field. daisies. summer. breezes. dandelions. butterflies. clouds and blue skies. beauty. unique. fleeting. pink yellow white purple blues. Tom Petty’s song. free.
Kim
sunny and beautiful and sunshine and summertime. and you can smell them in the field next to annas. they’re prettier than anything grown in a green house and they inspire more awe. i used to gather them and now i just like to sit among them and pretend i am one. who needs a bouquet when you have the whole field? sunbathed and yellow and gold in the deepest august of the world.
haha
yellow fireworks hidden amongst the spurting grass in an uncut field. running barefoot through it, the tickles turn to itches healed by muddy puddles.
sarah
theres a big flower. so beautiful. i want it. its so wild. so out of my league. but ill have it one day. and i will make her fall for me twice as hard as i fell for her. that wild. flower.
danny b
something you see in the wild
Crystal Gibbs
they seem to grow in abundance around here. i am somehow — simultaneously, gratefully, inspired and divinely jealous; breathing in the stink of their petals, some flawed, yet all imperfectly, beautifully breathtaking. this little garden cultivated in my heart and printed on the pages of the diary at the back of my mind; the soil is moist and dark and our roots tickle each other. We struggle to grow, ache to bloom, and let the bumble bees share our nectar as they buzz from blog to blog.
lizziface
where is it? had it a moment ago. not the buttons, though i have dropped it there before a few times. not with the coins. no, no, no! this disapoints me so. i will meditate on this tomorrow.
Bob
pretty pink flowers spread across the meadow, exuding exotic smells that drift into my nostrils and make me sneeze, thanks to my allergies. achoo!
Bill
If life was a garden than she had to be some kind of wild flower with beautiful, vibrat peatles while he was nothing more than a weed.
T
wild like clouds who fight and are mashed potatoes and there are wolves under them, howling, cheering them on.
flying pollen fists pounding and exploding petals and beauty in abandoned lots and miserable rocky fields.
kaitlin
the wildflowers grew on that field that he always passed on his way to school, and he always wanted to take a few to give to her, he knew she would be waiting at the corner.. even if she would never admit she was there just for him, he could tell in her eyes that she did, and maybe tomorrow he would casually drop a flower by her feet and pretend it never happened, like she pretends he doesn’t exist.
lilly
Wildflowers each have their own spirit. They are always free to be anything they want. Coming in a multitued of colors, they can paint a canvas of color on a mountain side. Reflecting sharply against the rock, protruding as if floating in space and time.
It was late summer in Crested Butte and the wildflowers covered every open pasture in sight. I took out my little brother’s robot and set it to “collect”. I neglected, however, to specify “wildflowers” and it proceeded to
Mitch
a flower that is wild. its not as simple as it sounds. there’s so much dept theat this flower goes into. its unique.
gary
Wildflowers are to flowers like I am to you. You lock yourself in a prison of beliefs and misconceptions. I push against my walls and try to free myself. Someday you’ll break a wall and you’ll love it… I can’t wait. :]
Corey V
i love wild flowers. my mother used to collect them when we would go camping when i was younger. we would both just wander into fields and pick them, but we never picked the same kind twice. she doesn’t collect wildflowers anymore, just rocks. rocks that don’t even have luster.
josh
My mind wanders to the fields of ancient times, when there were no cities, no smog, no cars, no nothing. Only the gentle breeze and the wildflower. Maybe an animal or to. Maybe not. I think of the world and anything in it; I think of eternity.
Magnus Ziegler
These ar a little too pretty for my taste and i hate the way that the government uses them as an excuse not to mow the sides of the road, but i guess that i appreciate them for what the are. That’s it.
Ryan
She is a wildflower. Fragile and vulnerable but beautiful in her prime. She droops when picked. Thirsty.
She loves the sun.
Jennifer
sneezing and beatiful ragweed green yellow uncontrollable without cause or reason unconventionale
jim
Walking down the path of wildflowers felt like eons of sweet divinity. They were as tall as the jolly green giant and were fragrant with the smell of rainbow chocolate kisses. I’d spend my life there if I could.
Stephanie
pretty little flower in a field, looking up to see more of them, all around, surrounding you, vibrant colors of all shades, for as far as the eye can see.
Radin
in her hair, the typical awful hippy that had only had the half a tab of acid and now thought that she knew the secrets of the univers, in all their technicolor, leaky glory. In reality she was fat and lonely and had no idea that the man that she had chained herself to emotionally would turn out to be the first in a long line of disappointments.
bob
blue and yellow wave
by the roadside
in my memory
along with splashes of pink
we don’t get those here
too hot
too dry
too dirty
no wildflowers
too sad
too bad
Rainy
unkempt,
untamed,
unbroken.
i remember back to when i was.
Sylvia
oh the beautiful wildflowers that carpet the valley in spring… they take away my breath and beg me to find peace. How can others walk by without a simple gratitude expressed for such natural beauty – surely this is gods work!
gems
christy was a wildflower
thought she had all the power
flower, flower
christy was a wildflower
jenna was a weed
on other she’d feed
weed, weed
jenna was a weed
garden of dope
you think
we could all
just cope
garden, garden
has made me harden
sharee
You belong among the people who have given up and then started to give again
The relaxation factor isn’t amiss if you just enjoy the ride
We keep goin but never have the time
To smell the sounds we appreciate while skipping over time
Psycho D
The wilderness hid it well. Although the price was high – the graal, the saviour of any troubled mind, there were little to challenge the forces of nature. The seed of serenity layed dormant. The bequest is still to be reached within ourselves.
THANK YOU FOR THIS PAGE.
English is not my native language,
I didn’t expect myself to write like that.
Hubert
this is a stupid word. wildflower is a hippy term that makes me want to cut down trees just so i can feel better about myself. it makes me happy not to be a hippy. im going to eat tons of meat and refuse to recycle for the next year just so i piss off everyone that cares about that shit. the world is going to end. we will find technology to fix everything. fuck hippies and their tree hugging wildflower ways. i wonder who will actually read this. i saw a video of people crying over cut down trees the other day. i came all over the screen because it mad me laugh so hard. i watched it 2 more times and every time i wanted to die with laughter. thanks hippies for entertaining me. but seriously. your gay.
Robertson Howard
there is a flower blowing in the wind set free from roots not gravity pulled down in dirt bothered by bees, peed upon or abused with feces
Chad Menegay
in full bloom
swaying with the light breeze in the dry dreary day of june
peachybree
what is a wildflower?? how wild is it? is it mean? is it calm? the opposite of a wallflower? are there domesticated flowers? what color are they-stripes or spots? do they eat other flowers? are they dangerous? are they endangered?
harrison george
I see deep purple in the wind stroked field behind my parents’ house and the sunset over the river is hazy in the distance.
Apoptosis
Dungarees
David Aslan French
Oh no! I cannot think of what to write because wildflowers are as generic as roses in writing.
Chantal
i like them. but sometime the are poisonous. sometime some girls are compared to wildflowers to emphasize their natural beauty.
tanvir
60 seconds to write about ‘wildflower’…
the possibilities are endless.
also, its 1 in the morning. Kaylas making me do this.
shableeb
it’s beautiful and gorgeous, too bad it’s rarely seen these days.
field. daisies. summer. breezes. dandelions. butterflies. clouds and blue skies. beauty. unique. fleeting. pink yellow white purple blues. Tom Petty’s song. free.
sunny and beautiful and sunshine and summertime. and you can smell them in the field next to annas. they’re prettier than anything grown in a green house and they inspire more awe. i used to gather them and now i just like to sit among them and pretend i am one. who needs a bouquet when you have the whole field? sunbathed and yellow and gold in the deepest august of the world.
yellow fireworks hidden amongst the spurting grass in an uncut field. running barefoot through it, the tickles turn to itches healed by muddy puddles.
theres a big flower. so beautiful. i want it. its so wild. so out of my league. but ill have it one day. and i will make her fall for me twice as hard as i fell for her. that wild. flower.
something you see in the wild
they seem to grow in abundance around here. i am somehow — simultaneously, gratefully, inspired and divinely jealous; breathing in the stink of their petals, some flawed, yet all imperfectly, beautifully breathtaking. this little garden cultivated in my heart and printed on the pages of the diary at the back of my mind; the soil is moist and dark and our roots tickle each other. We struggle to grow, ache to bloom, and let the bumble bees share our nectar as they buzz from blog to blog.
where is it? had it a moment ago. not the buttons, though i have dropped it there before a few times. not with the coins. no, no, no! this disapoints me so. i will meditate on this tomorrow.
pretty pink flowers spread across the meadow, exuding exotic smells that drift into my nostrils and make me sneeze, thanks to my allergies. achoo!
If life was a garden than she had to be some kind of wild flower with beautiful, vibrat peatles while he was nothing more than a weed.
wild like clouds who fight and are mashed potatoes and there are wolves under them, howling, cheering them on.
flying pollen fists pounding and exploding petals and beauty in abandoned lots and miserable rocky fields.
the wildflowers grew on that field that he always passed on his way to school, and he always wanted to take a few to give to her, he knew she would be waiting at the corner.. even if she would never admit she was there just for him, he could tell in her eyes that she did, and maybe tomorrow he would casually drop a flower by her feet and pretend it never happened, like she pretends he doesn’t exist.
Wildflowers each have their own spirit. They are always free to be anything they want. Coming in a multitued of colors, they can paint a canvas of color on a mountain side. Reflecting sharply against the rock, protruding as if floating in space and time.
baloney, purple, pansy, water, smell nice, warm, windy, field, buttercup, purple, blue, green leaves, wild, sunny day, fall, autumn, bobbing head, looking, visual,
It was late summer in Crested Butte and the wildflowers covered every open pasture in sight. I took out my little brother’s robot and set it to “collect”. I neglected, however, to specify “wildflowers” and it proceeded to
a flower that is wild. its not as simple as it sounds. there’s so much dept theat this flower goes into. its unique.
Wildflowers are to flowers like I am to you. You lock yourself in a prison of beliefs and misconceptions. I push against my walls and try to free myself. Someday you’ll break a wall and you’ll love it… I can’t wait. :]
i love wild flowers. my mother used to collect them when we would go camping when i was younger. we would both just wander into fields and pick them, but we never picked the same kind twice. she doesn’t collect wildflowers anymore, just rocks. rocks that don’t even have luster.
My mind wanders to the fields of ancient times, when there were no cities, no smog, no cars, no nothing. Only the gentle breeze and the wildflower. Maybe an animal or to. Maybe not. I think of the world and anything in it; I think of eternity.
These ar a little too pretty for my taste and i hate the way that the government uses them as an excuse not to mow the sides of the road, but i guess that i appreciate them for what the are. That’s it.
She is a wildflower. Fragile and vulnerable but beautiful in her prime. She droops when picked. Thirsty.
She loves the sun.
sneezing and beatiful ragweed green yellow uncontrollable without cause or reason unconventionale
Walking down the path of wildflowers felt like eons of sweet divinity. They were as tall as the jolly green giant and were fragrant with the smell of rainbow chocolate kisses. I’d spend my life there if I could.
pretty little flower in a field, looking up to see more of them, all around, surrounding you, vibrant colors of all shades, for as far as the eye can see.
in her hair, the typical awful hippy that had only had the half a tab of acid and now thought that she knew the secrets of the univers, in all their technicolor, leaky glory. In reality she was fat and lonely and had no idea that the man that she had chained herself to emotionally would turn out to be the first in a long line of disappointments.
blue and yellow wave
by the roadside
in my memory
along with splashes of pink
we don’t get those here
too hot
too dry
too dirty
no wildflowers
too sad
too bad
unkempt,
untamed,
unbroken.
i remember back to when i was.
oh the beautiful wildflowers that carpet the valley in spring… they take away my breath and beg me to find peace. How can others walk by without a simple gratitude expressed for such natural beauty – surely this is gods work!
christy was a wildflower
thought she had all the power
flower, flower
christy was a wildflower
jenna was a weed
on other she’d feed
weed, weed
jenna was a weed
garden of dope
you think
we could all
just cope
garden, garden
has made me harden
You belong among the people who have given up and then started to give again
The relaxation factor isn’t amiss if you just enjoy the ride
We keep goin but never have the time
To smell the sounds we appreciate while skipping over time
The wilderness hid it well. Although the price was high – the graal, the saviour of any troubled mind, there were little to challenge the forces of nature. The seed of serenity layed dormant. The bequest is still to be reached within ourselves.
THANK YOU FOR THIS PAGE.
English is not my native language,
I didn’t expect myself to write like that.
this is a stupid word. wildflower is a hippy term that makes me want to cut down trees just so i can feel better about myself. it makes me happy not to be a hippy. im going to eat tons of meat and refuse to recycle for the next year just so i piss off everyone that cares about that shit. the world is going to end. we will find technology to fix everything. fuck hippies and their tree hugging wildflower ways. i wonder who will actually read this. i saw a video of people crying over cut down trees the other day. i came all over the screen because it mad me laugh so hard. i watched it 2 more times and every time i wanted to die with laughter. thanks hippies for entertaining me. but seriously. your gay.
there is a flower blowing in the wind set free from roots not gravity pulled down in dirt bothered by bees, peed upon or abused with feces
in full bloom
swaying with the light breeze in the dry dreary day of june
what is a wildflower?? how wild is it? is it mean? is it calm? the opposite of a wallflower? are there domesticated flowers? what color are they-stripes or spots? do they eat other flowers? are they dangerous? are they endangered?
I see deep purple in the wind stroked field behind my parents’ house and the sunset over the river is hazy in the distance.
Dungarees
Oh no! I cannot think of what to write because wildflowers are as generic as roses in writing.
i like them. but sometime the are poisonous. sometime some girls are compared to wildflowers to emphasize their natural beauty.
60 seconds to write about ‘wildflower’…
the possibilities are endless.
also, its 1 in the morning. Kaylas making me do this.
it’s beautiful and gorgeous, too bad it’s rarely seen these days.