“You’ve had all summer to read these books,” she said to me, her pale eyes, like flowers in the field, finding mine. She didn’t look surprised, just disappointed.
“I had better things to do,” I muttered, my eyes shifting away from hers.
“You always have better things to do, don’t you?” She sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Find me before school and I’ll have a study guide for you. But this really is the last time, Terrence.”
the amount of times i have been asked to write about the word violet tonight is astonishing. i stare at it, pulling to to pieces. vio-let. vi-o-let. viol-et. sooner or later, it stops looking like a word, or at least a word with any meaning.
The bruise blooms across her cheek, shamefully slow in comparison to how quick the blow was. She can track its progress in days, the way the ugly violet encroaches on her face until she thinks it might consume her.
But it doesn’t. He can’t – or won’t – hit all of her, and the violet retreats, gives way to waves of blue and green and yellow until it is gone completely.
The say Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes were violet, and I’ve always wondered how that differs from purple. If her eyes were VIOLENT, on the other hand, now that would be something to see. A beautiful woman with violent eyes, stalking across the room, raising her hand to strike the cheek of the man who has hurt her in ways no one else could possibly imagine. Now she is truly stunning. And striking.
I stood in the middle of the field. Violets everywhere, waving in a gentle breeze. How did I get here? I can’t remember. My head hurts, and I place my hand on the right side of my head. There is blood. It is bright red, stark, and violent among the soft beauty of the field. I look around, but there is nothing. Nothing but violets for miles and miles, and the blue, cloudless sky. I am terrified.
violet. what a name, only goes with girls with things figured out. girls who don’t try to get men to flock to them like bees to well…. violets. wait no, shit, violets don’t produce pollen. or do they??? maybe girls named violet know more about flowers than i do. maybe they feel like they have to. either way. i always preferred the colour blue. and i never liked having everything figured out. i figure, why bother the bees when they’ll always find the sweetest flower in the garden?
Her dress ruffled as she walked. The violet fabric was just trailing in the mud, and her sandals were long ruined. A purple swarm of butterflies was visiting the lilac tree, and five-year-old Sunny intended to follow them.
Sugared violets lined the doilies. A sickly sweet scent had taken over the room from the moment Aunt Penny set out the platter of her ridiculous desserts. Scrunching her nose Rosie avoided her aunt’s useless attempts to be rid of the sweets.
Her eyes glowed like twin circles of lavender fire, pupils wide and black as pitch ever-expanding into a seemingly bottomless sea of violet. I’d never seen anything like it, like her, not once in my sixteen years roaming the streets of Kahlgary.
And yet, once I saw her, i never wanted to see anything else.
Sweet sensitive and soft
a taste that melts in my mouth
taken only when it’s right
a fragrant honest delight
so mellow and so delicate
a babies breath soft upon my cheek
“Do you think if I yell loud enough, someone will hear me?” I asked, but I heard only the sound of all the colors.
I thought the rainbow would keep me company, there in the garden, but the only thing that changed was my outlook. I could look up into the sky and see blue, endless blue, and it would stay that way until I decided that the sky could be anything. It could be orange. It could be red.
It could be violet.
“Do not tempt me,” I said, then, and instead of fighting the loneliness, I decided to become it.
Her eyes followed the line of his scarf, up to his collar, along the slope of his slender neck and up to his face. Eyes, so beautiful, so sad it nearly broke her heart just by looking, stared down into her own. There was something captivating in those eyes.
It was late in the evening while I walked down into the forest. I passed by every tree, every flower, without a single thought. I suppose it was always that way, not caring too much for what was around you, simply wanting to just clear your head. Of course, every once in a while something caught your eyes. One day, I saw this beautiful flower; a violet. It was a beautiful purple flower that grew alone. It was wild, there was no doubt, it looked rather different from those you would usually see when looking in a flower bed or those in the stores. Different from those that you would grow from packages or get in a basket. I smiled gently and kneeled down, looking at the beautiful little flower. It took me a while to realise that there seemed to be even more growing up and down the hill.
She never thought of herself as looking good in violet, let alone any color. But all it took was the slightest glance from him and suddenly his eyes were stuck. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. In his eyes, she finally felt as if she weren’t actually horrible looking. She’d always thought she was, after all.
The sky was violet…the sun was too. I think Violet is a good name for a dog…or at least it was a nice dog that I once knew who is now at the Rainbow Bridge. Sometimes people have eyes that are violet as well, which is rather cool as purple eyes are unique. I also like violet flowers as they are pretty even
The sky was an angry violet as Issa ran silently down the alley. Hearing noise approaching from the other end, she crouched behind a barrel, her heart beating steadily. Boots clomped toward her and she slowly unsheathed her dagger.
The fist-sized bruise on my cheek was tinged with violet and yellowing green splotches. It hurt to the touch. And even though my busted lip hurt everytime my lips stretched, I smiled trumphantly in the mirror. I was alive and intact. The guy who attacked me was not as well off since I’d smashed a brick into the side of his head a few times. It made my blood boil again to think of it. If I’d had a knife on me that night, he would be dead right now.
What’s the difference in violet and indigo? Like, indigo is more blue-ish and violet is more purple-ish, I guess? They’re both ugly, heavy colors in my opinion.
Violet the color i see when i close my eyes.
The hue i wish to see when i stare at lonely skies.
For in that i see her and to her i wish to be;
Sitting next to her but only air sits next to me.
roses are red violets are blue i dont think i understand what this does to you. Violet can be a girl’s name as well. Violet is also a colour, pretty nice colour, looks kinda purply. I like looking at violet things because they have a cool look to me. Violet’s are nice flowers.
the water was a tiny shade of violet. Pansy and I were playing mermaids. She was blonde. I didn’t like her company, but I was a big fan of Pearl, the mermaid she always chose to play. My name was usually Violet. I appreciated our other friend, who always went by the mermaid name “Coral” which – I mean, why would you do that?
I love you. The words echoed in my head. The violet flower he handed me that first night. The first kiss. All those lovely memories. Why, why did you leave?
The violets filled my mother’s garden with their soft fragrance, and pairing with the sticky-sweet reek of rotting rose petals it was overwhelming. She hadn’t been out to tend her beloved plants in who knew how long, and it showed. Just about everything was half-wilted, it seemed, and a thick blanket of dead leaves and decaying petals coated the withered grass.
The violet is a collor obtained when the painters combine magenta and blue. It is common that the mothers wear her female babies with this collor, by virtue of the delicate aspect of this tone. The violet have the most shorters wave-length of th visible light and above it is the ultraviolet radius, largely known due your carcinogenic potential. A hot collor in the Arts, the collor of the flamer test of the potassium is violet, so, salts of this element is used in violet fireworks. To the medicine this collor is a bad clue of bleeding and bruises in general.
The collor of the newborn babies and the clues of cancer and death.
I sigh as I drag the t-shirts out of the bags. I specified that I waned indigo – Indigo Blue, after all, was the name of the horse. “Sorry, Indi,” I mumbled, showing her the shirt. She sniffed at it, then snorted at me. “Ah, please, the fans won’t care, will they?” I cajoled. The mare tossed her head and stamped her hoof. I smiled. “Atta girl, Indi, atta girl.”
At the invitational, there were hundreds of well-bred Quarter Horses. I gulped, looking at my poorly bred blue roan horse. “We can beat ’em, right?” I asked the horse nervously; she just continued looking around at the handsome geldings and stallions.
She wore a violet scarf, while her wife donned a violet neckties, and the violets crowning the tombstone were beautiful. They knew that the color, the flower – they were important to their daughter. They remembered that the dress she was buried in was violet. The jewelry, too. And her own daughter, their granddaughter, was already being drawn to purple, to the last beautiful color of the rainbow over their heads.
Roses are red, violets are blue. I can’t remember the rest of this poem. A rose, is a rose, is a rose. I don’t even think I know what a violet looks like. But it’s nice that OneWord is working again. Flowers. Flowers for weddings, for funerals, for significant others. How much we attribute to flowers.
Her name was Violet;
and she was pretty as the sky
right before the pale dawn;
her name was her favorite color
too but she was used to say
that name is such a disgrace!
Violet is no blue neither red,
and my feelings are between two side,
two violent waves crushing into my soul;
my emotions mingle together
in dark and light hues;
I’m scared, you know?
I’m scared because I’m between two love too;
I don’t know where to go;
I’m in love with someone
I could never hug tightly, never kiss,
because everything is so wrong
and I’m scared because Violet
is no red or blue; it’s nothing and everything
and the same time; and this is driving me
crazy.
I just only want to love whoever I fancy.
But can I love?
Am I a disgraceful creature?
Who am I?
The gypsy fields were violet once a year, the smell of lavender penetrating into the car each time we passed. We would ask Mum to drive that way to see the color and I later painted my room the same color. I still think about that field sometimes, and it makes me feel a longing for home.
Rita was heading towards the first blind date of her life. She was nervous she had heard horror stories from her friends her whole life, but she had been luck She met and married her first high school love, which fate now had taken from her. It had been two years since Roman passed away and everyone told her it was time to try dating again. They set up up on a blind date to help her get back into it. Her friends knew this one date would not be a life time companion for her, but that he may get her moving back towards living life. As she approached the restaurant she noticed a nice looking gentleman sit alone by himself in the window. As she approached the window he looked up from his table and their eye met each other through the glass. She looked at his almost violet eyes and she was drawn back to the first time she had seen her husband Roman. He too had violet eyes, it was not a common thing. She stumbled almost falling when she noticed the eyes. She wondered was this the man she was supposed to meet and if so how could her friends have not told her about his eyes. As she stumbled she stretched her arm out towards the glass to balance herself. As her hand touched the glass this stranger sitting inside extended hand out towards the glass as if to catch this woman that was on the other side.
Again their eyes met for a moment and they both felt a pull towards one another. She leaned on the glass to catch her balance. He leap up from the chair and raced outside to help this stranger. He made it out the restaurant and too her in a matter of moments. Next thing she knew he was offering her a hand.
As their hands touched they both felt a small jolt of electricity which again caused them to looked directly into each others eyes.
He looked at her and said, “Did you feel that?”
She responded, “I thought it was just me”.
He helped her into the restaurant to his table and he got her some water and they sat their and began to talk.
She remarked, “Your eyes they look like my late husband eyes”.
That is when he responded,”maybe they are was he an organ donor” the man asked.
She responded “Yes he was why do you ask”.
“Because these eyes were a gift two years ago”, he stated.
Rita passed out at that moment. Knowing the eyes starring back at her were her husbands and that some how she was meeting this man,who was not her blind date on her first night out was too much for her to handle.
i’ve always thought that metaphor was cliche, overused, but it was true
they were bright and beautiful and i will never forget how sad they looked on that day, that day she told me she didn’t want me anymore
they were violets with raindrops spattering the petals, emotion and beauty and wonder all at once. she was so special, and she gave me up for a guy who’s hair was the colour of sunshine. sunshine and violets… the perfect combination. she didn’t need me, the cloud, the guy with no colour or promise. i wasn’t worth her violet eyes.
The sky was a radiant shade of violet, no, not radiant; raging. Keller knew it was not the sun, nor rainclouds, that had turned the sky that colour; it was the weapons of the Falagri. War had begun, and he knew there was only one way it could end.
violet is the name of a genius and mastermind who defeated the evil of her childhood without stooping to the means of death. her hair was pulled back when working and she fit in beautifully with her biting sister and reading brother. mechanics and brain blasts were her game.
The sunsets in the tropics, warm, calm, but raging. Flowers, little girls, happy times, summers outside. Bliss.
“You’ve had all summer to read these books,” she said to me, her pale eyes, like flowers in the field, finding mine. She didn’t look surprised, just disappointed.
“I had better things to do,” I muttered, my eyes shifting away from hers.
“You always have better things to do, don’t you?” She sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Find me before school and I’ll have a study guide for you. But this really is the last time, Terrence.”
the amount of times i have been asked to write about the word violet tonight is astonishing. i stare at it, pulling to to pieces. vio-let. vi-o-let. viol-et. sooner or later, it stops looking like a word, or at least a word with any meaning.
The bruise blooms across her cheek, shamefully slow in comparison to how quick the blow was. She can track its progress in days, the way the ugly violet encroaches on her face until she thinks it might consume her.
But it doesn’t. He can’t – or won’t – hit all of her, and the violet retreats, gives way to waves of blue and green and yellow until it is gone completely.
She wonders if she can follows it.
The color is in a poem, its a pretty flower and a pretty color.
I have a friend named violet. I like that name.
The say Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes were violet, and I’ve always wondered how that differs from purple. If her eyes were VIOLENT, on the other hand, now that would be something to see. A beautiful woman with violent eyes, stalking across the room, raising her hand to strike the cheek of the man who has hurt her in ways no one else could possibly imagine. Now she is truly stunning. And striking.
I stood in the middle of the field. Violets everywhere, waving in a gentle breeze. How did I get here? I can’t remember. My head hurts, and I place my hand on the right side of my head. There is blood. It is bright red, stark, and violent among the soft beauty of the field. I look around, but there is nothing. Nothing but violets for miles and miles, and the blue, cloudless sky. I am terrified.
violet. what a name, only goes with girls with things figured out. girls who don’t try to get men to flock to them like bees to well…. violets. wait no, shit, violets don’t produce pollen. or do they??? maybe girls named violet know more about flowers than i do. maybe they feel like they have to. either way. i always preferred the colour blue. and i never liked having everything figured out. i figure, why bother the bees when they’ll always find the sweetest flower in the garden?
Her dress ruffled as she walked. The violet fabric was just trailing in the mud, and her sandals were long ruined. A purple swarm of butterflies was visiting the lilac tree, and five-year-old Sunny intended to follow them.
Sugared violets lined the doilies. A sickly sweet scent had taken over the room from the moment Aunt Penny set out the platter of her ridiculous desserts. Scrunching her nose Rosie avoided her aunt’s useless attempts to be rid of the sweets.
Her eyes glowed like twin circles of lavender fire, pupils wide and black as pitch ever-expanding into a seemingly bottomless sea of violet. I’d never seen anything like it, like her, not once in my sixteen years roaming the streets of Kahlgary.
And yet, once I saw her, i never wanted to see anything else.
Sweet sensitive and soft
a taste that melts in my mouth
taken only when it’s right
a fragrant honest delight
so mellow and so delicate
a babies breath soft upon my cheek
“Do you think if I yell loud enough, someone will hear me?” I asked, but I heard only the sound of all the colors.
I thought the rainbow would keep me company, there in the garden, but the only thing that changed was my outlook. I could look up into the sky and see blue, endless blue, and it would stay that way until I decided that the sky could be anything. It could be orange. It could be red.
It could be violet.
“Do not tempt me,” I said, then, and instead of fighting the loneliness, I decided to become it.
Her eyes followed the line of his scarf, up to his collar, along the slope of his slender neck and up to his face. Eyes, so beautiful, so sad it nearly broke her heart just by looking, stared down into her own. There was something captivating in those eyes.
It was late in the evening while I walked down into the forest. I passed by every tree, every flower, without a single thought. I suppose it was always that way, not caring too much for what was around you, simply wanting to just clear your head. Of course, every once in a while something caught your eyes. One day, I saw this beautiful flower; a violet. It was a beautiful purple flower that grew alone. It was wild, there was no doubt, it looked rather different from those you would usually see when looking in a flower bed or those in the stores. Different from those that you would grow from packages or get in a basket. I smiled gently and kneeled down, looking at the beautiful little flower. It took me a while to realise that there seemed to be even more growing up and down the hill.
She never thought of herself as looking good in violet, let alone any color. But all it took was the slightest glance from him and suddenly his eyes were stuck. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. In his eyes, she finally felt as if she weren’t actually horrible looking. She’d always thought she was, after all.
The sky was violet…the sun was too. I think Violet is a good name for a dog…or at least it was a nice dog that I once knew who is now at the Rainbow Bridge. Sometimes people have eyes that are violet as well, which is rather cool as purple eyes are unique. I also like violet flowers as they are pretty even
The sky was an angry violet as Issa ran silently down the alley. Hearing noise approaching from the other end, she crouched behind a barrel, her heart beating steadily. Boots clomped toward her and she slowly unsheathed her dagger.
The fist-sized bruise on my cheek was tinged with violet and yellowing green splotches. It hurt to the touch. And even though my busted lip hurt everytime my lips stretched, I smiled trumphantly in the mirror. I was alive and intact. The guy who attacked me was not as well off since I’d smashed a brick into the side of his head a few times. It made my blood boil again to think of it. If I’d had a knife on me that night, he would be dead right now.
What’s the difference in violet and indigo? Like, indigo is more blue-ish and violet is more purple-ish, I guess? They’re both ugly, heavy colors in my opinion.
Violet the color i see when i close my eyes.
The hue i wish to see when i stare at lonely skies.
For in that i see her and to her i wish to be;
Sitting next to her but only air sits next to me.
roses are red violets are blue i dont think i understand what this does to you. Violet can be a girl’s name as well. Violet is also a colour, pretty nice colour, looks kinda purply. I like looking at violet things because they have a cool look to me. Violet’s are nice flowers.
the water was a tiny shade of violet. Pansy and I were playing mermaids. She was blonde. I didn’t like her company, but I was a big fan of Pearl, the mermaid she always chose to play. My name was usually Violet. I appreciated our other friend, who always went by the mermaid name “Coral” which – I mean, why would you do that?
I love you. The words echoed in my head. The violet flower he handed me that first night. The first kiss. All those lovely memories. Why, why did you leave?
I lay down on the grass, beside a bed of violets. What pretty flowers they are.
I picked on and placed it in your hair. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl” I said and you blushed.
The violets filled my mother’s garden with their soft fragrance, and pairing with the sticky-sweet reek of rotting rose petals it was overwhelming. She hadn’t been out to tend her beloved plants in who knew how long, and it showed. Just about everything was half-wilted, it seemed, and a thick blanket of dead leaves and decaying petals coated the withered grass.
The violet is a collor obtained when the painters combine magenta and blue. It is common that the mothers wear her female babies with this collor, by virtue of the delicate aspect of this tone. The violet have the most shorters wave-length of th visible light and above it is the ultraviolet radius, largely known due your carcinogenic potential. A hot collor in the Arts, the collor of the flamer test of the potassium is violet, so, salts of this element is used in violet fireworks. To the medicine this collor is a bad clue of bleeding and bruises in general.
The collor of the newborn babies and the clues of cancer and death.
Violet. Seriously. Of all things.
I sigh as I drag the t-shirts out of the bags. I specified that I waned indigo – Indigo Blue, after all, was the name of the horse. “Sorry, Indi,” I mumbled, showing her the shirt. She sniffed at it, then snorted at me. “Ah, please, the fans won’t care, will they?” I cajoled. The mare tossed her head and stamped her hoof. I smiled. “Atta girl, Indi, atta girl.”
At the invitational, there were hundreds of well-bred Quarter Horses. I gulped, looking at my poorly bred blue roan horse. “We can beat ’em, right?” I asked the horse nervously; she just continued looking around at the handsome geldings and stallions.
oh my precious little purple
Oh how I wish to never see you vanish
My love is the only way to avoid the banish
what’s the meaning of this word?
and i want really to know the meaning of this word. i don’t know about this word a lot.
She wore a violet scarf, while her wife donned a violet neckties, and the violets crowning the tombstone were beautiful. They knew that the color, the flower – they were important to their daughter. They remembered that the dress she was buried in was violet. The jewelry, too. And her own daughter, their granddaughter, was already being drawn to purple, to the last beautiful color of the rainbow over their heads.
Roses are red, violets are blue. I can’t remember the rest of this poem. A rose, is a rose, is a rose. I don’t even think I know what a violet looks like. But it’s nice that OneWord is working again. Flowers. Flowers for weddings, for funerals, for significant others. How much we attribute to flowers.
Her name was Violet;
and she was pretty as the sky
right before the pale dawn;
her name was her favorite color
too but she was used to say
that name is such a disgrace!
Violet is no blue neither red,
and my feelings are between two side,
two violent waves crushing into my soul;
my emotions mingle together
in dark and light hues;
I’m scared, you know?
I’m scared because I’m between two love too;
I don’t know where to go;
I’m in love with someone
I could never hug tightly, never kiss,
because everything is so wrong
and I’m scared because Violet
is no red or blue; it’s nothing and everything
and the same time; and this is driving me
crazy.
I just only want to love whoever I fancy.
But can I love?
Am I a disgraceful creature?
Who am I?
The gypsy fields were violet once a year, the smell of lavender penetrating into the car each time we passed. We would ask Mum to drive that way to see the color and I later painted my room the same color. I still think about that field sometimes, and it makes me feel a longing for home.
Violet, you are the color of paradox, the color of balance, the color ambivalence.
You are the only color that is at once both cool and warm.
Rita was heading towards the first blind date of her life. She was nervous she had heard horror stories from her friends her whole life, but she had been luck She met and married her first high school love, which fate now had taken from her. It had been two years since Roman passed away and everyone told her it was time to try dating again. They set up up on a blind date to help her get back into it. Her friends knew this one date would not be a life time companion for her, but that he may get her moving back towards living life. As she approached the restaurant she noticed a nice looking gentleman sit alone by himself in the window. As she approached the window he looked up from his table and their eye met each other through the glass. She looked at his almost violet eyes and she was drawn back to the first time she had seen her husband Roman. He too had violet eyes, it was not a common thing. She stumbled almost falling when she noticed the eyes. She wondered was this the man she was supposed to meet and if so how could her friends have not told her about his eyes. As she stumbled she stretched her arm out towards the glass to balance herself. As her hand touched the glass this stranger sitting inside extended hand out towards the glass as if to catch this woman that was on the other side.
Again their eyes met for a moment and they both felt a pull towards one another. She leaned on the glass to catch her balance. He leap up from the chair and raced outside to help this stranger. He made it out the restaurant and too her in a matter of moments. Next thing she knew he was offering her a hand.
As their hands touched they both felt a small jolt of electricity which again caused them to looked directly into each others eyes.
He looked at her and said, “Did you feel that?”
She responded, “I thought it was just me”.
He helped her into the restaurant to his table and he got her some water and they sat their and began to talk.
She remarked, “Your eyes they look like my late husband eyes”.
That is when he responded,”maybe they are was he an organ donor” the man asked.
She responded “Yes he was why do you ask”.
“Because these eyes were a gift two years ago”, he stated.
Rita passed out at that moment. Knowing the eyes starring back at her were her husbands and that some how she was meeting this man,who was not her blind date on her first night out was too much for her to handle.
his eyes were violet, but wait, how can that be?
so beautiful and shiny, it was hard to believe
her eyes were the colour of violets.
i’ve always thought that metaphor was cliche, overused, but it was true
they were bright and beautiful and i will never forget how sad they looked on that day, that day she told me she didn’t want me anymore
they were violets with raindrops spattering the petals, emotion and beauty and wonder all at once. she was so special, and she gave me up for a guy who’s hair was the colour of sunshine. sunshine and violets… the perfect combination. she didn’t need me, the cloud, the guy with no colour or promise. i wasn’t worth her violet eyes.
The sky was a radiant shade of violet, no, not radiant; raging. Keller knew it was not the sun, nor rainclouds, that had turned the sky that colour; it was the weapons of the Falagri. War had begun, and he knew there was only one way it could end.
violet is the name of a genius and mastermind who defeated the evil of her childhood without stooping to the means of death. her hair was pulled back when working and she fit in beautifully with her biting sister and reading brother. mechanics and brain blasts were her game.