Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

September 18, 2018, 09:42:00 PM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti

Saturday-Homesick



Word of the Day
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1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Bathtub on: April 25, 2018, 04:39:55 PM
The traction mat digs into your feet as hot water pelts your back. You move so it hits an itch like a cat adjusting so you're petting it in the right place. Shallow green eyes and a pink nose, thinning out over the years. Heart pounding as you race her to the vet, stoplights taking longer than normal and the rush hour traffic blinding in the afternoon sun. Birds in a massive cage hop from branch to branch of a possibly fake tree. Heads turn from the road, trying to catch a glimpse of tropical wings. A neat hedge kept by a man whose lawn is never anything less than pristine. The sprinkler system has been quiet since the water shortage had been announced, and now everything sits out in the heat and seethes, baking but not rising, and certainly not desirable. The kitchen is fumigated with the smell of hot, sweet banana bread. Gloves on, ready for work. An ax cuts heavily at a stray branch that's being stretched out by a kid in a red hat and STAFF written across the back of his gray, likely sweaty shirt. The college kids are just waking up, emerging from their holes in sweatpants and heavy shirts to remain comfortable while combating the still cold air blowing out of the west. 
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Spy on: April 12, 2018, 09:46:21 PM
Laminated book covers, recognizable magnifying glass and inventive settings. Searching through a clutter of toys scattered haphazardly across a dark wooden desk. Jacks and bouncy balls in a coin-operated machine at the local diner. Grease rises like a ghost from the grill, haunting the restaurant with tempting smells. Red meat slowly browns on the hot cook top, blood rising and pooling on top. Oil stings my arms as I rotate the wooden handle of the popcorn maker, listening for the characteristic pop from which the snack gets its name. Garlic salt and onion powder mingle with red wine in a pasta sauce, slowly simmering on over medium-low heat on the back burner. Paper towels are strewn about the counter, replacing the plates that are being massaged by the hot, churning water in the dish washer. Smell of dish soap and buffalo sauce, so pungent you recoil from your position hovering over the pan. Crackle of water evaporating as it hits hot iron. The white stove is stained from breakfast's eggs and chorizo, and the trash can is nearly full.   
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Doctor on: April 05, 2018, 07:50:27 PM
Tongue depressors in a glass jar. Smell of alcohol and cooling sensation on my arm prior to the needle's sharp sting. Bloody cotton balls and tissues line the trash. Blood pressure normal, hand uncomfortable as it lies limp at your side. Children's books occupy a rack next to the empty desk. Blank forms sorted neatly in the cabinets, binders filled with records and who knows what- little plastic colored tabs keep everything organized. Little paper cups hang from the water cooler, which bubbles intermittently as air escapes into the new tank. Examining the posters, eyes crawling down the back of a cartoon man's throat. Your lips rub together nervously, tongue wetting them subconsciously every few minutes. Black hair shines in the fluorescent light, olive skin darkened in shadow. Vibrant blue eyes listen patiently, still and looking into mine. Wood pan
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Omelet on: March 28, 2018, 05:23:32 PM
Salt, cheese, roast beef? You are enjoying the evening, but still feel a twisting guilt when you think about leaving tomorrow. Tired on an airplane, bumping through the rough spring air. Looking down through clear skies on rivers of shadow and the circular fields of New Mexico or maybe Texas- it's hard to be sure. A mountain reaches conspicuously, its red slopes glowing in the sinking sun. The ground is orange and gray, and the brightly colored cars are white specks. Your neck sweats into a blue, bean bag pillow. Your glance volleys between the book of poetry you're mindlessly scanning and the computer on which your brother has downloaded episodes of The Simpsons and The Office. Thick black ink bleeds into an already full notebook. Sweet apple juice soothes your throat. A child yells out from somewhere behind you. The air is cold on your hands and you're glad you wore a sweatshirt. 
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Pipe Organ on: March 27, 2018, 05:21:20 PM
Thundering pipes shake the frame of the church, high, vaulted ceiling towering above. Leaning against a thick blue and red pillar, I follow along with a ballad from a faux-leather bound hymnal. Clean and simple serif-ed fonts outline the lyrics, copyright printed at the bottom. I try to guess when the song was written as I fall into a verse that I've committed to memory over the years. The priest and deacon wait for bread and wine to be brought up by a little, brightly-dressed family who take slow, deliberate steps up the aisle. The scent of incense hangs thin in the glowing summer air. The collar of my shirt flips up and I'm constantly fighting its tickle on my neck. Parents to the left, dad blows his nose and stuffs the tissue into his pocket. The laminate had been scratched from the pews and there are light spots where hands have lingered. A child in front of me eats animal crackers, which is probably the only thing keeping him quiet- a coloring book with bright, lively cartoon characters on the cover sits next to him. Blood of Christ, watery wine in a deep, gold chalice. Turquoise tiles stretch underfoot, and muted paintings line the walls.   
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Trumpet on: March 21, 2018, 06:35:18 PM
Bright, brassy sound fills the small, padded rehearsal studio. A webbed window looks out into the white and blue hallway where a student waits for her piano lesson. Laptop open with backing tracks and hundreds of lead sheets. The toilet flushes in the next room, and notes scale upward in harmony. The dim lights in the plaza outside glow orange, every now and then eclipsed by a maintenance worker or tae kwan do student. Sweaty mats stacked at the end of the day. The traffic in the usually busy parking has thinned out and now only a few cars shine in the streetlights. A Dairy Queen glows red and blue, the colors running in the puddles left by a cold February rain. You become aware of your inadequacy in such a small room with a master of his craft. Eyes over the lenses of his glasses, beard between his lips and the mouthpiece. Warm, clean, full sound- not airy in the least. You notice the paint flaking near the hinge of the door. A cold, dry grocery store serves only a few eccentric shoppers and graduate students who went straight from work to night class. Gas is pumped across the street for two dollars per gallon, and every fast food chain one could need is across the street from that. Smokey buffalo sauce on shredded chicken with mashed potatoes for a cheap lunch. Rice casually   
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / paintbrush on: January 10, 2018, 08:58:22 PM
Cold water on dry hands. Bloody cracks in the white of the canvas. Colors running, breaking boundaries, rebelling against human will. Years of practice, learning the rules to break them. Pungent fumes, glossy coat and stained knuckles. The color changes slowly as it dries, becoming one with the surface. Breaking for a muffin, the sugary banana flavor gets stuck in your throat and teeth. Cheesy scent of bland pizza being mass-prepared for four hundred kids at lunch. A woman's netted, curly hair bobs to a top-40 tune on the radio. Narrow alleys, dark corners. Kitchens are for the cook, not the client. A black stairwell goes down to the men's locker room. Football helmets line the concrete walls, gold paint drying. A fan keeps the air moving and provides noise. Walking quickly with short, shallow breaths. Clanging of lockers and clearing hallways. Nostalgic posters from musicals past. Name on a plaque, immortalized for twenty years until they need more space. Patterns in glass windows. Incense flows from the chapel and butts heads with that of the art room. AP test takers with their heads down and brains hot, athletes lifting for credit 
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Deck on: January 08, 2018, 10:00:50 PM
Late summer afternoons staining dry wooden planks. Furniture stacked in the yard catching leaves dislodged by the wind. Sails blow like candle flames on the horizon. Cruise ships leave the harbor one after the next. Hot sand that absorbs the sun, shiny little lizards all over the place. Beady eyes, steamy water. Sour smell of open beer, arms resting on the cool concrete. Expensive sandwiches on sweet bread, a fillet of fish eaten slowly to be savored. The ocean out the window is vast and blue. Crowd noise, casual chatter as the first pitch is thrown. Ball slick with light, chalky dirt. Every other ceiling fan is off. The tin ceiling traps sound that escapes out the front door. Gyro meat in strips, sizzling of the grill, toasting bread. Tasteless chili, red beans and white onion. Beef trapped in the bottom of the pot, dishes stack in the sink. A filthy sponge lies next to the dish soap. 
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Duffle Bag on: January 02, 2018, 06:20:32 PM
Dirty clothes in a multicolored mound, drum sticks and paperback books tossed haphazardly on top. Scent of sweat and body odor, yellowed white shirts and socks turned inside-out. A dark closet where spiders cling to shirts that hang abandoned. Shoe boxes filled with receipts are a mountain range rising to the ceiling. Bacon and eggs, pepper and salt. Mild static shock, a spark flies in a darkened room. A yellow blanket covers the window and paints the light being filtered into the room accordingly. Heart racing to a finish line in an uncertain future. XLR cables coil like snakes, restricting my thoughts and pressuring me to create something truly special. Cobwebs attach the bookcase to the bare wall. Papers with scribbled lyrics litter the brown, dusty, wrapper-infested carpet. The mirror is dotted with flecks of white and stains from where rivers of water have long since dried up. Sinks never stay clean. Thick, pungent smell of bleach. White foam that smells like lemons. Cars hum on a busy street outside. The engine of a go-kart buzzes in the empty parking lot. A kid in a striped shirt drives in determined circles, passing an imaginary opponent. Cracks in the cold pavement, litter left surrounding a gold van adorned with dents and scratches.
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Snow Storm on: January 01, 2018, 05:29:07 PM
Dry cold air tears at my wet hands as I fumble through dirty silverware and saucers. Cracked china, half-finished iced tea. Ice cubes press against my upper lip. A dirty old door, smell of thick dish soap and cling of steam on exposed arms. Glowing hallways, throbbing music. Managing coworkers who run around in their red shirt like chickens with their heads cut off as racks of plates and glasses line the hallway, blocking the fire exit. Excited conversation fills the ballroom, the long clothed tables are filled with familiar faces who have no idea you're there. All focus on a man at the podium, he tells an anecdote and I listen from behind the curtains in a small concrete room decorated with stacks of chairs and exposed piping. Yogurt spilled on trays, cereal bowls filled with room temperature milk, apples with a few bites taken out of them. Glowing faces, friendliest people you'll ever meet. Rafters pointing down between caged lights, smells of bacon and sausage linger after the meal, grease solidifying
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Helicopter on: December 21, 2017, 07:44:09 PM
Over the late summer's browning corn fields where we had to park, pilots fly in circles showcasing WWII era craft. The planes cut through the air like torpedoes, red mouths and painted-on names blurring from the motion. Sour smell of cheap beer in plastic cups- liquid gold considering how much it cost. Straw strewn along the ground, dogs on leashes, overflowing trash cans, mobile food stands. A crowd of children gets autographs from a pilot in a sweaty red baseball cap. Overcast skies, flagged rope marks safe spaces. Hiss of engines, scarlet fire engines stand by. A gentle wind cools the wet air as it sweeps over the midwest. 
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Dance on: December 20, 2017, 06:42:00 PM
Hot lights, a hand in the cat walk crawling along the dark metal of the rafters. Blood-red curtains, orange lights decorate a mixing board. Dry lips, cold drafts, coat wet from an early snow. Shimmering purple on a white blanket- no footprints yet. Thick crunch breaking through to light, fluffy snow. Fast food lights dot the road, pools of white spill out from the gas stations, sinking into the pine trees that separate corporate and residential life. Thin wintery clouds hover between you and the perforated sky. A cup of tea hot in hand, bag thumping against the interior of the vessel. The unique, clean smell and silence of late November. Green and red flickering of plane wings. Hot and salty Mexican cuisine sizzles on a skillet, oil jumping onto your arms and hungry hands. Warm trumpets, walking bass, black suits in three rows, short to tall.
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Skates on: December 11, 2017, 07:24:07 PM
Stuck in the '70's. A dimly lit skating rink. Watching the colored circles of light stretch and shrink along the walls and floor. The smell of popcorn. Trash cans full of icee cups and plastic nacho containers filled with crumbs and shining, hardened nacho cheese. Ringing of the pinball machine and knocking of ski ball. Kids walk clumsily in their heavy skates, stumbling over the exit to the track. Watching the bricks disappear in your peripheral, breathing lightly and quickly as you struggle to keep up with the peers gliding effortlessly in front of you. A little practice room behind a window. Falling onto your side, the icy cold penetrates your jacket. You see an old friend but they don't recognize you. The zamboni smoothes everything out and it shines as you wait from the locker room, skates at your side. Phone's low on battery, so you watch anyone not watching you. Pink coats, furry boots, GameBoy, laughter and crying. The parking garage holds off the wind, and the floor is stained with oil. Spots begin to empty as people go home around dinner time.
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Bells on: December 07, 2017, 07:44:42 PM
Hollow ringing over the cold campus. The wind pierces your ears and they ring. Sweet dough for lunch, icing melts on your lips, chocolate sticks in the back of your throat, the flavor seething. Hot tea burning through a paper cup. The leaves have fallen quickly while you were inside sleeping through a windy night. Gusts scream through the midnight air. The clear sky lets the UV light through. The brick buildings radiate heat and melt the thin sheet of snow. The goose feathers in your coat shield you from the wind; absolutely worth the money, but you do wish you had brought a hat. Sensitive ears, dry skin, itchy back, runny nose. Music being pumped into your ears as a distraction. Blue buds,
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Dream on: November 20, 2017, 07:16:44 PM
There's no anxiety here. No body image, no pressures- the perfect escape. Going in and out of sleep, head fuzzy and throbbing, the morning light trying to burst through your eyelids. Pulling the sheets over your head, the radiant heat from your body swirl around, warming your cheeks and ears. Stepping into a hot shower, the steam sticks to your skin. Watered-down soap whirlpools into the drain. You notice a couple of dirty marks on the floor of the tub and make a mental note to clean in here later. The trash is overflowing with cardboard toilet paper tubes and paper towel. Trying to keep a thousand dates straight in your aching head, paranoid when you lock the door, double and triple checking. The rocks rattle underfoot and the snow disappears with each step. A bloody taste rises up through your throat and the cold irritated the skin on your back. An uneventful day, checking your phone to see if he'll want to rehearse tonight. You haven't had the time to learn the new songs, though you've been listening to them, pick apart the structures and trying to work out the chord changes on your arm. Slowly growing stronger, tremolo picking getting faster, wrong notes ringing out less frequently.
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