Getting caught up in the beauty of the starry sky combined with the sticky warmth the nearness of her companion provided was tempting, no doubt, but Cari wasn’t without willpower. Or, perhaps it was stubbornness that kept her spine ramrod straight and her limbs stiff with something that very closely resembled nervousness.
Van Gogh’s vision
a yellow tainted night
illusion beyond signt
his a dreamer’s endless delight
beyond the known in the realm of fancy
tinseled twilight of the day’s final light
held in vastness
past imaginations obscure boundaries
I looked at you as you focused on the road ahead. We had been in that tiny little VW for 6 hours and still had 3 hours to go. The moon was full and your eyes were wide, I had never been so content.
We lived in the night, parties, beer, drugs. We slept all day and played all night. The stars were our sunshine. We grew apart, when we had to leave the stars.
Starry-eyed, I think of a tower and a swirling sky. Shear water at the surface of a placid lake, perhaps a sea. A bright flash, a face, an age. Or maybe it’s all a dream, and I’m still shaking the last bits of sleep from sight and in need of some relieving light.
He looks up at the sky and wonders whether anything else really does live out there. The grass is long and flexes in the breeze – brushes against his calves and the palms of his hands and brings his gaze back down to earth. The grass doesn’t care what’s up among the stars. The grass stays rooted down. He doesn’t know whether to feel jealousy or pity.
Their is a starry heaven above that can quickly belittle every little obscurity you have on this planet. The starry skies can show anyone in this universe that their is more to life than we know. I love the starry skies above.
They had talked for hours, and it was now dark. Ohara felt at some points that he should leave them alone, but just sat there, watching the starry sky as it tried to squeeze through the neon signs, jostling for his attention. Tricia had told Joanne most of her story, and both Joanne and Ohara recommended that she leave Japan, but they had to inform the police somehow. He said nothing to her, but one part of Tricia’s story gave Ohara goosebumps.
the day came starry, once I woke up, knowingly my carpet looked like the cosmic black hole, so I phoned an illegal Mexican who last cleaned my carpet by scrolling to my phone contacts and dialing “carpet cleaner”. A women answered the phone, her illiteracy impeded. Luckily, mi amor had the Spanish tongue that whipped like Zoro’s black lash. Blackness is what dragged us to expend another fifty dollars on cleaning, dreading the irregular pond-shaped stains on our beige brown carpet. Once they came over we moved around furniture to accommodate the movement of their cleaning machine. The whole time I pondered on my fathers promise I lead him on to, behind my conscious he was waiting, holding on to the wishful hope that I would call him to appraise vehicles so that we can both profit another stream of income. When the carpet grew lighter, my soul darkened, because he rubbished that he’d be upset if I were not to follow through. Yet I failed him. I endured his angst when my phone died over the loud, crowded noise of the carpet vacuum suckling water from my bath tub to splash refinement in my living room. Mending our partnership, our domestication, was my obligatory duty. I was a soldier with one victim’s life who I prized to take, a marine with no weapons in a deserted desert oasis with a savage terrorist’s neck in my gripping hands, suckling this success was what I thrived–there was a surrogate program I missed that day, the next day I would make due for this loss. But beforehand, my dad’s novel hatred was to be surpassed by my caring wit.
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, as it had several times before. He was kind of getting sick of the repetitiveness. The starry night was being obscured both by clouds and by the light of the moon. Why couldn’t things just be exactly as he wanted them to be?
The group of children stared off into the vast, starry skies. A slight chill was riding the breeze. Not a cloud was in the sky. They anxiously awaited the first sunrise of the new year.
Today in astronomy class we learned that were the sun to become a basketball in my hands, I would have to travel to Europe in order to find another star.
Starry stars. Stars are stars. Starry is a weird word. Wouldn’t “star-like” be better? Or even starful? Anyway, stars are stars. So starry. Balls of gas. They make lot’s of elements when there are supernovae. Supernovae.
Starry, a word in which people use to describe a night sky. Meaning full of stars. This is hard. Stars. Explosive balls of fiery gas. Stardust. More than that, when stars explode, they create every element up to iron.
Supernovae. Multiple supernova. Stars are very large. Alpha Centauri. Yes.
I know im not one to remember much, but I look back to that night – the one we said our goodbyes – and I remember everything. How we hugged for long in silence. I remember your scent and your curls resting on my cheek. I remember shivering, wrapped around the cold wind and inside your arms and the dimly lit street. The faint rain hitting our faces and the moonlight too, and I remember stars, just not in the sky. I remember them in your eyes. And in between all the starry nights I remember, this was the most beautiful one.
Her eyes were starry, glossy, and red. Was she in love with him? or In pain? He wanted to suck the words back in. It was easier than knowing her truth. He wished he hadn’t said I love you.
well the first time i hear of starry was a song called starry eyed by Ellie Golding but the first cover i heard was by bridgit mendler then i realized it was originally sung by Golding so now im gonna go look up what the word really means.
Some people are just starry-eyed, I guess. Bright eyed and wondering. They’re the kinds of people who never stopped asking why. My sister was one of those. Now that she’s gone, I suppose all I have are the stars.
On starry nights, such as those Keats would see,
I often find my gaze drift to the sky
And wonder at the sights within contained.
I lack the love he longed for in his dreams,
Begged evermore to have against his side,
And yet I know the love of which he sings,
The tunes which spurn through all his vast attempts
At greatness, on through songs in his own verse.
Bright star, you have your place among the kings
Of love: they who rebuked you with terse
Temperaments, believing their own poesy
The best, the tried, the true. And yet it seems
They were the ones lacking in loves claimed
Possessed, as all who might others deride.
She looked around her, bright an starry-eyed, and I wondered – what is she seeing? What is she seeing, the could make her look at this world with so much amazement, when all that lies around us is covered with grime? Perhaps she is amazed by that.
I looked out my window, cranning my neck under the screen and out over the window box. Outside, through a little slot amongst the buildings, I saw the sky – vast as it had been on the farm, in maine, when i was a child.
Olivia had a copy of “Starry Night” etched onto the back of her jacket, and it almost made the fabric spring to life. I couldn’t stop looking at it. When she hung it on the back of her chair, I was tempted to touch the textures, even though I knew it wasn’t the real painting and I knew that Van Gogh probably would have been a bit confused by his artwork being stitched onto clothing.
what I think of when I think of sugar pine. laying under the stars making wishes, wishing that the night would never end. What I think of every camping trip, when the world is still and my thinkin is clear and I feel likg everything is going to feel ok.
The stars glimmer in the night, transforming it into something bright and calming. I look to the woman near my side, and realize she glows in the starlight too. This is our starry night, and we will never let anyone take it from us. She smiles at me, and thinks the same.
There is something in you that I see. There is something inside you that I can’t help but love. There is something inside you that the things inside me reach for. There is something inside you that makes everything outside your warmth feel cold. There is something in you that makes everything outside the moments that I spend in your eyes seem blurred and dull. There is something in you that holds the universe, each star outlined in the promise of a sun. There is something there that makes all the risks seem so much more dangerous and all the rewards that much more miraculous. You are the shot in the dark that lights the way to new beginnings. You are the spark in the shadows that sets the world ablaze. You are the star in the sky that promises the sun.
The starry night sky loomed over me as I sat alone in my backyard.
My mind wandered.
I thought about everything – what had happened between us the day before, what was happening to her now, if she was sitting alone just like I was, thinking about us.
That was what her shirt looked like on the first day of school. Starry.
That’s not to say it had stars on it. But it was covered in sparkles – delicate little sequins against a black background that make it look like she had purchased her own personal sky at Forever 21.
Johnny looked up from his bed up into the cast open starry night. Earlier today he got bullied at school like he did every day, but he didn’t mind because when he fell asleep at night he was able to see the vast wonders of the sky. The possibility of going anywhere through time and space and seeing what life was about.
The night sky fills with stars in a matter of minutes after the susnet. It is most beautiful in the places where there are no cities to crowd with pollution the bautiful night sky. They sparkle and twinkle and shine with light thats taken thousands of years to get here.
Getting caught up in the beauty of the starry sky combined with the sticky warmth the nearness of her companion provided was tempting, no doubt, but Cari wasn’t without willpower. Or, perhaps it was stubbornness that kept her spine ramrod straight and her limbs stiff with something that very closely resembled nervousness.
Van Gogh’s vision
a yellow tainted night
illusion beyond signt
his a dreamer’s endless delight
beyond the known in the realm of fancy
tinseled twilight of the day’s final light
held in vastness
past imaginations obscure boundaries
I looked at you as you focused on the road ahead. We had been in that tiny little VW for 6 hours and still had 3 hours to go. The moon was full and your eyes were wide, I had never been so content.
We lived in the night, parties, beer, drugs. We slept all day and played all night. The stars were our sunshine. We grew apart, when we had to leave the stars.
Starry-eyed, I think of a tower and a swirling sky. Shear water at the surface of a placid lake, perhaps a sea. A bright flash, a face, an age. Or maybe it’s all a dream, and I’m still shaking the last bits of sleep from sight and in need of some relieving light.
He looks up at the sky and wonders whether anything else really does live out there. The grass is long and flexes in the breeze – brushes against his calves and the palms of his hands and brings his gaze back down to earth. The grass doesn’t care what’s up among the stars. The grass stays rooted down. He doesn’t know whether to feel jealousy or pity.
The stars sparkled, creating a dull glow that illuminated her pale skin, she was beauty, and I was happy to call her mine.
Their is a starry heaven above that can quickly belittle every little obscurity you have on this planet. The starry skies can show anyone in this universe that their is more to life than we know. I love the starry skies above.
They had talked for hours, and it was now dark. Ohara felt at some points that he should leave them alone, but just sat there, watching the starry sky as it tried to squeeze through the neon signs, jostling for his attention. Tricia had told Joanne most of her story, and both Joanne and Ohara recommended that she leave Japan, but they had to inform the police somehow. He said nothing to her, but one part of Tricia’s story gave Ohara goosebumps.
Darkness forever changed by an infinite burning suns. The night’s sky illuminated by the beauty of light.
the day came starry, once I woke up, knowingly my carpet looked like the cosmic black hole, so I phoned an illegal Mexican who last cleaned my carpet by scrolling to my phone contacts and dialing “carpet cleaner”. A women answered the phone, her illiteracy impeded. Luckily, mi amor had the Spanish tongue that whipped like Zoro’s black lash. Blackness is what dragged us to expend another fifty dollars on cleaning, dreading the irregular pond-shaped stains on our beige brown carpet. Once they came over we moved around furniture to accommodate the movement of their cleaning machine. The whole time I pondered on my fathers promise I lead him on to, behind my conscious he was waiting, holding on to the wishful hope that I would call him to appraise vehicles so that we can both profit another stream of income. When the carpet grew lighter, my soul darkened, because he rubbished that he’d be upset if I were not to follow through. Yet I failed him. I endured his angst when my phone died over the loud, crowded noise of the carpet vacuum suckling water from my bath tub to splash refinement in my living room. Mending our partnership, our domestication, was my obligatory duty. I was a soldier with one victim’s life who I prized to take, a marine with no weapons in a deserted desert oasis with a savage terrorist’s neck in my gripping hands, suckling this success was what I thrived–there was a surrogate program I missed that day, the next day I would make due for this loss. But beforehand, my dad’s novel hatred was to be surpassed by my caring wit.
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, as it had several times before. He was kind of getting sick of the repetitiveness. The starry night was being obscured both by clouds and by the light of the moon. Why couldn’t things just be exactly as he wanted them to be?
The group of children stared off into the vast, starry skies. A slight chill was riding the breeze. Not a cloud was in the sky. They anxiously awaited the first sunrise of the new year.
Today in astronomy class we learned that were the sun to become a basketball in my hands, I would have to travel to Europe in order to find another star.
Starry, Starry Night is a famous painting by Vincent Van Gough. This is a good painting to try to copy when starting to appreciate popular artwork.
Her gaze was starry and wide and full of all the hopes and dreams that could possibly fill a girl of twelve. He took her hand.
Starry stars. Stars are stars. Starry is a weird word. Wouldn’t “star-like” be better? Or even starful? Anyway, stars are stars. So starry. Balls of gas. They make lot’s of elements when there are supernovae. Supernovae.
Black Beautiful with silver imprints. As breath taking as it is, it’s also symbolic. Combining light with dark…..
Starry, a word in which people use to describe a night sky. Meaning full of stars. This is hard. Stars. Explosive balls of fiery gas. Stardust. More than that, when stars explode, they create every element up to iron.
Supernovae. Multiple supernova. Stars are very large. Alpha Centauri. Yes.
I know im not one to remember much, but I look back to that night – the one we said our goodbyes – and I remember everything. How we hugged for long in silence. I remember your scent and your curls resting on my cheek. I remember shivering, wrapped around the cold wind and inside your arms and the dimly lit street. The faint rain hitting our faces and the moonlight too, and I remember stars, just not in the sky. I remember them in your eyes. And in between all the starry nights I remember, this was the most beautiful one.
1.
For those that can’t spell
Take a long look at STARRY
There are two R’s, fools!
2.
I hate city lights
They steal, from me, night vision
And fine starry skies
– !Haiku/Spelling/Grammar -Mann!
Her eyes were starry, glossy, and red. Was she in love with him? or In pain? He wanted to suck the words back in. It was easier than knowing her truth. He wished he hadn’t said I love you.
well the first time i hear of starry was a song called starry eyed by Ellie Golding but the first cover i heard was by bridgit mendler then i realized it was originally sung by Golding so now im gonna go look up what the word really means.
Some people are just starry-eyed, I guess. Bright eyed and wondering. They’re the kinds of people who never stopped asking why. My sister was one of those. Now that she’s gone, I suppose all I have are the stars.
On starry nights, such as those Keats would see,
I often find my gaze drift to the sky
And wonder at the sights within contained.
I lack the love he longed for in his dreams,
Begged evermore to have against his side,
And yet I know the love of which he sings,
The tunes which spurn through all his vast attempts
At greatness, on through songs in his own verse.
Bright star, you have your place among the kings
Of love: they who rebuked you with terse
Temperaments, believing their own poesy
The best, the tried, the true. And yet it seems
They were the ones lacking in loves claimed
Possessed, as all who might others deride.
She looked around her, bright an starry-eyed, and I wondered – what is she seeing? What is she seeing, the could make her look at this world with so much amazement, when all that lies around us is covered with grime? Perhaps she is amazed by that.
His eyes were as bright as the afternoon sky, starry as the night, and welcoming as a dog when you walk in the front door.
I looked out my window, cranning my neck under the screen and out over the window box. Outside, through a little slot amongst the buildings, I saw the sky – vast as it had been on the farm, in maine, when i was a child.
Your hand in mine, my head leaned on yours, the starry night became the backdrop of our love.
Olivia had a copy of “Starry Night” etched onto the back of her jacket, and it almost made the fabric spring to life. I couldn’t stop looking at it. When she hung it on the back of her chair, I was tempted to touch the textures, even though I knew it wasn’t the real painting and I knew that Van Gogh probably would have been a bit confused by his artwork being stitched onto clothing.
what I think of when I think of sugar pine. laying under the stars making wishes, wishing that the night would never end. What I think of every camping trip, when the world is still and my thinkin is clear and I feel likg everything is going to feel ok.
The stars glimmer in the night, transforming it into something bright and calming. I look to the woman near my side, and realize she glows in the starlight too. This is our starry night, and we will never let anyone take it from us. She smiles at me, and thinks the same.
There is something in you that I see. There is something inside you that I can’t help but love. There is something inside you that the things inside me reach for. There is something inside you that makes everything outside your warmth feel cold. There is something in you that makes everything outside the moments that I spend in your eyes seem blurred and dull. There is something in you that holds the universe, each star outlined in the promise of a sun. There is something there that makes all the risks seem so much more dangerous and all the rewards that much more miraculous. You are the shot in the dark that lights the way to new beginnings. You are the spark in the shadows that sets the world ablaze. You are the star in the sky that promises the sun.
The starry night sky loomed over me as I sat alone in my backyard.
My mind wandered.
I thought about everything – what had happened between us the day before, what was happening to her now, if she was sitting alone just like I was, thinking about us.
That was what her shirt looked like on the first day of school. Starry.
That’s not to say it had stars on it. But it was covered in sparkles – delicate little sequins against a black background that make it look like she had purchased her own personal sky at Forever 21.
Johnny looked up from his bed up into the cast open starry night. Earlier today he got bullied at school like he did every day, but he didn’t mind because when he fell asleep at night he was able to see the vast wonders of the sky. The possibility of going anywhere through time and space and seeing what life was about.
Cassierl yours is so much better than mine.
What I think of when I hear any form of the word ‘star’!
The night sky fills with stars in a matter of minutes after the susnet. It is most beautiful in the places where there are no cities to crowd with pollution the bautiful night sky. They sparkle and twinkle and shine with light thats taken thousands of years to get here.
The stars look nice tonight. Lots. Cool. They twinkle and shimmer and glow with an unearthly light. They’re great. They’re bright. They’re shapes.
They may be dead.
They may not be.
I’ll never know! :)