Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

March 22, 2019, 02:30:02 AM
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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 3 ... 17
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / cheeseburger on: March 18, 2019, 05:27:06 PM
I remember waiting in the McDonald's drive-thru. Smell of grease and exhaust fumes. Stomach rumbling fingers tap on the steering wheel. Two Cheeseburgers and fries I eat while driving, periphery frantic between the food and car in front of me. Hit of flavor, salt mined in some faraway country, felled trees making space for wheat fields heavy with fertilizer and potato patches genetically modified, vines snaking out of the ground, fruit invisible beneath the dark dirt. I sip some water, it moistened my dry mouth, red bokeh tail lights and headlights blur and focus ahead. T.V light when I get home, neck arched above couch pillows I drift into unconsciousness--     
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / porch on: March 15, 2019, 11:48:59 PM
Creaking floor boards I creep up the steps, a shadow in the night, trying to avoid the porch motion activated light. My lcd watch screen screams 2 am at me, smell of cigarettes, cologne and vodka on my clothes. I stare at the chipping paint, a nail exposed through the aged wood. My hand is trembly as I turn the cold metal handle. Crickets are singing full blast and I pray that they drown out the squeak and small pop of the door swinging outward. Inside there's a lamp on, soft light reverberating across the living room wall. An empty bowl of popcorn, kernels like seeds sit vacant. The splash of water on my face in the bathroom it drips off my nose. Snoring from down the hall. I make it to my threshold before banging my knee on a laundry basket. A muffled curse. Silence. A creak. Then snoring again I lay relieved on my futon, body sinking into--   
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / box on: March 15, 2019, 08:45:07 AM
Cardboard folded neatly in a pile. Red bricks with crusty grout, holding cold she leans against it, black plastic tucked under her chin. Smell of old cigarettes and wet garbage she crinkles her nose. The box behind her looks lived in- and it is. Tie dyed t-shirt she wore during a 'Nam protest, she still hears the chants, sings them to herself softly. Soft taste of electric currents in the air, beep of a moving van, exhaust smoke burns her bloodshot green eyes. Summer here is nice, warm, skin tanned and people pleasant. Winter changes the landscape, bringing icicles in her nose, bringing each breathe to life, making each layer of clothing a shot at survival. Dusk moves in like a shark, suddenly turning the red brick a deep maroon. Her nails dig in to her purse, callused hands pulling at tattered pockets for the last--   
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / coffee on: March 06, 2019, 05:19:49 PM
Quiet morning, I lift achy legs out of bed, feet step across the chilled floor. Crust around my eyes I blink, clouds threatening wet weather. Coffee pot, I pour the grounds in, some spill out, dirtying the false marble counter I sweep them up with my hand. They feel liquid, soft and cool. Soon the smell of being awake, sip from my old stained mug, tasting a dash of creamer in with the bitter rich heat. I used to prefer frapaccinos, whipped cream piled high and caramel dripping down the plastic lid like lava down a mountain. Long lines and arguments about drink precision, pulling out a crumpled 5 to slide to the cashier, sugar rush as potent as the caffeine. Now I-- 
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / radiator on: March 04, 2019, 04:19:39 AM
Cold air coming through, I wrap my arms around myself, stick my hands in deep pockets, feel lint in my fingernails. A shiver floats up my spine in slow motion, shaking my entire torso. The air smells fumy, radiator must be leaking, I feel like I could cut the thickness in half, bitter taste on my tongue, the metal handle is frozen river cold, my joints press out of natural places to turn it, I feel dizzy. Lights reflect in fragments from outside, red streetlights and passing yellow glows, distortions of color and metal as people make their way through winter's night. Cinnamon scented candle burns to, the wick touching the glass at the bottom, flame fading, casting small shapes on the wall. My leftovers sit hard on the plate, squirmy peas and burnt pieces of egg I let the drowsiness of the house take me, the cushions swallow me in the illusion of warmth.     
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fish on: March 02, 2019, 11:18:44 PM
Swimming in crystal blue water, skin shivering, little bumps forming, arm hairs standing up like soldiers at attention. Colors beneath, shadowy shapes I see orange and yellow then it's gone. My teeth chatter, the sun not working hard enough body fat low to nothing, skin clings to my bones, nipples small and perked. Fish live here I think. Fish, scales like armor keeping them smooth, breathing through holes that keep water out. Fish, speared, stuck in a cooler, eyes popping out. Cleaned, thrown in a cast iron pot that sizzles loudly when the fish lands, sesame oil slick and black pepper stuck in the back of my throat I cough it out... Running over hot rocks my feet crying out in pain I hop, see dried crab bodies and a fish bone jerkeyed in the hot day.. Noisy din at a restaurant the waiter opens a lid and steam rises to the ceiling fans smell of capers and cod, mashed potatoes--   
7  Metaphors & Similes / Metaphors & Similes / Never met a phor I didn't like (metaphor/simile exercise) on: March 01, 2019, 06:31:37 PM
Our love was a slow train

The train flew by like a breeze

The breeze was a ghost on the water

Water drew us together like hands

His hands were daggers

The dagger shone like a flame

His eyes got lost in the flames of time

Time cut like a blade

Her words were blades in his ego
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / leaves on: March 01, 2019, 06:16:45 PM
Deep breathes, I can see circles under her eyes. Bright lights, warbled beeping she grunts and pushes, gloved hands talking in urgent tones. Blood and a toe, then a foot, a tiny leg. And tears from both of us.

I flash back to cool autumn street, leaves alive with color, forming soft jewels on the path, some rotting and turning to mud. Smiles form around our lips, my hand brushes hers, it sends a warm shiver to my heart. The air is quiet, our shoes and heavy breathes the only sounds. The day tastes of fresh rain, everything clean and damp. I smell her vanilla hair, try to hide my garlic pretzel breath, I think, too hard.
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / daisy on: March 01, 2019, 05:02:09 AM
I remember running barefoot in the field behind our house. Stink of browning mangoes squished into the earth, fruit flies sticking to my sweaty face. Flowers crumpled under my toes, white flowers- I thought they were daisies- really just weeds. Freeze tag or mowing the lawn or chasing the dogs, but always movement, eyes wild and watery from the wind's embrace. 

Some flowers were edible. We'd pick nasturtiums and put them on cakes, frosting shiny like a bald man's head I would always steal some from the bowl, sugar injecting my blood with more movement. Gathered around the old table, green and white checkered table cloth covering our initials and knife marks etched into the stained wood. Holding hands, heads bowed for prayer I can feel my sister's pulse, her grip warm and slippery. Clinking of glass, loud talking across seats, the windows steaming up from the body heat. Zig zag cuts I chew and--   
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / key on: February 08, 2019, 05:53:11 PM
Pressure. It builds. The purr of the truck, exhaust flagging out in streaks, tires over fresh asphalt give a tarry, heavy smell. I have to pee. Try not to think about the rain or rushing waterfalls around, just hold it. Campgrounds, people walk by smelling of smoke and whiskey. The bathroom is locked, heavy blue door teasing me I run into the bushes, let the hot stream fall onto guinea grass, some of it bouncing off and hitting my legs. Loud voices sitting around a chipped picnic table. a small radio playing Zeppelin, someone singing out of key.
Dad starts up the truck, it turns over for 5 seconds then roars to life.       
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Flag on: February 08, 2019, 01:45:50 AM
The shivering. Cold finding it's way through seems and pockets. The light fades, the sun set to God's dimmer switch, escaping. I breathe quick, lungs moving in and out like the jab of a boxer's gloved hand. Taste of sour acid in my throat, lips cracking in places, teeth bounces sporadically. The ice is all there is. Thoughts go back and forth between warm lit room, chewing some salty shoyu chicken, lavender candle scent lazily filling the space. Then back to tight shoulders, bloodshot, focused eyes, the peak of the mountain. My flag blowing in the freezing, howling wind. The light-headed glory of it. I stick my ice pick into the hard hill, feel the impact, hear the sound of splitting, cracking. My eyes blink furiously above numbed-red cheeks. The--
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Leaves on: February 01, 2019, 07:06:36 PM
Running over damp roads, divider lines faded, asphalt dark blue, reflecting distorted versions of me. My shoes crunch over dead leaves, old brown from the overhanging avo tree. Silent branches stir in the wind, fruit pulling them down, heavy and bent. Sweat evaporates in the cool air, wicked by my shirt. Clovers pop out of the side of the road. I remember picking them, searching for that elusive 4 leafed, crouched down behind our classroom, shade making shapes on the grass, smell of warm mulch sweet clovers I pop one in my mouth, fuzzy underside tart, slightly bitter, I chew and wonder if I'll find my pot of treasure.... Now a car-- 
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / neon on: January 21, 2019, 06:45:19 PM
Silver water fills cracks in concrete, reflecting off the bright buildings of Seattle. I can see my breath, glowing red and yellow, neon like a sign my chest stings from the sharp air.
windows with water sliding down, tears down buildings that seem to touch the heavens, smell of fish and dark coffee, caffeine coursing through veins, making tired eyes come to life. The water is calming, a steady rise and fall, inhale and exhale I mirror it, cars splashing over rain-streaked roads, looking for free parking, jangle of coins I pass a smell, see a tattered shirt draped over taught skin and wide eyes, a makeshift shelter in the bushes. Buses squeak and groan, full of faces bleak or purposeful. Laughter as a couple stumbles by, her low cut dress revealing. The moon big and low, I can see it clearly, a giant creature staring at me. The universe feels small suddenly... but where did I park my car?
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / key on: January 08, 2019, 07:38:40 PM
I remember driving for the first time. Hands shaky on the steering wheel breath in short excited gasps I turn the key, sputter of the Honda engine it comes to life. Nerves tickle my insides as I take it out of park, rolling over fallen oranges in the driveway the scent of citrus the air freckled with fruit flies. I check the mirrors, hairs on the back of my neck standing up, a car speeds by I push the brake too hard and jolt forward dad chuckles. Fences line the road, like magnets daring me to steer straight the asphalt steams as the sun cleans up puddles left over from last nights downpour. My face is flushed with concentration, cemetery walls on the right, brick crumbling and reminding me of how close to death I came, almost joining my sister, alone in the heap of twisted metal and hot blood sliding, glass in my throat. Now I slow down and turn back into the driveway, maiden voyage sisters waiting in the yard--   
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / flag on: January 07, 2019, 06:19:17 PM
Running barefoot, toes catching on ingrown grass, feet cold, pant cuffs wet. Night shadows the ground, trees like statues pose. Taste of smoke, Ohia wood I hide. The flag is being guarded closely, red paisley bandanna visible behind warm bodies. A tap on my shoulder I inhale sharply, but it's my teammate. We make a run for it, wind ricocheting off my face I reach, reach arm like a torch at the Olympics. roots stick out and trip me, twist away torso like gumbi I got it, now breathless strides until safe inside our imaginary border line. Slaps on the back and hollers that echo through the night my fingers cling to the trophy like claws. Memories...riding in the back of dad's Toyota pickup, waving our hands against the air, hair flying--

**Is it just me or are the words repeating more frequently?**   
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