Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

December 18, 2018, 06:15:29 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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Pages: [1] 2
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Diary on: April 20, 2018, 05:32:02 PM
Brown leather cover,
tied with a piece of leather lace.
The word Diary etched in pretty font on the face.
The smell of the pages well worn,
coffee stained and pages torn.

My deepest thoughts flow from my pen
every night on a new page I begin
to let the cosmos know about me
It's my life in this Diary

Angry words, my blood boils
I can taste the bitter letters as they spill on the page
my knuckles white as I grip the pen
Another lonely night, nothing but the deafening sound of pen on paper

My heart leaps as I recall the first touch
her hand on my shoulder that laugh, too much

2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / hammock on: April 19, 2018, 03:35:02 PM
Warm sun, passing down through the trees.
The leaves sparkle in the light.
Feet up swinging to and fro
Something about doing nothing just feels right

An old worn paper back I've been anxious to read
Cold sweat on the side of my glass of sweet tea
Not a soul around it's just me
Laying back in a hammock

Cut off jean shorts
no shoes or socks
Slow moving Sunday afternoon
Laying back in a hammock.

The smell of BBQ from a few doors down
I can taste the sauce so sweet
Sunshine moving past the shade of the tree
Burning down hot on my feet

Beads of sweat down my brow
pull the worn ball cap down low
the rattle of the ice in my empty glass
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Alter on: April 18, 2018, 03:05:06 PM
That deep feeling of someone watching, disappointed eyes staring as I slowly walk up the concrete steps. I reach for the cold metal handle on the familiar wooden door. It creaks open and I walk inside, eyes taking a while to adjust to the dark but the smell of incense brings me back to the many times I stood at the side of the alter. The red gown covered by the white top, I don't even know what those were called. As my sight comes back I see the alter at the far end of the church. The taste of stale bread and cheap wine come back to me. The feel of the wood from the pews as I walk down the centre isle. Pictures of Saints all seem to be staring at me in a " decided to make an appearance?" kind of look. Jesus's head seems to hang lower, as if disappointed I haven't come to see him in awhile. The quiet makes me uncomfortable. I lower a kneeler onto the ground  so the creaking sound will echo up to the ceiling and back down the walls. Old people begin to shuffle in. The alter server comes out and begins to light the candles. The smell of the wax hits my nose, I loved doing that job when I was a kid. 
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Stone on: April 17, 2018, 03:01:07 PM
Swimming in the clear mountain lake. The sound of a hawk flying over head as I stand on a rock in the middle of the water. The cool clear water rocking up and down my shoulders. The sun peeking out from behind the singular cloud in the sky, like it's waiting for more people to show up before it makes it's grand entrance. All is quiet except for the sound of the water on the shore, I am not so far out I can't hear it. I pull an oversized pair of goggles on and then I dive deep, the cool water slapping me in the face. Looking around at the bottom, small minnows skirting around here and there looking for breakfast and trying not to become it all at the same time. As I get closer to the shore, something at the bottom catches my eye. I swim up to the surface breaking through into the world of breath and sound. I take a deep breath and dive again. The stone is a colour I've never seen before. Blue and green with a strip of white. It's farther down than I thought, the pressure builds in my ears, but I have it in my hand. Turning, I push of the bottom and let the air go from my lungs, bubbles bouncing off my chest as I swim to the surface. As I walk out onto the shore the smell of campfire hits me as the water splashes of onto the wet sand.
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / brownie on: April 16, 2018, 03:31:40 PM
The sound of the whisk beating against the mixing bowl, the smell of the oven heating up, white flour spread across the counter top. Baking day. The oven chimes in to let me know it is ready, Scooping out the dark brown sticky goodness from the bowl onto the cookie sheet. Spreading out the batter evenly in the pan. I open the oven to a hot blast of air in the face, the metal on metal sound of the pan and oven rack, the heat creeps up my arm as I place the pan inside the oven. The door closes and I press the button on the timer. Sitting at the well used wooden kitchen table, sipping a warm tea, I feel anxious for them to be done. The sun shines through the kitchen widow, rainbows wander through the crystal glasses on the shelf. The groan of the dog as she saunters in with a look of wonder, "will I get any of whatever smells so good?" nudging my leg I scratch behind her ear.
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Swingset on: April 14, 2018, 03:47:21 PM
The slam of the back door, warm summer air wraps around me. The smell of fresh cut grass and potting soil as mother works in the backyard. Into the garage, a little cooler out of the sun, the smell of dust and old oil. There is an oil stain on the ground by my bike. Spray painted black, no logo, I'm excited, ready to ride. It's off to the park. The worn grips are cool in my hand but quickly warm as I turn down the alley yelling see ya to Mom. Across the street, down the alley, the chain link fence is coming up where the dog runs up to bark everytime. I jump every time, and tell him good boy. I can see the school, red brick and white trim. I pull up hard on the handle bars to clear the curb. Across the dry grass I can hear laughing and playful screaming. There they are. The swing set. The closest thing to flying. I skid to a stop and am off running towards the open seat all in one motion. As I hit the sand I feel a bolt of excitement knowing I am almost there. A quick burn across the back of my legs from the seat being in the sun too long, then I lift my legs and begin methodically pulling and pushing until I am in the air.
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / mascara on: April 13, 2018, 04:24:55 PM
Such a pretty girl, natural, long brown hair, alabaster skin. I could tell by her pursed lips and pained expression that the phone she held was whispering bad news into her ear. Her shoulders slumped, and a tear formed in the corner of her eye. Only then could I see the mascara as it left a trail down the side of her face. My heart ached for the pain this girl was feeling, my mind a whirlwind,"what was the bad news? Did she get dumped, someone die?" The sound of a muffled sob and suddenly without my knowing I was on my feet walking towards her. My brain screaming "what are you doing!!!" My heart replying "you know this is the right thing to do." I reached out and touched her arm, offering her a clean white napkin. The taste of the salad dressing I was eating came back, reminding me I was on a quick lunch break. When she spoke it was very hushed, thank you was all I heard. It was a job she had really wanted. I know the feeling, the one in your stomach when the phone rings and the excitement and anguish are all wrapped up into one, then the bad news hits like a Sammy Sosa home run and all your left with is
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / spy on: April 12, 2018, 04:38:20 PM
Tall, dark black suit and tie. He looked around over the crowd. The low din of conversations in the cafe as spoons rattle off cups and cups rattle off saucers. The smell of fresh croissant and coffee in the air. In the corner another man much like himself and a disheveled looking business man. Large manila envelope on the table in between. The first sip of hot black coffee as I watch the man watch the men. Is he a spy? He takes out a phone, turns his back to the men and smiles with a thumbs up... just a selfie? He reaches into a duffel bag on the floor, my breath is shallow, mind racing, what is he going to pull out? A small silver computer. The waitress comes by and asks flirtatiously if she can get him anything. "the wifi password please". Why would a spy need a wifi password? confusion, is he a spy? He connects the phone to the computer, what's he sending? Only minutes go by and the disheveled business man rises, leaving the envelope he came in with, no wave goodbye...   
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / tent on: April 11, 2018, 01:52:01 PM
It was a small trailer, with a tent on it. The smallest tent trailer I could find. Green and grey, folded away in 10 minutes. The camp fire smoldered away the odd crack of a log calling out to let us know it was still alive. You could smell breakfast through the whole campsite: bacon, eggs, coffee, toast. I could still taste the peanut butter from the toast I had. A sip from the camp mug, steam rising from the coffee, still too hot to drink. I place it on an old flat stump I've been using for a chair, chips of whittled wood surrounding it. There is still a chill in the air, but the sun begins to warm the tables, steam rising from the ground. The chatter of squirrels in the distance sound as if they are fighting over the plunder of an abandoned sight. Looking up through the leaves of the trees at the blue sky I see a hawk in the distance, floating in circles. i unzip my jacket feeling warm after putting the tent away. I hear the kids talking as they walk back down the trail in the trees that leads to the garbage cans. Bright red jackets
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tulips on: April 10, 2018, 02:19:14 PM
The voice of Tiny Tim singing " tip toe through the tulips" plays every time I see them. The long green stem crowned with bright yellow petals opening up to the warmth of the sun. The smell of morning dew as I turn the lock on the front door and make my way to the car. A click of the fob and the door locks spring open. Spring... the front yard needs work, the tulips are the only real picture of life. My back hurts thinking of turning the dry grey soil, the smell of earth the black moist dirt when I'm done. Little green weeds, invaders, every year I feel angry they return. Like a guest, unaware they are not welcome, I whisper at them, "can't you just go away?". The morning sun is warm, I've waited too long, the car door locks spring shut. I stand in the street looking up and down at the dust and gravel, a tingle in my nose and I sneeze. It's that time of year, I can taste the mess winter has left. I shake my head remembering, cleaning is not an event.
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / ankle on: April 07, 2018, 03:38:04 PM
The uneven ground made the hair on my arms stand up. The smell of the Morning dew on the green grass, the warm sun on my face, it was a day just like today. The slow rhythm of running, meditating one foot in front of the other. My mind was clear, I could feel my feet landing on the ground, hear the sound of the rubber against the asphalt path, my breath in time with the steps. I was humming a melody that I had never heard but it sounded like it fit with the morning run. Suddenly there is pain, shooting from my ankle and I am already headed towards the ground before I realize what is happening. The rough gravel under the palms of my hands, I barrel roll to try and keep my knees from hitting the ground. Lying on my back looking up at the bright blue cloudless sky, my hands burn with road rash and slowly a thumping pain from my ankle begins to overshadow any other discomfort I am feeling. I look towards my foot, my ankle is already swelling, I try to move it and pain jolts my body telling me not to do that again. Now my mind start to take over, thoughts racing... how will I get home, why didn't I take my phone? I lie there in the sun for a few more minutes knowing this is the best I'm going to feel in a while. I roll onto my side 
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Dolphin on: April 02, 2018, 07:36:26 PM
The blast of the ferry horn echos loud across the water. I feel dizzy but know it is the boat pulling away from the shore, I walk down the side of the ship, a cool wind in my face, the smell of the ocean water as I breath deeply the fresh air. Seagulls squawking in anger that they will now need a new place to hang out and scavenge for food. I walk like a drunk, swaying back and forth, a few more minutes and I'll have my sea legs. People smile as I stumble by, I know they know I am new to this. Over to the side of the ship to watch. If I didn't know better it looks as if the mainland is floating away, leaving us on a little ship in the middle of the ocean. Then suddenly a splash, could someone have fallen in? The happy voice of a young child directs attention to the front of the boat. "Look Mama! A Dolphin" As if the dolphin now knows it has an audience it jumps high in the air, it's smooth glistening grey skin catching the light. It twinkles like a diamond in the sky then, nose first it is back down deep into the dark cold ocean. I scan back and forth down the side of the ferry, trying to find the dark shadow slicing through the water. In the corner of my eye ...
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fair on: August 22, 2017, 05:35:44 PM
Laughter and screams come from inside the chain link fence. An outdoor prison no one wants to leave. The sweet smell of sugar, fresh mini doughnuts and corn dog grease float in the air like a thick fog. Young faces standing in front of games I can't ever hope to win, the giant stuffed animals there to catch my eye. The young hoarse voice asking if I want to be a winner. I'm whisked back to my youth, the electric feeling of the first time I was allowed to go to the fair on my own. Bodies bump into me snapping me out of the past and into the hummid sticky present. As I take a step towards the haunted house I can hear the bottom of my shoes peel from the ground like a postal working peeling packing tape to seal up a box. Thirsty I stop for a frosty cold root beer. The carbonation burns my throat as I drink a huge mouthful down. I'm so hot I can feel the cold brown liquid splash down my insides, cooling me from within. More screams come from the haunted house. A loud blast from a horn, a buzzer, and more screams, but they are all laughing as they leave, smiles on their faces, pride that they made it through.
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Heart on: August 16, 2017, 01:56:00 PM
Red, blood pumping, pounding in my chest, everytime I see those sky blue eyes. They see right through me Holding my gaze. I can feel your soft lips against mine, taste the sweet in your kiss, the smell of flowers in your hair. Heart beating faster, hard to breath, ears are ringing I want you so bad. I reach out, aching to hold you, but as I touch you, you disappear. A dream,it was a dream. My heart slows, almost stopping, I can hardly feel it in my chest, is this the moment before it shatters into a million pieces? A mind of it's own, breathing gets shallow. The stale taste of whiskey on my breath, a slow deep breath and the pounding in my head starts, keeping time with the beating of my exhausted heart. it's warm, I reach out for a glass of anything to quench my thirst, bottles clanking falling over onto the table and rolling onto the floor.
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Trunk on: August 15, 2017, 05:33:29 PM
The faded brown wood looked as if it was ready to fall apart. The dry leather straps holding it all together. My Grandpa's old trunk, tucked into the back of the dark dusty attic. The roof was low and I had to hunch over as I walked to the back wall. The flash light pointed the way, dust dancing in the beam. I had seen the trunk many times before, I sneak up here every time we come to visit. I don't know what made me make my way up that narrow stairwell to the small creaky door at the top. The hair stood up on the back of my neck the first time I stepped into the dark room. My heart stopped at what I thought was a ghost standing in the middle of the room but it was just my grandma's white wedding gown hanging from a tall rack with some other dusty old suits and faded dresses. The first time I saw that old trunk I felt like an old pirate who had found the gold he was looking for, but I wasn't looking for it, I think it found me. Grandpa was a quiet man, never told many stories of his past but as I lifted the rickety lid of the trunk his memories came pouring out. Faded pictures of him standing smiling with military men, a sash with medals pinned to it, an old German helmet with a bullet hole through the front to the back... and then the Luger
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