green:
i don’t feel the angry rearing within my chest
when i look through your instagram
it has transformed into a feeling of gray
acknowlegement that you meant something to me
but that is in the past
black;
the darkness that surrounded me
has changed as well
it settles around my shoulders comfortably
much like the hush that descends after a play
or a movie
and you breathe a few times
relishing the story
before walking out the door and inhaling fresh air
Olive’s are quite strange tasting… it’s a difficult taste to describe. The name Olivia mean olive tree. Olivia used to hate olives…I don’t know if she likes them now or not.
Olives are one of my favourite ingredient in food. I love olives. I like to have more olives in my food. I think in moderation, its also good for health. Specially for Olives, I like to eat sub of subway. The black olives are awesome.
Clinking glasses on a warm winded night where everything panned like slow motion time. My eye fixed on the one solid thing I could fasten it to, like a relic of this single moment, it gave life to the glass, a heart beating inside.
Olive is a name I’ll use for a girl, beyond elegant, sour at the same time. It’s such a pleasure for me to thing of all connotations and thoughts that could be related to the word olive in a life time.
“olive you,” she giggles, tapping his nose.
he just blinks at her, no slow smile creeping across his face.
“listen.” swallows. “i think we need to talk.”
she just blinks at him, her eyes dark, closed, careful,
olive forgotten.
The olive bobbed in the martini glass as Carol gave the liquid a swirl. She didn’t even like martinis. She would have thought that after two years together, he would have known that about her, but then, she thought a lot of things would be different after two years.
Her complexion was unfashionably dark for a woman of the region–(olive, he’d heard it called before, whispered from behind housewives’ hands, accompanied with sounds of distain.) Her skin was a rich, earthy color that drew his eye, splattered in freckles from her time tending her family’s vineyard under the summer sun. While others saw it as an imperfect canvas, it appealed to him more than was appropriate to say in polite conversation.
When he brushed the back of her calloused hand with his lips as custom dictated (ignoring the titters when he perhaps lingered a bit longer than necessary,) he wondered if she had a story for every spot, sunburn, and scar.
And he wondered how he could get her to share them with him.
Olive is the name of an adorable little pug who lives at the video store in my hometown. Olives go in martinis, greek pasta salad, and spaghetti sauce. Olive Oil, of course, Popeye’s skinny little girlfriend also comes to mind. I don’t like pimentos in my olives and I prefer the black ones. Extra-virgin olive oil is fabulous for everything, including your skin.
I have “olive” skin tone. Olive green makes me think of the military. Mount Olive. Extend an Olive branch. Ode to an olive. blah blah blah
tree loving the earth of divine peace and happiness. future self of ladylike goddess strolling through the orchard of ancient futures what time is it now oh tree of life?
Around the holidays, I went out with a girl who was a schoolteacher. She was all set to read her kids Olive the Other Reindeer to her class the next day. We had a fun evening together, went out to eat and then bummed around a bookstore, and then never saw each other again.
Popping the pit onto her plate and the olive itself into her mouth, she made a low sound of approval before returning her attention to the quivering girl before her. “Oh, do stop bowing, dear,” she began, “The position is TERRIBLE for the back. Or so I’ve heard,”
The girl – she really needed to go about finding a name for the poor waif – straightened slowly, like it was a painful undertaking, and she was glad she’d advised her before the stance had become permanent. “Thank you,” she said, her voice small, and Selene hummed in approval; it was the first words she’d spoken since her arrival.
“You’re quite welcome,”
“I hate olives.”
“You haven’t given olives a fair try.”
“My skin is ‘olive.’ That’s what the lady in the salon said. Is it true?”
“Am I supposed to know that? I don’t pay any attention to that stuff.”
“You’re boring.”
“You stay.”
“Want an olive?”
“I thought you hated olives!”
“I changed my mind.”
She stirred her finger in her glass and watched the olive twirl around and around. She had no idea why she ordered the martini, but she knew she wanted that green delicacy when it was done.
I have an olive. An olive is my friend. Olives are green and not tasty at all. Olives make my life go round. I haven’t eaten olives but I know they taste bad. I hate olives. Olives are enemies. Olives are olives no matter how small.
“Olive?”
“Dont’ mind if I do, thanks.”
“…very funny. How is she, Derek?”
“As well as can be expected. She thinks you’re dead, Lena.”
Lena looked away, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, one thumb rubbing over the old signet ring, the dull ruby gleaming in the candlelight. “It was for the best.”
“I doubt she’ll see it that way. She’s young and impressionable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re looking out for her, aren’t you?”
He gave her a look, but didn’t answer.
Lena sighed and stopped rubbing the ring. “It’s for the best, it truly is. Just…look after her, alright? Olive is a very special child and I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to her.”
“All children are special, madam,” he said, coolly. “Some know how to treasure them and others do not. Good day.”
He never liked them. I would crave them, especially with cheese. At first the green ones withe the pepper inside were my favorite, then I started liking the better more organic ones. Oh, with olive oil they are heaven. With cheese, i die. Or are you talking about the color?
Her olive skin, piercing dark eyes, and perfectly styled hair seemed to steal all of the oxygen straight out of my lungs. It was as if I had been waiting my entire life for this moment. I couldn’t remember a thing before she walked through the door and I didn’t want to. The voices surrounding me faded to a mild hum in the background, and my vision blurred out everything that wasn’t the beautiful figure walking slowly toward me with a dazzling smile, her red dress flowing behind her in a way that I’d only seen on runways and in commercials. She was perfect, and I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to realize it.
I think a good olive oil is a lot like good love; hard to come by, especially if over-seeked and overused. Let the olive ripen on the branch, let love blossom from the root.
I think a good olive oil is like good love; hard to find, hard to differentiate from the last, especially if it’s overused. It should be taken in doses, love. Much like you wouldn’t douse bread with olive… Well, perhaps you would, actually. Perhaps we all have a different palate for love. Regardless of your preference, it truly is sweet… It truly is a thing to be treasured and sought after. Let the love ripen on the branch. Let love blossom from the roots.
Olives are very symbolic. For some reason they are used in so many ways like wine, symbols, signs, and other purposes. This shows the true creativity in the human mind that we need to display more of. Think of all those possibilities.
“I’ve never liked olives really,” I informed him. There was a moment of silence before he switched our plates around. “So, you don’t enjoy eating olives, or..?” He questioned me. Well, it was natural. It was not that long ago that I had told him I liked olives, but during that time span something happened.
Elizabeth popped an olive in her mouth and chewed it slowly. Everything tasted oddly bitter today. Even the sweet wine that her aunt had gotten her for Christmas had a rather displeasing end flavor. She wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, until she got into her swivel chair and instantly began seeing double when she opened up her laptop screen.
Another attack, she thought to herself. Just close your eyes. It’ll all be over soon.
she had always hated them. hated the taste, the texture, and everything else. save, perhaps, for when they were skewered and served in a glass with gin and vermouth. then, she had decided, that they were alright.
Olives are perhaps the most delicious thing to come off a tree. I mean fruit is good but there are only so many things you can do with fruit. With olives you can crush them or just eat them, or oplunge them into aoholic drinks and make them even lovelier than you ever thought possible. Olive also happens to be one of my favorite colours. It’s soft, earthy, warm and inviting. NOt to mention it happens to make me think of martinis, which makes me happy and warm all over.
the brown skin of the fruit was wrinkled like the skin of an old woman. I pop it into my mouth, savoring the overpowering saltiness, after the salt is a perfect sweetness. Like that of a unblemished apple. I swallow and reach for a drink of sherry, completely confused as to why I am being served olives and sherry.
Despite what everyone told me, I was falling for this beautiful human being. Their thick and lustrous dark brown hair that was so perfectly smooth and looked straight out of a hair stylists’ wet dreams. Their skin had stretch marks all across their chest and thighs and they reminded me of a map, and I thought of that map as a way to get closer to them. I adored their green sparkling eyes. They had the prettiest laugh and the cutest crooked front tooth. A smile that lit up a room and stirred my heart. They knew how to bring my ugly smile out and they knew everything about me. Their empathy knew no bounds and their passion was unsinkable. I never would have expected growing up to fall in love with them. I never thought I’d fall in love with anyone who preferred a pronoun other than “he” or “she”. But Olive was by far one of the sweetest people I had ever met and I would forever be grateful for having the fortune to have ever met them. That was exactly why I was carrying a little velvet box in my coat pocket, a pretty little silver band resting inside of it.
When I think of the word olive, I usually think of the many ways skin color is described. That and the actual color. The color is honestly such an earthy color. It makes me want to walk through a forest of trees and bright skies. I’m not sure how much sense that makes, but it just does. I think of how nice trees look in the rain. and that’s probably not where they were taking this word. But I don’t know. It just does.
green:
i don’t feel the angry rearing within my chest
when i look through your instagram
it has transformed into a feeling of gray
acknowlegement that you meant something to me
but that is in the past
black;
the darkness that surrounded me
has changed as well
it settles around my shoulders comfortably
much like the hush that descends after a play
or a movie
and you breathe a few times
relishing the story
before walking out the door and inhaling fresh air
Olive’s are quite strange tasting… it’s a difficult taste to describe. The name Olivia mean olive tree. Olivia used to hate olives…I don’t know if she likes them now or not.
she keeps an eye
on her pizza slice
it rolls in the red
wondering
where is her mouth.
Olives are one of my favourite ingredient in food. I love olives. I like to have more olives in my food. I think in moderation, its also good for health. Specially for Olives, I like to eat sub of subway. The black olives are awesome.
Clinking glasses on a warm winded night where everything panned like slow motion time. My eye fixed on the one solid thing I could fasten it to, like a relic of this single moment, it gave life to the glass, a heart beating inside.
Olive is a name I’ll use for a girl, beyond elegant, sour at the same time. It’s such a pleasure for me to thing of all connotations and thoughts that could be related to the word olive in a life time.
get the fork out
olive my life how i want
no chedda for ya boi
if he’s gonna be a fondouche
“olive you,” she giggles, tapping his nose.
he just blinks at her, no slow smile creeping across his face.
“listen.” swallows. “i think we need to talk.”
she just blinks at him, her eyes dark, closed, careful,
olive forgotten.
olive oil garden of freed thoughts
money is irrelevant
obtain it anyway
money will never die
olive shirts will
khaki
green
brown
grey
neutral dadaist
The olive bobbed in the martini glass as Carol gave the liquid a swirl. She didn’t even like martinis. She would have thought that after two years together, he would have known that about her, but then, she thought a lot of things would be different after two years.
Her complexion was unfashionably dark for a woman of the region–(olive, he’d heard it called before, whispered from behind housewives’ hands, accompanied with sounds of distain.) Her skin was a rich, earthy color that drew his eye, splattered in freckles from her time tending her family’s vineyard under the summer sun. While others saw it as an imperfect canvas, it appealed to him more than was appropriate to say in polite conversation.
When he brushed the back of her calloused hand with his lips as custom dictated (ignoring the titters when he perhaps lingered a bit longer than necessary,) he wondered if she had a story for every spot, sunburn, and scar.
And he wondered how he could get her to share them with him.
Olive is the name of an adorable little pug who lives at the video store in my hometown. Olives go in martinis, greek pasta salad, and spaghetti sauce. Olive Oil, of course, Popeye’s skinny little girlfriend also comes to mind. I don’t like pimentos in my olives and I prefer the black ones. Extra-virgin olive oil is fabulous for everything, including your skin.
I have “olive” skin tone. Olive green makes me think of the military. Mount Olive. Extend an Olive branch. Ode to an olive. blah blah blah
An olive in the hand is worth two on the branch. However if you extend an olive branch to enemy, and it is accepted, perhaps it becomes priceless?
tree loving the earth of divine peace and happiness. future self of ladylike goddess strolling through the orchard of ancient futures what time is it now oh tree of life?
Around the holidays, I went out with a girl who was a schoolteacher. She was all set to read her kids Olive the Other Reindeer to her class the next day. We had a fun evening together, went out to eat and then bummed around a bookstore, and then never saw each other again.
Olive completion, smokey dark eyes looking out over the crowd, sizing the women up, who will he take home?
It’s the color i turn when i feel sickly. My stomach churning. It’s too sweet and too sour. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow.
sour bitter. gross. green. juicy. small. round. tasteful. good. jar. black.
Popping the pit onto her plate and the olive itself into her mouth, she made a low sound of approval before returning her attention to the quivering girl before her. “Oh, do stop bowing, dear,” she began, “The position is TERRIBLE for the back. Or so I’ve heard,”
The girl – she really needed to go about finding a name for the poor waif – straightened slowly, like it was a painful undertaking, and she was glad she’d advised her before the stance had become permanent. “Thank you,” she said, her voice small, and Selene hummed in approval; it was the first words she’d spoken since her arrival.
“You’re quite welcome,”
almost sickly, it Sour and barely edible. But the sweetness is there. Careful with the seed, don’t swallow. Don’t swallow.
“I hate olives.”
“You haven’t given olives a fair try.”
“My skin is ‘olive.’ That’s what the lady in the salon said. Is it true?”
“Am I supposed to know that? I don’t pay any attention to that stuff.”
“You’re boring.”
“You stay.”
“Want an olive?”
“I thought you hated olives!”
“I changed my mind.”
She stirred her finger in her glass and watched the olive twirl around and around. She had no idea why she ordered the martini, but she knew she wanted that green delicacy when it was done.
I have an olive. An olive is my friend. Olives are green and not tasty at all. Olives make my life go round. I haven’t eaten olives but I know they taste bad. I hate olives. Olives are enemies. Olives are olives no matter how small.
“Olive?”
“Dont’ mind if I do, thanks.”
“…very funny. How is she, Derek?”
“As well as can be expected. She thinks you’re dead, Lena.”
Lena looked away, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, one thumb rubbing over the old signet ring, the dull ruby gleaming in the candlelight. “It was for the best.”
“I doubt she’ll see it that way. She’s young and impressionable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re looking out for her, aren’t you?”
He gave her a look, but didn’t answer.
Lena sighed and stopped rubbing the ring. “It’s for the best, it truly is. Just…look after her, alright? Olive is a very special child and I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to her.”
“All children are special, madam,” he said, coolly. “Some know how to treasure them and others do not. Good day.”
He never liked them. I would crave them, especially with cheese. At first the green ones withe the pepper inside were my favorite, then I started liking the better more organic ones. Oh, with olive oil they are heaven. With cheese, i die. Or are you talking about the color?
Her olive skin, piercing dark eyes, and perfectly styled hair seemed to steal all of the oxygen straight out of my lungs. It was as if I had been waiting my entire life for this moment. I couldn’t remember a thing before she walked through the door and I didn’t want to. The voices surrounding me faded to a mild hum in the background, and my vision blurred out everything that wasn’t the beautiful figure walking slowly toward me with a dazzling smile, her red dress flowing behind her in a way that I’d only seen on runways and in commercials. She was perfect, and I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to realize it.
I think a good olive oil is a lot like good love; hard to come by, especially if over-seeked and overused. Let the olive ripen on the branch, let love blossom from the root.
I think a good olive oil is like good love; hard to find, hard to differentiate from the last, especially if it’s overused. It should be taken in doses, love. Much like you wouldn’t douse bread with olive… Well, perhaps you would, actually. Perhaps we all have a different palate for love. Regardless of your preference, it truly is sweet… It truly is a thing to be treasured and sought after. Let the love ripen on the branch. Let love blossom from the roots.
Olives are very symbolic. For some reason they are used in so many ways like wine, symbols, signs, and other purposes. This shows the true creativity in the human mind that we need to display more of. Think of all those possibilities.
“I’ve never liked olives really,” I informed him. There was a moment of silence before he switched our plates around. “So, you don’t enjoy eating olives, or..?” He questioned me. Well, it was natural. It was not that long ago that I had told him I liked olives, but during that time span something happened.
Elizabeth popped an olive in her mouth and chewed it slowly. Everything tasted oddly bitter today. Even the sweet wine that her aunt had gotten her for Christmas had a rather displeasing end flavor. She wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, until she got into her swivel chair and instantly began seeing double when she opened up her laptop screen.
Another attack, she thought to herself. Just close your eyes. It’ll all be over soon.
she had always hated them. hated the taste, the texture, and everything else. save, perhaps, for when they were skewered and served in a glass with gin and vermouth. then, she had decided, that they were alright.
Olives are perhaps the most delicious thing to come off a tree. I mean fruit is good but there are only so many things you can do with fruit. With olives you can crush them or just eat them, or oplunge them into aoholic drinks and make them even lovelier than you ever thought possible. Olive also happens to be one of my favorite colours. It’s soft, earthy, warm and inviting. NOt to mention it happens to make me think of martinis, which makes me happy and warm all over.
Salad black fingers. Snack good for you good for skin. Olive oil excellent.
oil use for salad, I like because is good for life, tree
the brown skin of the fruit was wrinkled like the skin of an old woman. I pop it into my mouth, savoring the overpowering saltiness, after the salt is a perfect sweetness. Like that of a unblemished apple. I swallow and reach for a drink of sherry, completely confused as to why I am being served olives and sherry.
Despite what everyone told me, I was falling for this beautiful human being. Their thick and lustrous dark brown hair that was so perfectly smooth and looked straight out of a hair stylists’ wet dreams. Their skin had stretch marks all across their chest and thighs and they reminded me of a map, and I thought of that map as a way to get closer to them. I adored their green sparkling eyes. They had the prettiest laugh and the cutest crooked front tooth. A smile that lit up a room and stirred my heart. They knew how to bring my ugly smile out and they knew everything about me. Their empathy knew no bounds and their passion was unsinkable. I never would have expected growing up to fall in love with them. I never thought I’d fall in love with anyone who preferred a pronoun other than “he” or “she”. But Olive was by far one of the sweetest people I had ever met and I would forever be grateful for having the fortune to have ever met them. That was exactly why I was carrying a little velvet box in my coat pocket, a pretty little silver band resting inside of it.
Olive Pendergast is a character from Easy A. I watched a movie with Emma Stone in it for the first time and I thought she was amazing in it.
I don’t mind olives; I used to hate them. I think they’re an acquired taste. I read that in a book once, and turns out it was true.
small green fruit that is used to spice up your cocktails. out live, live for life, inspire, events
When I think of the word olive, I usually think of the many ways skin color is described. That and the actual color. The color is honestly such an earthy color. It makes me want to walk through a forest of trees and bright skies. I’m not sure how much sense that makes, but it just does. I think of how nice trees look in the rain. and that’s probably not where they were taking this word. But I don’t know. It just does.