The pattern on her cloak was one of stars
dark and shimmering and not-quite sheer
a melancholy of whirling colors, etched
themselves into my memory.
The color of her hair was one of light,
a buttery gold of a butterfly’s wing,
unfolding in the sky.
the tender leaf of her apple-bright eyes
blinked at me once, twice,
not-so subtly.
I grinned at her, nodded, extended one hand,
clutched her thumb to mine, her palm against my palm,
fingers intertwined. her eyes were large and liquid and hollow,
her wrists skinny, her stature short and gracile and somehow
uncertain. a small figure, a shadow on the edge of my vision,
a heart like the baby bird with its broken feathers,
one I could have crushed underneath my bare feet.
but instead, I plucked a fallen star from her slender shoulders
shook the burnt sugar from her syrup-bronzed tresses
folded a fallen leaf from my pocket into hers,
and reminded her never
to let go.
Everywhere I looked I saw them. In the walls, in the skies, even in my path in life. How I’d gotten here, I can’t say, but the future is clear. I’ll do what I’ve done. I’ll be who I’ve been. And when it’s all said and done, my path, both past and future, will have been inevitable all the while.
todd jenking
It happens again. I go back to you and it’s like I’m stuck in my own entrapment. I’m on a railroad that has no end. It circles around its self in an infinity of doubt. I feel the pattern of the tracks under my feet, bumping, bumping, bumping my lonely cart along it. It is the same day after day, and I feel like you know this is happening. Your smile contains the piano keys that I play unconsciously, the same melody beating again and again against your heart, flooding into mine. It’s a pattern of need and want. Of lust and guilt. And I can’t stop. Your hands shape mine into cookie cutter hearts, shaping my thoughts toward you, and no matter how I fight I can feel the pattern of my OWN hands ri–ri–ripping into my own heart. I shouldn’t be here. I should have control of my own heart. But with each buh-bump, buh-bump…I can only hear your name.
It’s a fractal, that’s what this pattern is. At first it seemed normal, checked triangles. Then, looking deeper, it repeated itself, was itself. I got out a microscope, looked at one of the tiny triangles, it was the same as one of the big ones. That’s how you stitch a magic carpet.
ellimistd
I use a pattern to knit something. We print out the patterns. A pattern is also a sequence of related things, like: square circle triangle square circle triangle square circle triangle.
Damaris
There was a patch work pattern on her apron. I made it nearly to her naval and would always look up into her smiling black face. I didn’t understand race then. I didn’t understand the mobs that chased her neighbors out of town, or so she told me. I only understand that I love that woman more than I loved my own mother. My own mother didn’t seem to exist in my world; there was only Abby. I remember making my first song on the piano and the woman I wanted to tell most in the world, was Abby.
Mary Willingham
There is a pattern in your heart. It is curious. It loves secretly but screams outwardly. I love it. I love you. I love your flawed patterns.
Rebecca Tacke
Pattern’s are everywhere. In the sky, in the land, and forever after in her broken fragile mind.
J
Don’t conform to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Patterns create a real unity and formality to this world of ever changing circumstances.it is one thing that is normal in society. We can trust patterns the way we cannot trust anything else in the world.
Michael Dixon
the pattern of the canvas matched the interior of the new car. The colors blended seamlessly as the waters broke across the bow of the ship. As the plot developed a pattern emerged and truths were soon revealed
Jacob Mackey
Used for knitting and sewing. If only I knew how to then I would commit to making my future children’s clothes. But it is also simply organization. Patterns allow for understanding.
Annalyn Miller
I looked at her, and she looked back at me. She’d smile, and so would I. Then we’d look away. And so the pattern repeated as it did, and little did I know, this time it had a different sequence. For that night, was the night that changed my world forever. I looked her dead in the eye, and she didn’t hesitate to say that magical word; “Yes.”
Alyx
I can’t seem to remember how this all began. Everything the same, every single day. Just a pattern, repeating infinitely. Maybe this is the result of living in a small town. Or perhaps it’s for everyone’s own comfort. All I know is, I want to break away from it all.
There are tons of patters in our world. Every thing has patterns. Animals, clothing, people. Patterns appeal to the eye, but they have to be easy to look at to have the eye be able to flow through the pattern. Patterns are beautiful and make our world a more beautiful place. They appeal to the eye.
Heather
maybe patterns. cause they beat me to the punch.
coog
people see patterns in everything, clouds in the sky, prints from a finger, inkblot tests, but none of it is real. our brain makes up patterns for us to play with in our minds, they are nothing but figments of our imaginations
Harriet
A pattern can be seen in math, in art, in songs; in essence, patterns are everywhere. Things cannot be made without a pattern. Things cannot exist without patterns. A pattern can be repetitive numbers in a problem, repetitive symbols or meanings in paintings and other artwork, or repetitive notes or melody in a piece of music.
Cassandra
life, colour, paths, blue, green, forrest is what i think os, maybe by a lake, tree patterns or even roads patterns , mistakes maybe or even succeses who knows i dont know maybe shapes a fabric pattern or blueprints to a house …life.
melanie
pattern make up life the course you take through out the day, the way you talk and even the way you think patterns define you, you must break the pattern be unexpected.
matt
The curtains were patterned with beige little flowers. It was all she remember about her mother, and the only thing that Eddie Viccellio had failed to throw out when he’d purged the house of his wife’s memory. The curtains hung in the bedroom, flowed in the wind, nearly shimmered. One day, when Evey went to see them again, they were gone.
And that was the last she knew of her mother.
something that has repetition and organization
it is reliable and will not change unexpectedly
an attitude that can ruin any relationship
may become
amanda
i love patterns in clothing. some i feel are a bit dated tho. color blocking seems a more than patterns in my opinion. i remember this afghan quilt from somewhere and the one my mom used to have in the family room. it was blue, brown, red, it got so dusty after a while i hated how cold the holes were…
Emily
I love the pattern of love. Falling fast and hard in the beginning then slowing down and truly enjoying each others company.
Brandi
pattern. this makes me think of art class. but it also makes me think about psychology, and how in social psych we are always trying to find patterns. But art class, the way that creating a patter, something perfect that repeats over and over again, like it is computer generated. its impossible. Like realism, making a pattern is like impossible and amazing.
Kyla Covey
this life, this gettting by shit,
it seems like a pattern.
You know?
Day in, day out.
I feel like my life has finally found something hidden in it.
17 years gone by.
I’m stuck in that age between youngin’ and adult
I don’t know what its like to have that sort of life style.
To be a teen
To live it up, as my peers say.
Because for a while now,
I’ve been playing adult for four years.
And never once did I live up my life.
Day in day out,
My life has a pattern.
Andrea Diaz
I was just thinking about getting into a zone, getting into a mode that everything lines up right and the outskirts blur. A chí or some sort of “being one with whatever” type of vibe, where you’re on it and there’s absolutely nothing that can fuck with the feeling. To achieve that takes, in my opinion, two things that can only be done when they’re being done: being in the right place at the right time, and developing a pattern that gets you back into that mode…warmed up.
On a more personal note, I feel like I’m in a solid spot, but that pattern…I’ve lost the steps and could use a map or some sort of outline. But isn’t that too easy? Maybe. . . but then again, I’m kinda broke, so I’ll take what I can get.
They are seen in everything. Our lives consist of patterns.
Delanie
Patterns everywhere, all the time. Never-ending cycles of the sameness. Life is patterns. Must stop the patterns, must break free. We’ll see what could happen.
shape, knitting, over and over and over again, repeat, alvin, different pattern different relationship, new love, no pattern, happiness, food, similar, cut, cancer, disease, overwhelmed, pie, shaz, dance, kisses, found you, happiness, gifts, forgot the question and the point of this, what is a pattern, cant think, cant remember the definition, its just repetition of a sequence over and over again..to form a specific… something… no words confused darn
martha
i really like colorful patterns. we learned in psych that babies also like colorful patterns. they cant see intricate light colored patterns and it doesn’t stimulate their brain even though they look really pretty.
Ally
Her actions go in patterns. Simple ones, getting more difficult as she gets older. Everything gets more difficult for her.
pammi
Her behavior was an endless pattern that everyone had memorized and ignored. First she hated her relationship to the world, then she would yell at everyone, then acted like a two year. People were sick of her pointless, worthless, pattern that had everyone pulling their hair out trying to comprehend her stupidity
Caroline Schwab
The world was grey, and greyness lay across it. There was nothing but the same endless, featureless, expanse of cloud. Once upon a time, children lay on their backs and looked for patterns in summer wisps of white on blue. Once upon a time.
Pattern again. Lets see what I would write now. When I see patterns my eyes follow a journey of colors, repetition, shapes, and lines. My eyes get lost in the design only to confuse my brain and give it peace. It seems like pattern can solve our problems but really we see that repeating history has only hurt us.
a pattern is something predictable. it repeats. goes on and on. kind of like a strong relationship. it keeps going, repeating the good and the bad. but never running out or failing. never making a mistake. always moving onward.
Jessica
I’m not seeing the pattern here. The way your fingers press and lift, caressing skin like you were trying to tell a story, like you were writing a letter in invisible ink over the curves of my body, hoping that somehow, it’d mean something to me.
I think, if you wrote a letter on my skin, it’d be a thank you note. Or an I Hate You one. Something sentimental. Like a break up, done in verse. Or a change over from across time – sealed with a kiss from a romantic past we never enjoyed.
It was a pattern punctuated by the problems of the past and present. Ever winding bad habits into fibers of her life. Would that she could change herself as she changed the world.
Pattern. Design. Circles, Stripes. Green, blue, red, purple. Pattern is something that brings it all together. Why not add some pattern to your everyday? Pattern is order. Funky. Anything you want it to be.
The pattern on her cloak was one of stars
dark and shimmering and not-quite sheer
a melancholy of whirling colors, etched
themselves into my memory.
The color of her hair was one of light,
a buttery gold of a butterfly’s wing,
unfolding in the sky.
the tender leaf of her apple-bright eyes
blinked at me once, twice,
not-so subtly.
I grinned at her, nodded, extended one hand,
clutched her thumb to mine, her palm against my palm,
fingers intertwined. her eyes were large and liquid and hollow,
her wrists skinny, her stature short and gracile and somehow
uncertain. a small figure, a shadow on the edge of my vision,
a heart like the baby bird with its broken feathers,
one I could have crushed underneath my bare feet.
but instead, I plucked a fallen star from her slender shoulders
shook the burnt sugar from her syrup-bronzed tresses
folded a fallen leaf from my pocket into hers,
and reminded her never
to let go.
Everywhere I looked I saw them. In the walls, in the skies, even in my path in life. How I’d gotten here, I can’t say, but the future is clear. I’ll do what I’ve done. I’ll be who I’ve been. And when it’s all said and done, my path, both past and future, will have been inevitable all the while.
It happens again. I go back to you and it’s like I’m stuck in my own entrapment. I’m on a railroad that has no end. It circles around its self in an infinity of doubt. I feel the pattern of the tracks under my feet, bumping, bumping, bumping my lonely cart along it. It is the same day after day, and I feel like you know this is happening. Your smile contains the piano keys that I play unconsciously, the same melody beating again and again against your heart, flooding into mine. It’s a pattern of need and want. Of lust and guilt. And I can’t stop. Your hands shape mine into cookie cutter hearts, shaping my thoughts toward you, and no matter how I fight I can feel the pattern of my OWN hands ri–ri–ripping into my own heart. I shouldn’t be here. I should have control of my own heart. But with each buh-bump, buh-bump…I can only hear your name.
It’s a fractal, that’s what this pattern is. At first it seemed normal, checked triangles. Then, looking deeper, it repeated itself, was itself. I got out a microscope, looked at one of the tiny triangles, it was the same as one of the big ones. That’s how you stitch a magic carpet.
I use a pattern to knit something. We print out the patterns. A pattern is also a sequence of related things, like: square circle triangle square circle triangle square circle triangle.
There was a patch work pattern on her apron. I made it nearly to her naval and would always look up into her smiling black face. I didn’t understand race then. I didn’t understand the mobs that chased her neighbors out of town, or so she told me. I only understand that I love that woman more than I loved my own mother. My own mother didn’t seem to exist in my world; there was only Abby. I remember making my first song on the piano and the woman I wanted to tell most in the world, was Abby.
There is a pattern in your heart. It is curious. It loves secretly but screams outwardly. I love it. I love you. I love your flawed patterns.
Pattern’s are everywhere. In the sky, in the land, and forever after in her broken fragile mind.
Don’t conform to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Patterns create a real unity and formality to this world of ever changing circumstances.it is one thing that is normal in society. We can trust patterns the way we cannot trust anything else in the world.
the pattern of the canvas matched the interior of the new car. The colors blended seamlessly as the waters broke across the bow of the ship. As the plot developed a pattern emerged and truths were soon revealed
Used for knitting and sewing. If only I knew how to then I would commit to making my future children’s clothes. But it is also simply organization. Patterns allow for understanding.
I looked at her, and she looked back at me. She’d smile, and so would I. Then we’d look away. And so the pattern repeated as it did, and little did I know, this time it had a different sequence. For that night, was the night that changed my world forever. I looked her dead in the eye, and she didn’t hesitate to say that magical word; “Yes.”
I can’t seem to remember how this all began. Everything the same, every single day. Just a pattern, repeating infinitely. Maybe this is the result of living in a small town. Or perhaps it’s for everyone’s own comfort. All I know is, I want to break away from it all.
There are tons of patters in our world. Every thing has patterns. Animals, clothing, people. Patterns appeal to the eye, but they have to be easy to look at to have the eye be able to flow through the pattern. Patterns are beautiful and make our world a more beautiful place. They appeal to the eye.
maybe patterns. cause they beat me to the punch.
people see patterns in everything, clouds in the sky, prints from a finger, inkblot tests, but none of it is real. our brain makes up patterns for us to play with in our minds, they are nothing but figments of our imaginations
A pattern can be seen in math, in art, in songs; in essence, patterns are everywhere. Things cannot be made without a pattern. Things cannot exist without patterns. A pattern can be repetitive numbers in a problem, repetitive symbols or meanings in paintings and other artwork, or repetitive notes or melody in a piece of music.
life, colour, paths, blue, green, forrest is what i think os, maybe by a lake, tree patterns or even roads patterns , mistakes maybe or even succeses who knows i dont know maybe shapes a fabric pattern or blueprints to a house …life.
pattern make up life the course you take through out the day, the way you talk and even the way you think patterns define you, you must break the pattern be unexpected.
The curtains were patterned with beige little flowers. It was all she remember about her mother, and the only thing that Eddie Viccellio had failed to throw out when he’d purged the house of his wife’s memory. The curtains hung in the bedroom, flowed in the wind, nearly shimmered. One day, when Evey went to see them again, they were gone.
And that was the last she knew of her mother.
something that has repetition and organization
it is reliable and will not change unexpectedly
an attitude that can ruin any relationship
may become
i love patterns in clothing. some i feel are a bit dated tho. color blocking seems a more than patterns in my opinion. i remember this afghan quilt from somewhere and the one my mom used to have in the family room. it was blue, brown, red, it got so dusty after a while i hated how cold the holes were…
I love the pattern of love. Falling fast and hard in the beginning then slowing down and truly enjoying each others company.
pattern. this makes me think of art class. but it also makes me think about psychology, and how in social psych we are always trying to find patterns. But art class, the way that creating a patter, something perfect that repeats over and over again, like it is computer generated. its impossible. Like realism, making a pattern is like impossible and amazing.
this life, this gettting by shit,
it seems like a pattern.
You know?
Day in, day out.
I feel like my life has finally found something hidden in it.
17 years gone by.
I’m stuck in that age between youngin’ and adult
I don’t know what its like to have that sort of life style.
To be a teen
To live it up, as my peers say.
Because for a while now,
I’ve been playing adult for four years.
And never once did I live up my life.
Day in day out,
My life has a pattern.
I was just thinking about getting into a zone, getting into a mode that everything lines up right and the outskirts blur. A chí or some sort of “being one with whatever” type of vibe, where you’re on it and there’s absolutely nothing that can fuck with the feeling. To achieve that takes, in my opinion, two things that can only be done when they’re being done: being in the right place at the right time, and developing a pattern that gets you back into that mode…warmed up.
On a more personal note, I feel like I’m in a solid spot, but that pattern…I’ve lost the steps and could use a map or some sort of outline. But isn’t that too easy? Maybe. . . but then again, I’m kinda broke, so I’ll take what I can get.
They are seen in everything. Our lives consist of patterns.
Patterns everywhere, all the time. Never-ending cycles of the sameness. Life is patterns. Must stop the patterns, must break free. We’ll see what could happen.
shape, knitting, over and over and over again, repeat, alvin, different pattern different relationship, new love, no pattern, happiness, food, similar, cut, cancer, disease, overwhelmed, pie, shaz, dance, kisses, found you, happiness, gifts, forgot the question and the point of this, what is a pattern, cant think, cant remember the definition, its just repetition of a sequence over and over again..to form a specific… something… no words confused darn
i really like colorful patterns. we learned in psych that babies also like colorful patterns. they cant see intricate light colored patterns and it doesn’t stimulate their brain even though they look really pretty.
Her actions go in patterns. Simple ones, getting more difficult as she gets older. Everything gets more difficult for her.
Her behavior was an endless pattern that everyone had memorized and ignored. First she hated her relationship to the world, then she would yell at everyone, then acted like a two year. People were sick of her pointless, worthless, pattern that had everyone pulling their hair out trying to comprehend her stupidity
The world was grey, and greyness lay across it. There was nothing but the same endless, featureless, expanse of cloud. Once upon a time, children lay on their backs and looked for patterns in summer wisps of white on blue. Once upon a time.
Pattern again. Lets see what I would write now. When I see patterns my eyes follow a journey of colors, repetition, shapes, and lines. My eyes get lost in the design only to confuse my brain and give it peace. It seems like pattern can solve our problems but really we see that repeating history has only hurt us.
a pattern is something predictable. it repeats. goes on and on. kind of like a strong relationship. it keeps going, repeating the good and the bad. but never running out or failing. never making a mistake. always moving onward.
I’m not seeing the pattern here. The way your fingers press and lift, caressing skin like you were trying to tell a story, like you were writing a letter in invisible ink over the curves of my body, hoping that somehow, it’d mean something to me.
I think, if you wrote a letter on my skin, it’d be a thank you note. Or an I Hate You one. Something sentimental. Like a break up, done in verse. Or a change over from across time – sealed with a kiss from a romantic past we never enjoyed.
It was a pattern punctuated by the problems of the past and present. Ever winding bad habits into fibers of her life. Would that she could change herself as she changed the world.
A pattern has evolved, and I can never seem to get everything done that needs done. The pattern has to change.
“Yes!”, said Isabel. She was excited with her new pattern for her first American outlet. She will have defied all expectations from her co-workers.
Pattern. Design. Circles, Stripes. Green, blue, red, purple. Pattern is something that brings it all together. Why not add some pattern to your everyday? Pattern is order. Funky. Anything you want it to be.