the beautiful dynamic walls that encase the world we live in. A structure thats beautiful and stable.
Holding the contents for the spectrum of life, we all fill this vase. This vase is our life, our ground, this vase is our own.
I’d never worked in pottery before.. the whole idea of getting my hands dirty with clay was far beyond anything I felt like doing. Still, I’d watched ‘Ghost’ six times, and the instructor was hot…so, why not?
One night, I stayed late–he’d almost given up on my ever centering a lump of clay. I’d almost given up on his ever noticing the gap in my shirt every time I leaned over the pottery wheel.
Sometimes, things change.
He discovered my, um, talents lay beyond making cups and vases…and I discovered art tables weren’t just for art.
Sometimes, creating art can take on many forms–right?
I sit in the living room while the strong rains pelt the bay window. I’m glancing through a book when I look up and notice the shimmery rose vase I have sitting on my mantle. It sits there all alone. Surrounded by pictures and a clock, it just seems out of place. The poor, beautiful thing has been with me all these years. I saunter over to the vase and pick it up delicately. I walk to my front door as I continue peering all around the vase and its’ features. After throughly examining it, from its’ cracks to its’ hand-painted roses, it flies out of my hand and into the front yard. It shatters into a million pieces. No longer do I have to worry about its’ purpose in my home or in my life. And that is that.
Flowers go in a vase. Then a little kid breaks the vase. And the mom gets mad. I feel bad for the flowers because they no longer have a home. It is a sad sad time when a child breaks a vase. Very sad.
It wasn’t really a vase. It was just an old glass, chipped on the edges and a little bit cloudy. But the blooms it contained were a reminder that sometimes, just occasionally, he thought about you.
the flowers hung limp. despite the vase, they were dying, held constricted in a drowning pool. how can it be that someone so life sustaining could be so restrictive? love kills.
The warm, milky clay-water squeezes out from in between my fingers and into his palms. I want to whisper, Look what we’re creating, together, beauty. But I can’t find my voice. Suddenly, he starts pushing at my hands, manipulating them to magically transform what was a modest mug into a tall, shapely vase. He makes it look so easy. For a second he shifts his position behind me and I can feel his breath on my ear. Then I want to cry, because even though this is beyond wonderful, it’s the most intimate we’ll ever be. And I want more.
Found in the creepy corners of an partially burnt down warehouse was a vase. “Oh, neat,” one said, and then the other picked up the vase and slammed it into the concrete.
There is a vase in the middle of the room. My favourite china vase, holding the only thing that is precious to me: the largest venus fly trap you’ve ever seen.
glass cases protect your eyes, those beautiful flower petals that gaze at me like the sun that softly smiles over the imaginary valley of our love. your glasses aren’t nerdy at all.
/there was a vase sitting under a table. it had been knocked over and was shattered. Flowers and water spilled all over the blood red carpet. The maid wasnt going to come for another 3 days and no one was home to clean it up.
Die Vase stand ganz oben auf dem Schrank. Katja sollte sie herunterholen, um die Blumen hineinzustellen, die Tante Vera mitgebracht hatte. Mutter war mit dem Besuch beschäftigt, dass Katja es vorzog, sie nicht zu fragen …
We have no vases in our house, only large chunky pots.. possibly due to one very excited little doggy, and one super clumsy teenager (me). I would love to spin a vase though. That would be grand, if people didn’t steal it.
when i walked into the room, there it lay. smashed, broken, destroyed. i let myself inch closer as if to say i wasn’t afraid. i loved that vase, and so did mom. shes going to strangle me. i better run now.
The vase crashed to the floor. I looked up just in time to see Titan, my fat gray cat run from the scene of the crime and I couldn’t help but smile. I still loved him, even if he was a master of destruction.
Just a minor tremor, she whispered to herself. Yet the shards were scattered across the hardwood floor, drifting into the adjacent room. The silence, as that following a final outcry into an indifferent emptiness, pressed against her chest relentlessly.
Whenever I see a vase of flowers, I know something wonderful has happened. Bright wildflowers or scarlet roses shine like neon lights to signify weddings, baby showers, or true love.
The vase sat on the kitchen table, reflecting their pale, strangely elongated faces. I looked at them in this morphed reflection and thought: “Now. Now they are finally beautiful to me” as the flowers mocked me from their high thrones.
Vase, you could use it to put flowers in, or pretend it’s a hat. But personally I’d prefer to imagine it as a doorway to another world, filled with happiness and pine cones.
The vase shattered (in slow motion, it felt to her, but really it was the blink of an eye).
She looked at the pieces, and tears slipped down her face. The pattern seemed much more intricate now than when it was whole.
Sometimes your true self appears only after you’ve been broken.
Vase or vase? We never were able to figure that out, were we, honey? Silly, I guess. I’m sorry to leave you with all these muddled thoughts. They’re all on the floor now, sorry you had to clean them up..
My mother has a vase. It’s really neat. It’s pretty cool too. It’s a nice shade of color. An interesting one too. It’s two colors. It’s swirly. Or spirally. No, but is it like a square? I’m not sure. It’s an interesting vase. It sits on something. I don’t know the name. Platform maybe?
The vase sat on the piano, the bright red flowers seeming to be a song about life. Emma touched the keys skillfully, her voice bending around the vase.
The vase sits on the table. It’s golden colour tuanting those who view it. A crime of the highest nature to have something so pure yet untouchable to the common people. Are we all fated to this one road scheme, ‘look but don’t touch’?
Every now and then I put a vase of flowers in my room. For some reason, it makes me feel as if I’ve gone back in time to another era. I could be a girl putting hand-picked flowers in a vintage vase in her room in 1930. I usually keep the flowers there after they have wilted and died, reluctant to throw them away. But you have to get rid of the dead flowers to make room for new, fresh ones.
The vase fell off of the shelf and shattered. Her eyes widened, staring at the shards on the floor, and her face clouded over with guilt.
“I didn’t mean that,” she whispered.
I couldn’t respond. I just didn’t know what to say.
my vase is completely empty. i don’t even think i own one. do i? i don’t think. lemme check….pretty sure i don’t. wait yes i do. on my fridge. :) no flowers though.
a thing you put flowers in i always wanted one to be on my kitchen table when i was a kid but know one ever sent us flowers. my family didn’t have many friends
there was a vase by the firelight and it gave off a beautiful glow. the insides were bright but pale and filled to the brim with light and wonder. someone had installed a light into the bottom and painted the outside green.
What a vase is usually used for is for putting flowers or plants in. They could be small or big! Depending on the flower, of course. They come in all different kinds of colors and designs. You will usually find a few in a household.
The vase in her house was pretty and fragile. It fell to the ground, shattering into a million shiny pieces. She looked at it and laughed. There was no place for fragility in her world.
On her way out of the house, she cut her feet.
The vase was small. It held the roots of a tree deep in the bottom, no one could figure out how someone crammed the base of a tree into that small of a vase. It was beautiful though, and you couldn’t help but admire it.
the beautiful dynamic walls that encase the world we live in. A structure thats beautiful and stable.
Holding the contents for the spectrum of life, we all fill this vase. This vase is our life, our ground, this vase is our own.
I’d never worked in pottery before.. the whole idea of getting my hands dirty with clay was far beyond anything I felt like doing. Still, I’d watched ‘Ghost’ six times, and the instructor was hot…so, why not?
One night, I stayed late–he’d almost given up on my ever centering a lump of clay. I’d almost given up on his ever noticing the gap in my shirt every time I leaned over the pottery wheel.
Sometimes, things change.
He discovered my, um, talents lay beyond making cups and vases…and I discovered art tables weren’t just for art.
Sometimes, creating art can take on many forms–right?
I sit in the living room while the strong rains pelt the bay window. I’m glancing through a book when I look up and notice the shimmery rose vase I have sitting on my mantle. It sits there all alone. Surrounded by pictures and a clock, it just seems out of place. The poor, beautiful thing has been with me all these years. I saunter over to the vase and pick it up delicately. I walk to my front door as I continue peering all around the vase and its’ features. After throughly examining it, from its’ cracks to its’ hand-painted roses, it flies out of my hand and into the front yard. It shatters into a million pieces. No longer do I have to worry about its’ purpose in my home or in my life. And that is that.
Flowers go in a vase. Then a little kid breaks the vase. And the mom gets mad. I feel bad for the flowers because they no longer have a home. It is a sad sad time when a child breaks a vase. Very sad.
It wasn’t really a vase. It was just an old glass, chipped on the edges and a little bit cloudy. But the blooms it contained were a reminder that sometimes, just occasionally, he thought about you.
the flowers hung limp. despite the vase, they were dying, held constricted in a drowning pool. how can it be that someone so life sustaining could be so restrictive? love kills.
The warm, milky clay-water squeezes out from in between my fingers and into his palms. I want to whisper, Look what we’re creating, together, beauty. But I can’t find my voice. Suddenly, he starts pushing at my hands, manipulating them to magically transform what was a modest mug into a tall, shapely vase. He makes it look so easy. For a second he shifts his position behind me and I can feel his breath on my ear. Then I want to cry, because even though this is beyond wonderful, it’s the most intimate we’ll ever be. And I want more.
Your hip didn’t knock the table. The vase didn’t fall. The ground didn’t break it. The vase is still a vase, not a v a s e.
the vase
this case
my pace
run the race
and see his face
across this space
here and there
now and never
the vase
this case
my case
Found in the creepy corners of an partially burnt down warehouse was a vase. “Oh, neat,” one said, and then the other picked up the vase and slammed it into the concrete.
There is a vase in the middle of the room. My favourite china vase, holding the only thing that is precious to me: the largest venus fly trap you’ve ever seen.
glass cases protect your eyes, those beautiful flower petals that gaze at me like the sun that softly smiles over the imaginary valley of our love. your glasses aren’t nerdy at all.
/there was a vase sitting under a table. it had been knocked over and was shattered. Flowers and water spilled all over the blood red carpet. The maid wasnt going to come for another 3 days and no one was home to clean it up.
Die Vase stand ganz oben auf dem Schrank. Katja sollte sie herunterholen, um die Blumen hineinzustellen, die Tante Vera mitgebracht hatte. Mutter war mit dem Besuch beschäftigt, dass Katja es vorzog, sie nicht zu fragen …
We have no vases in our house, only large chunky pots.. possibly due to one very excited little doggy, and one super clumsy teenager (me). I would love to spin a vase though. That would be grand, if people didn’t steal it.
I don’t know quite where to go. How can I fill the cup more than half-way with knowledge. Or is it even a cup at all?
when i walked into the room, there it lay. smashed, broken, destroyed. i let myself inch closer as if to say i wasn’t afraid. i loved that vase, and so did mom. shes going to strangle me. i better run now.
The vase crashed to the floor. I looked up just in time to see Titan, my fat gray cat run from the scene of the crime and I couldn’t help but smile. I still loved him, even if he was a master of destruction.
Just a minor tremor, she whispered to herself. Yet the shards were scattered across the hardwood floor, drifting into the adjacent room. The silence, as that following a final outcry into an indifferent emptiness, pressed against her chest relentlessly.
Whenever I see a vase of flowers, I know something wonderful has happened. Bright wildflowers or scarlet roses shine like neon lights to signify weddings, baby showers, or true love.
The vase sat on the kitchen table, reflecting their pale, strangely elongated faces. I looked at them in this morphed reflection and thought: “Now. Now they are finally beautiful to me” as the flowers mocked me from their high thrones.
the vase is full…. full of beautiful flowers that steal my eyes attention.
Vase, you could use it to put flowers in, or pretend it’s a hat. But personally I’d prefer to imagine it as a doorway to another world, filled with happiness and pine cones.
She loved the vase did it have flowers because if so she would really love those. Flowers made her eyes grow. She loved tipping on those marigolds.
The vase shattered (in slow motion, it felt to her, but really it was the blink of an eye).
She looked at the pieces, and tears slipped down her face. The pattern seemed much more intricate now than when it was whole.
Sometimes your true self appears only after you’ve been broken.
Vase or vase? We never were able to figure that out, were we, honey? Silly, I guess. I’m sorry to leave you with all these muddled thoughts. They’re all on the floor now, sorry you had to clean them up..
You sit there, like flowers in a vase, beautiful but useless.
My mother has a vase. It’s really neat. It’s pretty cool too. It’s a nice shade of color. An interesting one too. It’s two colors. It’s swirly. Or spirally. No, but is it like a square? I’m not sure. It’s an interesting vase. It sits on something. I don’t know the name. Platform maybe?
The vase sat on the piano, the bright red flowers seeming to be a song about life. Emma touched the keys skillfully, her voice bending around the vase.
The vase sits on the table. It’s golden colour tuanting those who view it. A crime of the highest nature to have something so pure yet untouchable to the common people. Are we all fated to this one road scheme, ‘look but don’t touch’?
Every now and then I put a vase of flowers in my room. For some reason, it makes me feel as if I’ve gone back in time to another era. I could be a girl putting hand-picked flowers in a vintage vase in her room in 1930. I usually keep the flowers there after they have wilted and died, reluctant to throw them away. But you have to get rid of the dead flowers to make room for new, fresh ones.
The vase in the old woman’s house was a beautiful shade of orange and red, like the sunset. I stopped to admire it as I stepped inside.
The vase fell off of the shelf and shattered. Her eyes widened, staring at the shards on the floor, and her face clouded over with guilt.
“I didn’t mean that,” she whispered.
I couldn’t respond. I just didn’t know what to say.
my vase is completely empty. i don’t even think i own one. do i? i don’t think. lemme check….pretty sure i don’t. wait yes i do. on my fridge. :) no flowers though.
a thing you put flowers in i always wanted one to be on my kitchen table when i was a kid but know one ever sent us flowers. my family didn’t have many friends
there was a vase by the firelight and it gave off a beautiful glow. the insides were bright but pale and filled to the brim with light and wonder. someone had installed a light into the bottom and painted the outside green.
Vaseline. half of the word. Vase is pronounced two ways, like in hercules. vases are usually depictant of some type of roman figure.
What a vase is usually used for is for putting flowers or plants in. They could be small or big! Depending on the flower, of course. They come in all different kinds of colors and designs. You will usually find a few in a household.
The vase in her house was pretty and fragile. It fell to the ground, shattering into a million shiny pieces. She looked at it and laughed. There was no place for fragility in her world.
On her way out of the house, she cut her feet.
The vase was small. It held the roots of a tree deep in the bottom, no one could figure out how someone crammed the base of a tree into that small of a vase. It was beautiful though, and you couldn’t help but admire it.