old fashioned houses with twisted vines, spear shaped leaves, deep green, brickwork covered in leaves and stuff, veins of gold, obscured views, open windows, dark and foreboding houses,
Ivy grows green, coarse, thick.
Why is it always the plants we don’t want which are the strongest, hardest, clingiest?
I guess we only value the stuff which isn’t everywhere.
Which is such a shame, when you think of all the amazing things which there are out there which are in abundance.
Climbing walls, English ivy from a wedding bouquet has grown up the side of the house for years. Now, as the children from the marriage are starting to leave home, the ivy is losing its grasp on the house, easing away from the bricks bit by bit, sometimes falling to the ground in great swathes of dying greenery.
She clings to him like ivy, and I wrinkle my nose and edge away, not wanting any of that itchy, irritating stuff to catch on me. But of course it won’t – I’m not a tall, strong support of a boy, just an easily-ignored competitor. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, though; he might be fine with it now, but when he starts itching, I wonder how he’ll ever get away.
the ivy climbed the tall tower up to the top where a flag stood. she leaned her elbow on the window pane and waited for the prince who she believed should have already come for her. She began to imagine her life alone.
The ivy drooping from your skin just made you more beautiful. As I sat and studied your flawless stillness, your delicate details, I fell in love. Some would say congrats but I hardly can think it’s good. I don’t date someone made of stone. Even if the ivy was so perfect a touch and your features were so gentle…. I can see the destruction of my heart.
I love to see ivy winding it’s way up the side of a building. So lovely. Yet full of mosquitoes. So I don’t plant ivy in my yard. But what did I find two years ago, growing next to the shed? A lovely little ivy plant. It’s still there. I am wondering what to do with it. Can’t get rid of it, it’s part of the family now. But where will I transplant it to?
twining around and silent it could kill with all it’s might. yet its beauty is marvoulous and the green so fresh and sweet. but be wary it can coil and choke and nothing will be left after it has suffocated all. Yet it’s beauty remains.
Dark, green, houses, crawling and sprawling up the sides of the red brickwork.
Odd, virus like, hard to get rid of, pest, poison ivy, batman villain, grandma’s house, white walls, ashphalt, food, childhood, life,
the ivy-covered building loomed, a dank mansion in front of Dani and she shivered, realising what had left her there, and fell on the step and cried into her small, dirty hands. she had dirty black curls, ivy-coloured eyes and pale skin that was stretched taut over her small, bony features.
The ivy that hung from the rafters above was a symbol of the decay that had slowly grown in Michael’s slipping mind. “I’m going to rubber duck to buy some hand soap,” was a famous quip that he piped up now and again, having no idea that “rubber duck” and “town” weren’t interchangeable words.
The ivy climbed up past her window up to the chimney. She would look out her window each day and look into a nest of birds who made their home in it’s vines.
Ivy loves my garden and creeps and crawls and positively embraces my trees and my house and my studio. I know it is bad for me. Like ice cream. I love it. It never leaves me alone.
I’m thinking abaout retiring. Using up what’s left and spend time tracing ivy wih my eyes, leaving the to-do list behind and just settling into a garden chair, allowing the breeze to nestle in, behind my ears. Knowing sunrise will happen, sunset will happen, and life will happen whether I push this way or that way or not any way at all.
The ivy against the reds, the browns,
the bricks of history.
We grew up in the cemetery of that old Baptist Church,
up in the magnolias,
where we’d sit and watch tourists
they were so impressed with the reconstruction,
the life around them,
workers in colonial garb,
you held my hand.
before she could go any further,her left foot got hung up on some ivy.suddenly,she felt something in her hand.jessie opened it.in her palm was a familiar disk;one she hadn’t seen in ten years.
she smelled burning flesh.she closed her eyes,”oh,no”
I laughed as he tried to run from me, but his slippers couldn’t grasp onto the ivy beneath his feet. He ran like the coward he was, constantly twisting and turning to see if I was behind him, while his feet slipped and tangled in the wet ivy. This was all to easy, as I pounced from tree to tree, landing lightly on my feet in front of him. I cocked my head to the side, my eyebrow raised. He found it so fun and powerful to chase his victims as they ran, hoping for freedom. Now it was his turn, no chance of freedom for him. In one swift motion, I grabbed him, piercing his neck with my fangs. I felt myself smile as his body grew limp and collapsed into the ivy that had given him so much trouble. This monster would never hurt anyone again.
They were in an unhabited palnet, that in itself should be a good thing, no natives trying to shoot them. However, they had just figured out why it was unhabitated: The ivy was so itchy they couldn’t stop scratching.
Ivy is the name of a girl I once knew. She was married to a boy that I worked with in a restaurant. She had pretty eyes but she was really very quiet. She was the oldest of lots of children. Her husband was a sweet heart…but they were so young. I wonder what those 2 are up to now….I bet they have lots of children.
Poison ivy. Tangles you up. Strangles you. You’re grappling at it. You want it to let go of you. The more you struggle, the harder it gets. You pull. You try to scream but your vocal chords are failing.
They were in an unhabited palnet, that in itself should be a good thing, no natives trying to shoot them. However, they had just figured out why it was unhabitated: The ivy was so itchy they couldn’t stop scratching.
The building was tarnished by nature. The ivy grew the sides in huge heaps, rendering the windows completely pointless. The grounds were covered in a swamp of vegetation, making it impossible to uncover the forgotten pathway. And although many would say it was a sight for sore eyes, I will always find it brilliant, as it is yet another testament that Everything man creates will always be the pawn in Nature’s game.
I walked through the woods, and suddenly came upon an unexpected young man. He was short, and his body was clothed in a very strange manner. Namely, bits of ivy leaves and vines ran the length of his torso.
I ran my fingers along the entrails of poison ivy,
Chancing fate and feeling greater than what the risk entailed.
I thought of potions, and Batman villains,
And what people can do with unlimited power.
It spurned my thought process, but I itched for quite some while afterwards.
There was a girl I knew in High School named Ivy. Everyone was jealous of her. She was GORGEOUS, extremely wealthy, a cheerleader, smart, friendly…everything that, to this day, I wish I could be. In fact, I’d give almost anything to be her. I mean, sure, I love myself, but being Ivy would just make everything easier…
Oh, was für ein schönes Wort. Es sieht aus wie ein Name. Ein Blumenname. Ivy-Blüten sind schneeweiß und duften, schwer und süß und betörend, wenn man abends im Sternenschein mit der Liebsten unter dem Strauch sitzt und die Welt vergisst …
Her name was Ivy and she was a sex-ed teacher at all of the progressive schools in town. She used to work at a Planned Parenthood, but now she worked as a professor at UC Berkley and a freelance writer for health magazines.
plants poisin ivy rash itching name girl’s name vines green leaves leafy trellis outside in nature three letter word it climbs and twists. it is also non poisinous. pretty plant.
Ivy? Remind me of Poison Ivy, which is not fun to have. I got it over the Summer and I had to rub the lotion all over my arms everyday, about 4 times a day. Why? Fuck that. Why do things like this even exist? To annoy people? To make people afraid of walking through the woods? Why do you do what you do, Poison Ivy? I wish you’d stop it.
Tiny finger, tiny toes. What he left with her he could never take back and she would hold onto this lifeline if it beat the breath out of her, ripped out her hair and clawed its way into her while her tears blurred the sharp green stabs of ivy growing up the urine soaked dungeon of brick.
Eating at The Ivy. My friend Ben took me and a group of friends there once. He had made good and his fancy girlfriend insisted. I suppose it was yummy, but I was a little too conscious of the prices the whole time. Does apple crumble taste better or worse when it’s $14? Maybe the taste is the same, but for me at $14 it doesn’t go down easy. Hard to fathom the digestive track of that fancy girlfriend.
it grows on the side of houses. I think it looks pretty, makes a house look very victorian esque. I wish my apartment had some ivy growing on the side of it, but it doesn’t. It makes me think of old houses. Or haunted houses. Or houses that aren’t kept up with.
They said the old Victorian mansion on the hill was haunted, so when she walked by, she took a closer look. The ivy covered stone pillars at the entry where surely just decorative, and even though the garden was cluttered in weeds, it looked habitable. But what made her disbelieve the clichéd rumor was the the young girl at the open window, waving at her.
old fashioned houses with twisted vines, spear shaped leaves, deep green, brickwork covered in leaves and stuff, veins of gold, obscured views, open windows, dark and foreboding houses,
Ivy grows green, coarse, thick.
Why is it always the plants we don’t want which are the strongest, hardest, clingiest?
I guess we only value the stuff which isn’t everywhere.
Which is such a shame, when you think of all the amazing things which there are out there which are in abundance.
Climbing walls, English ivy from a wedding bouquet has grown up the side of the house for years. Now, as the children from the marriage are starting to leave home, the ivy is losing its grasp on the house, easing away from the bricks bit by bit, sometimes falling to the ground in great swathes of dying greenery.
She clings to him like ivy, and I wrinkle my nose and edge away, not wanting any of that itchy, irritating stuff to catch on me. But of course it won’t – I’m not a tall, strong support of a boy, just an easily-ignored competitor. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, though; he might be fine with it now, but when he starts itching, I wonder how he’ll ever get away.
the ivy climbed the tall tower up to the top where a flag stood. she leaned her elbow on the window pane and waited for the prince who she believed should have already come for her. She began to imagine her life alone.
a very beautiful, long, viny plant
The ivy drooping from your skin just made you more beautiful. As I sat and studied your flawless stillness, your delicate details, I fell in love. Some would say congrats but I hardly can think it’s good. I don’t date someone made of stone. Even if the ivy was so perfect a touch and your features were so gentle…. I can see the destruction of my heart.
I love to see ivy winding it’s way up the side of a building. So lovely. Yet full of mosquitoes. So I don’t plant ivy in my yard. But what did I find two years ago, growing next to the shed? A lovely little ivy plant. It’s still there. I am wondering what to do with it. Can’t get rid of it, it’s part of the family now. But where will I transplant it to?
twining around and silent it could kill with all it’s might. yet its beauty is marvoulous and the green so fresh and sweet. but be wary it can coil and choke and nothing will be left after it has suffocated all. Yet it’s beauty remains.
A name just as beautiful as she was. Now old, but once full of life. Where did it all go? Who has she become? Ivy… was her name.
ivy is hitler. it just wants to takover the world.
Dark, green, houses, crawling and sprawling up the sides of the red brickwork.
Odd, virus like, hard to get rid of, pest, poison ivy, batman villain, grandma’s house, white walls, ashphalt, food, childhood, life,
the ivy-covered building loomed, a dank mansion in front of Dani and she shivered, realising what had left her there, and fell on the step and cried into her small, dirty hands. she had dirty black curls, ivy-coloured eyes and pale skin that was stretched taut over her small, bony features.
The ivy that hung from the rafters above was a symbol of the decay that had slowly grown in Michael’s slipping mind. “I’m going to rubber duck to buy some hand soap,” was a famous quip that he piped up now and again, having no idea that “rubber duck” and “town” weren’t interchangeable words.
The Flame and the Ivy
so much in common, so simple in elegance.
Where has my childhood gone?
I now only recognize beauty through analysis.
The ivy climbed up past her window up to the chimney. She would look out her window each day and look into a nest of birds who made their home in it’s vines.
Ivy loves my garden and creeps and crawls and positively embraces my trees and my house and my studio. I know it is bad for me. Like ice cream. I love it. It never leaves me alone.
Poison ivy comes a creepin’ arouuuund.
Hehehe. I’ve never had poison ivy. Yay for me.
LOL TURTLES
http://www.deviantart.com
I’m thinking abaout retiring. Using up what’s left and spend time tracing ivy wih my eyes, leaving the to-do list behind and just settling into a garden chair, allowing the breeze to nestle in, behind my ears. Knowing sunrise will happen, sunset will happen, and life will happen whether I push this way or that way or not any way at all.
The ivy against the reds, the browns,
the bricks of history.
We grew up in the cemetery of that old Baptist Church,
up in the magnolias,
where we’d sit and watch tourists
they were so impressed with the reconstruction,
the life around them,
workers in colonial garb,
you held my hand.
before she could go any further,her left foot got hung up on some ivy.suddenly,she felt something in her hand.jessie opened it.in her palm was a familiar disk;one she hadn’t seen in ten years.
she smelled burning flesh.she closed her eyes,”oh,no”
I would like to name my daughter Ivy. When I have a daughter, her eyes will be as green as the ivy that climbed up my house growing up.
I laughed as he tried to run from me, but his slippers couldn’t grasp onto the ivy beneath his feet. He ran like the coward he was, constantly twisting and turning to see if I was behind him, while his feet slipped and tangled in the wet ivy. This was all to easy, as I pounced from tree to tree, landing lightly on my feet in front of him. I cocked my head to the side, my eyebrow raised. He found it so fun and powerful to chase his victims as they ran, hoping for freedom. Now it was his turn, no chance of freedom for him. In one swift motion, I grabbed him, piercing his neck with my fangs. I felt myself smile as his body grew limp and collapsed into the ivy that had given him so much trouble. This monster would never hurt anyone again.
They were in an unhabited palnet, that in itself should be a good thing, no natives trying to shoot them. However, they had just figured out why it was unhabitated: The ivy was so itchy they couldn’t stop scratching.
Ivy is the name of a girl I once knew. She was married to a boy that I worked with in a restaurant. She had pretty eyes but she was really very quiet. She was the oldest of lots of children. Her husband was a sweet heart…but they were so young. I wonder what those 2 are up to now….I bet they have lots of children.
Poison ivy. Tangles you up. Strangles you. You’re grappling at it. You want it to let go of you. The more you struggle, the harder it gets. You pull. You try to scream but your vocal chords are failing.
They were in an unhabited palnet, that in itself should be a good thing, no natives trying to shoot them. However, they had just figured out why it was unhabitated: The ivy was so itchy they couldn’t stop scratching.
The building was tarnished by nature. The ivy grew the sides in huge heaps, rendering the windows completely pointless. The grounds were covered in a swamp of vegetation, making it impossible to uncover the forgotten pathway. And although many would say it was a sight for sore eyes, I will always find it brilliant, as it is yet another testament that Everything man creates will always be the pawn in Nature’s game.
I walked through the woods, and suddenly came upon an unexpected young man. He was short, and his body was clothed in a very strange manner. Namely, bits of ivy leaves and vines ran the length of his torso.
I ran my fingers along the entrails of poison ivy,
Chancing fate and feeling greater than what the risk entailed.
I thought of potions, and Batman villains,
And what people can do with unlimited power.
It spurned my thought process, but I itched for quite some while afterwards.
There was a girl I knew in High School named Ivy. Everyone was jealous of her. She was GORGEOUS, extremely wealthy, a cheerleader, smart, friendly…everything that, to this day, I wish I could be. In fact, I’d give almost anything to be her. I mean, sure, I love myself, but being Ivy would just make everything easier…
Oh, was für ein schönes Wort. Es sieht aus wie ein Name. Ein Blumenname. Ivy-Blüten sind schneeweiß und duften, schwer und süß und betörend, wenn man abends im Sternenschein mit der Liebsten unter dem Strauch sitzt und die Welt vergisst …
Her name was Ivy and she was a sex-ed teacher at all of the progressive schools in town. She used to work at a Planned Parenthood, but now she worked as a professor at UC Berkley and a freelance writer for health magazines.
plants poisin ivy rash itching name girl’s name vines green leaves leafy trellis outside in nature three letter word it climbs and twists. it is also non poisinous. pretty plant.
Ivy? Remind me of Poison Ivy, which is not fun to have. I got it over the Summer and I had to rub the lotion all over my arms everyday, about 4 times a day. Why? Fuck that. Why do things like this even exist? To annoy people? To make people afraid of walking through the woods? Why do you do what you do, Poison Ivy? I wish you’d stop it.
Tiny finger, tiny toes. What he left with her he could never take back and she would hold onto this lifeline if it beat the breath out of her, ripped out her hair and clawed its way into her while her tears blurred the sharp green stabs of ivy growing up the urine soaked dungeon of brick.
Eating at The Ivy. My friend Ben took me and a group of friends there once. He had made good and his fancy girlfriend insisted. I suppose it was yummy, but I was a little too conscious of the prices the whole time. Does apple crumble taste better or worse when it’s $14? Maybe the taste is the same, but for me at $14 it doesn’t go down easy. Hard to fathom the digestive track of that fancy girlfriend.
it grows on the side of houses. I think it looks pretty, makes a house look very victorian esque. I wish my apartment had some ivy growing on the side of it, but it doesn’t. It makes me think of old houses. Or haunted houses. Or houses that aren’t kept up with.
They said the old Victorian mansion on the hill was haunted, so when she walked by, she took a closer look. The ivy covered stone pillars at the entry where surely just decorative, and even though the garden was cluttered in weeds, it looked habitable. But what made her disbelieve the clichéd rumor was the the young girl at the open window, waving at her.
the only thing i can say about this word, is that i like this word