Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

November 16, 2018, 10:17:32 AM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 14
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Desk on: November 15, 2018, 06:25:39 PM
I cough into a Kleenex, papers spread across my desk. The lights overhead are overwhelmingly bright, wordless chatter bouncing off my eardrums. Cold metallic legs hold the flat pine top, wood cut from trees in some north American forest, birds fluttering away as machines start up and the smell of two-cycle mix, little vibrant stains as it drips from the chainsaw, pulpy wood chips splatter the ground, dry and curled the wood cut smooth to be treated and cured. I wish I could be cured, sinuses flaring like fireworks on new years lunch will have no cheese, just potato chips, crunchy salty on my tongue, veggie stir fry spicy I sigh at the clock on the wall. Lines on the wallpaper soothing--
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fox on: November 14, 2018, 07:05:42 PM
Red fur, bushy tail like a duster, clumpy tufts, teeth hidden under a black nose and whiskers like fishing line. She breathes heavy, feet light on the cool soft earth. Senses wound up, looking around out of corner slits where dark eyes keep watch. Rain patters on the tree branches above, a complex cadence. Hole in the ground, paw pushing through, pulling out a field mouse, blood drips and she eats, tough skin caught between her teeth, meat chewy and raw. Smell of old leaves and dried shit, her fur immaculate she finds a nearby stream and rinses off, water--
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Roller Coaster on: November 13, 2018, 06:19:48 PM
Standing in single file, my legs ache and stomach burps churros and coke. The heat pushes into my face, my clothes dampen. The build up begins as we strap in, hot metal and stiff cushions, a slight rocking motion and then the coaster moves. Sense of gravity twisted like my insides, I make all the faces, adrenaline squeezing out of me in bursts my grip on the handles tightens until my knuckles are bleached white. The air feels like fabric on my face, cheeks moving in and out. I step out, wobbly. It was like kissing for the first time- everything is still a blur, the moment over like yesterday's news The car feels warm and fuzzy, everyone moving so slow I pull a sip of water from my flask, smell of vanilla air freshener and frazzled nerves, shoes feel claustrophobic and the yellow reflection of light blinds me I stick the visor down low and shiver for a second let's do it again I said. Never.
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / dream catcher on: November 09, 2018, 03:45:36 PM
Sitting on red clay earth, sun stretched out over us like a canopy my hands cold in the breezy morning. Grass pushes down with dew we rip open granola bars, silver plastic crunching I bite into sweet oats, chocolate chips melting over my teeth. Past a tree, ancient and moving like a pendulum the dream catcher hangs, circles of engraved wood and cloth, inky in the shadowy light, reflective. Dreams of our old plantation house, summers on the street, eating watermelon it dribbles down my mouth cars drift by and the smell of bananas and coffee is strong from the stairs. Widowed trees, shaking and crooked, everything growing in my dream until I feel suffocated, claustrophobic, breaths like quick footsteps the air goes dark I'm in my bed, soft light of the clock reads 1:27 I pour the blankets back over my shivering shoulders. Dreams, like runaway--   
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Menu on: October 24, 2018, 11:41:16 AM
Laminated plastic sticks to my hands, dried syrup smudged and the ink faded from worn time. Smoky lungs outside breathe into the quiet air, I watch through the greasy diner window. My stomach churns, saliva dripping into my mouth, fried steak and potatoes, I paint A1 sauce on like I'm Monet, metal fork sliding against my teeth the water glass sticks to the coaster, condensation puddling, ice melting like glaciers in the north pole. At home we had one choice; whatever mom cooked, onions tearing up in the kitchen, moths flutter around close to the light, the floor tiles are slippery and cold steam pressures up to the ceiling and we open the creaky drawers, grabbing plates--
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / t-shirt on: October 18, 2018, 08:02:43 PM
We sit on the front porch with it's chipped brown paint and smooth banisters. Hands holding the bucket of dye, colors bleed onto the white t shirt, twisted, ink reaching some parts but not others. My fingers grow numb, bucket heavy and digging into the skin I finally put it down and let the shirt dry. Tie dye, reminds me of my parents, children of the 60's with long dirty blonde hair and flowers woven in mom's strands. T shirts are all we wear because it's too hot for long sleeve and I'm self-conscious about my scrawny arms. Picking oranges, holding the hem of our shirt in our teeth like a pouch for the fruit, it'd get stretched, I'd hear "I'm throwing it" and round ball of dark yellow through the branches into my outstretched hands, breaking twigs and later we'll make fresh juice, acid burning our lips, sweet pulpy nectar-- 
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Church on: October 17, 2018, 04:19:13 PM
My feet tap on the smooth linoleum floor. Bleachers folded away, benches and chairs form lines facing the home basket. Underneath, the rustle of pages, the whisper of breathing, the occasional "Amen!" or "Ahhchoo!" my hands feel clammy. This same floor, where I tried to grab the ball from my sister and ended up with seven stitches on my chin, hard wood and flesh colliding, pain killers, beeping sounds and blue smocks the doctor telling me I'll be fine. The gym smells of lemon-scented oil and perfume, row of older ladies with purses bigger than them sit fanning their faces, makeup concealing the age lines, I feel stifled, trying to follow the words that this large man with a shiny forehead and a potbelly is practically shouting at me. Church isn't a building, I remember hearing that once. On Easter we meet at the beach, roar of waves crashing, hot sand burning the soles of my feet, shade umbrellas stuck in the ground, more my speed. Ice cold drinks in the cooler that sweat condensation--     
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: radio on: October 17, 2018, 04:06:02 PM
It really is. And thanks.
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Rock on: October 16, 2018, 04:58:58 PM
Rocks, living under the earth, built walls around houses. We used to skip them at Anna's pond, smooth stones worn with age and hot from the sun, the ripples would grow over the water like chia pets, my wrist flicking away until my joints ached. Irrigation job, trenching out around a yard muscles tight with use, face burning from the midday heat I'd hit a rock, pick bouncing up, body absorbing the shock, taste of metal on my tongue. Rock band, notes screeching on the screen, timing the notes just right or the solo stops, bright glowing lanes, The Rolling Stones singing about Satisfaction my eyes water from too much focus. Smell of nachos fills the room, and nervous sweat we move and talk in bursts, waiting for our turn to shine, then when we miss a note it's "damnit!" "sonofabitch!". Folds of curtains block the outside world we're almost ready to go on tour I say, jokingly.
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / radio on: October 15, 2018, 05:18:00 PM
I remember listening to the World Series with dad, a.m. dial full of static, turning just the right frequency. Greasy fries gather oil on my fingers, taste light and salty like the ocean. Dark room, no pictures, just announcers and our imaginations, I feel the energy of the chanting fans, see the slosh of beer out of cups as the Dodgers hit a run in. The red dirt flying, covering the batter's pants. The firm thud of third base, the running coach flailing his arms like he's an interpretive dancer, screaming "go! run! Take it home!" summer heat cuts through the open roof, the dome creating shadows that cut across the field like a Picasso piece. We drive into a dead zone and the road comes back to me, headlights and the feel of scratchy upholstery and smooth rubberized armrest. I sip my big gulp, sugar rushing in through the straw in a neon blue.
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Lipstick on: October 12, 2018, 08:50:33 PM
I remember playing in my older sisters room, floor bare and creaky, knees turning beet red, strange lines where the blood pushed the skin. Makeup and earrings sit like a shrine on the dark dresser, colors gleaming under incandescent, they dress me up and I don't protest, feeling strange in frilly pink satin and lipstick thickly painted on my mouth. Giggles and bobby pins pulling my straight hair until my scalp burns, this is wierd I think to myself. Lipstick calls to mind movie stars and wanted Friday evenings, slurping rootbeer floats and watching romcoms with the sisters, waiting until I get to choose the movie. Frothy foam covers my mouth, carbonation tickles going down the air is close and we are like cats lounging around, eating and sleeping and breathing in deep relaxation. Tepid water as I wash the pink from my face--
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fire on: October 11, 2018, 06:43:43 AM
I stand around the fire, flames licking away the cold wounds of the night. My eyes burn with smoke, nose runny and breathe labored. Sticks snap and spark, turning to embers, then ash, then diluting into nothing. I once poured gasoline on a fire with my face too close. I smelt my eyebrows burning before I felt them-like melted plastic & charred fur. Summer nights that seem to go on forever, fireflies making circles and shapes, greasy sweat from barbecued chicken. I throw in my paper plate and watch the slow eating by the flickering heat. Like art. Like life, how time slowly eats us away until our bodies and minds are no longer able to remain in the living. Maybe I'll become ash one day. Thoughts float around like little kumbayas the sauna of it makes my skin feel sunburned I step away, senses jolt as I pour ice water on my head, no bucket challenge, just a kick to the brain. The night sky seems to envelope the stars, to push and pull them in glamorous clusters. Dry hands I clap them together, skin--- 
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fiddle on: October 09, 2018, 09:14:53 PM
We sit in silence, dark draperies block the sunlight except for little paper-thin lines that rest on the carpet. My eyes heavy I fiddle with my watch, the flexible rubber wrapped snug around my wrist, skin slightly whiter there. I can hear my breathing, hear both of our breathing, slow and rhythmic  and out of time. My timer goes off and I crane my neck, neck muscles tight. A spider climbs along the wall, fuzzy feet climb ging to the spackle drywall, webs soun in the corner, maybe more in the attic above, dusty hideaways in the shadows, he preys off of unsuspecting flys, pouncing like his life depends on it. The chair I sit in is soft and I feel I'm sunk into it, a luxurious trap. Taste of air freshener and books, room smells of covered up dirt and neglect. I remember opening this watch for Christmas--
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tennessee on: October 05, 2018, 05:59:13 PM
We park on an empty street, little cement sculptures jut out of the ground, pillars of some historical thing left standing at this park to climb, so we do and I feel the coarse concrete push into my skin, leaving little indents on my fleshy palms. Barbecue sandwiches smell from across the way we follow them, po-boys steaming in a sauna-like space I wipe at my forehead. The home of cliches; country songs about bad breakups and blue ford pickups. Whiskey and twangs. It's different than I imagined. No buskers out in the street trying to hold people's attention and empty their loose change this is more a/c'd writing rooms, 60 thousand dollar studios with ambient lighting and Chinese takeout during breaks.     
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Photograph on: October 04, 2018, 06:36:09 PM
Standing in a row, posing, sun hitting my face at a hard angle, my eyes squint. Hands hang awkwardly, I smell my brother's cologne, soft fleshy grass under bare feet. Photos, photos everywhere swiped on screens, plastered on walls, a thousand words a thousand times. Lemon zest and condensation, sipping carbonated drinks, bubbly in my belly watching a slideshow at a family reunion, summer air think and draining, soundtrack of dull chatter and Sarah Mclachlan, I make eye contact, smile with a false sense of knowing, stranded by stories of the past family tree. I climb, reaching for the top where I see a ripe orange. Memories are moments now, held in place by glass and a pressboard frame, gluing wandering eyes to cuteness, fly's to a flytrap my insides fill with breath. I wonder if the homeless guy out on the corner street takes selfies, has concern about his image, smelling like 2 weeks old sweat and beard patchy, sun-dried skin clinging to his frame. Counting dull quarters and crumpled dollar bills for---   
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