although this sounds like the intro to a serial killer story, i was actually refering to the fish he caught earlier. either way this is a gross scene. but atleast it’s more humane.
There is a house. It is whitewashed with white shingles and a green yard in front. Curtains edged with lace are open over the kitchen windows. Inside is a table. The glass swan centerpiece lies broken upon it.
Our hearts: the perfect centerpiece to the universe’s table: living, bloody vessels, makes quite the statement for the ultimate dinner party. Just wait and see what the nations will be enjoying for the main courses…
I don’t know what else to write about centerpiece. Well, that’s not true. The other day, I was at the florist trying to find the perfect centerpiece for my mother-in-law’s party. I ended up finding something that wasn’t perfect and didn’t fit into a centerpiece. Instead, I came across a festive Christmas tree.
stays till the end, cuz its the yummiest. :3
The centerpiece at the wedding was the most beautiful sight. The jeweled tone flowers sparkled and the vase was clear. The vivid memories of that day stick with me due to the centerpiece.
I never thought the idea of being a mother would be the centerpiece of my life. Sure, I’ve always liked children and loved family. But, now that I am experiencing infertility for the first time, it is consuming me. I need to divert my mind and let God be my centerpiece in 2012.
the handmade ones never seem to be the right size; either so small they make no impact, or so large you can’t see the person across from you. my mother always had it right; long and low, lots of sparkle and texture. it always felt like a holiday. branches, candles.
Commercial on tv – a centerpiece for a table. Decoration. Pretty. Colorful. Don’t know what to say, I don’t come across this word very often. Blaaahhhhhh
Centerpiece?
I don’t even know… Wasting timeee…
ok.enterprized
the centerpiece was a bouquet of lilies and tulips, all white, pink and tourpe. and a pale green ribbon around the glass vase. and other vases of dark red roses praised it as it was the vocal point of the whole party
She laughed, red dripping from her chin as she ran her fingers down her porcelain face. The dying screams at her feet made her shift in a sudden rush of emotions, like some morbid high that made her all tingly inside. She looked down, blindfold loosely slipping from her face, as in the heat of the moment she’d been negligent to fix it. The violence was a centerpiece in her life, something steady she could always trust to be there.