Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

September 19, 2018, 05:11:22 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 3 ... 13
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Diary on: June 20, 2018, 06:51:22 PM
I look at pieces of my former self, eyes folded into memories of yesteryear. Soft breeze eeks through the window. Pages and pages on the eggshell pulpy paper, written over with a metallic silver fine tip. The sounds of chaos and drama float out of the diary as I rake through high school entries, running and smashing pads with teammates during sweltering two-a-days, slurping lasagna and choking down cornbread in the cold cafeteria, longing looks at my crush, words that never escaped my mind, except to live in the pages of this spiralbound notebook. Shoulders stiff, rub my neck in little semi-circles the feeling of a girl I liked brushing up against me heading into class. My nervous smile, things that never--
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / checkbook on: June 04, 2018, 07:15:10 PM
The day folds out into tropical layers, ice cream in the sky. Inky pen I fumble with it, drop it then groan feeling the tightness in my muscles as I pick it off the grassy ground. park bench green chipped away and etched over with f*ck you's and phone numbers. My breath is slow and measured the taste of mouthwash minty fresh lingering I run my tongue across my teeth, black ink tight and clean over the paper my hand routinely falls over the blank line. I rub my eyes, the last of my savings slipping into payments. Yellow flowers blow in the soft breezy--   
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Jug on: May 29, 2018, 09:21:02 PM
Soft colors of clay dance on the ground. The air is damp and cool, like the sky hasn't been completely wrung out yet, little scraping sounds the wind hitting against the tin siding. I pour out liquid out of the jug, sweet fermented grapes pounded and strained and purified and bottled into a $12 wine. The slightest hint of metallic as I gulp. My friend is more liberal with her drink, maroon draining from her glass like sand from a one-minute hourglass the rush of evening, feeling light as a leaf floating in the wind, we unwind in short bursts of conversation. Clank of glass on the wooden coaster, my mouth hurts from smiling. Stomach full and overwhelmed, breathing smooth and heavy, as my bloodstream mingles with the wine my head feels fuzzy. Band playing old 90's covers I sing along in mumbled bliss--   
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / x ray on: May 24, 2018, 06:44:11 PM
Eyes flooding with light, senses blinking. The bright room, smell of rubbing alcohol, a chill. My muscles feel static, stuck to the thin bed, metal frame cold as my hand grazes it.

My mind flutters back to yesterday. Standing on my skateboard, spinning fast, adrenaline warming my face, wheel catching on a rock, suspended in the air I hit hard on the cold parking lot. Smell of tire rubber and dusty tar. I feel wet on my arm, feel numb where my fingers should be. I see little patches of moss growing up through the damp pavement cracks. Hear yelling, concern... the world goes black

Dripping fluids slide in my vein--
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / alter on: May 18, 2018, 08:38:34 PM
I squirm in the rigid pew, bony spine painfully pushing against the laminated pine. Low lights, sun streaks in to form shadows on the alter that dance and distract me from the man with the microphone. soft flaky pages of the Holy Bible, old English smell of pulp and old things an oddly shaped vase of flowers droops from the front stage a dog barks from somewhere down the Sunday street soft piano notes draw me back in, words like rising planes crescendo in perfect dynamics afterwards I'll sit and eat lasagna and drink watery lemonade and glazing cinnamon rolls, talk to people I barely know. Sweat will form on my temple as I try to create small talk in awkward bursts. I look at the alter again, it's wood-carved decadence looking down in chiseled splendor. Man-made art. I gulp hard about the socializing. God help me.   
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / brownie on: May 16, 2018, 05:48:31 PM
Back arched lazily over the white wooden dining table, scratched and worn from the years. Brownie crumbs dropping missing my plate moist chocolate chips melt on my teeth, I wipe my face and smear it off my lips. The scent of fresh ghiridelli mix my sister with oven mitts on, telling me not to open the oven door I'll let the heat out. I do anyway, wave of 400 degrees washing over my flushed face. The room is warm and heavy my eyes begin to sink shut. I put my face on the hard table top, still cold from the morning chill, soothing my feverish forehead I drift, bright monotonous timer bringing me out of daydreams and into the present. My skin feels dry and taught, the--     
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / bronco on: May 15, 2018, 06:21:53 PM
Salty ocean breeze whips my hair into a frenzy. Windshield caked in layers of dust car the truck and bumps, a bronco trying to be rid of us. I spill my drink on the seat, fizzy liquid bubbles then disappears into the coarse cushioning leaving a darker blue stain. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, I feel a slight chill your driving causes me to grip the hand hold, smooth surface rocks back and forth, the winding gravel seems endless as we twist and swerve. I lick my lips, slightly sea-salty, tongue running over cracks and splits. Guns N' Roses joins us in treble-rich tones, high cutting vocals of 'Sweet Child' swimming in and out of my ears--       
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / padlock on: May 03, 2018, 07:01:40 PM
He sits at a warm kitchen table. Stubbly chin, pajamas, squeezing out the last of the yawns.
Outside, heatwaves. Long scraggly blades of grass, mowers echoing down the street.
Smell of engine oil and gasoline, swallowing soggy breakfast cereal and excuses.
He walks outside, barefeet tender on the choppy ground, feet picking up pebbles and leaves.
Shed door. Trying to remember the padlock combo. Numbers numbers numbers he slide his fat fingers across the dial.
10 minutes. The click as the lock opens. Dusky dark, bare light bulb flickers above.
Brushing off cobwebs, a jump as the spider--
Time to join the neighbors. Summer is here early. 
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Potion on: May 01, 2018, 03:22:16 AM
The boats rock slowly over glassy water, eyes adjusting to the dimlit sky we sit bare legs dangling over the wooden dock, sipping tea and eating coffee cake, your arm is cool as it grazes mine and sends a jolt of excitement up into my face. Harry Potter may have some strong potions but the way you work your magic gets me very time, your perfume fills my senses, a sweet vanilla wave. Cheesy lines, pheromones and nervous glances I play with my fingernails, grimy from work, soft breeze pushes our hair back my eyes water but I'm not crying. This is bliss, struck by cupids arrow right in the beating chest, the last of the sunlight climbs down below the horizon. 
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Spy on: April 13, 2018, 06:33:59 AM
Flakes of wall peeling off, brown under the eggshell white. Humid air makes the ends of my hair curl up gulps of oxygen the fruit flies silently do crazy eights around the dirty dishes. Hiding in the closet, stuffy tweed and ruffled dresses pressed in around me, senses spiking as I hear "100! Read or not...." my lips hold down a stifled breath I'm wearing yellow like Harriet and my sister's are noisy like Rosy O' Donald the smell of must and old paint eats at me the suspense builds then drops until my breathing becomes bored. White ankle, exposed to the light, secret messages of chalk on the charcoal roadway, signals of dust and bird noises we were products of too many espionage thrillers I sneak a mission to grab the box of girl scout cookies, mint chocolate luring me in like a pig to scraps the feel of coarse cardboard and my finger slides across the seal to open it, guilt suppressed by---
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tulips on: April 10, 2018, 07:16:19 PM
Long black stretch of blacktop whirls under our wheels. The air smells like rain and spring. The tulips paint the ground in shades of pink, yellow, white, red, purple with names like English Rosebush red and Tahiti white. My mind takes in the sensory overload, then I see her walking, taking pictures, herself more breathtaking than the flowers. I picture us in a candlelight dinner, her hand brushing mine in the ambient glow as we sit on soft carven chairs. A single tulip tilts from a bud vase and Marvin Gaye fills in the background. My heart is raising in it's chest....I trip over a rock and drop my camera, lens caked in mud. She giggles, pretending she didn't see it. My hopelessly romantic eyes close and I catch myself thinking about her through the day, over grilled cheese and steaming soup.
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / padlock on: April 03, 2018, 06:11:04 PM
Summer shows through the edges of spring, air bright and crisp. His heartbeat is loud and fast, right hand wrapped closely around the faded old page. The distant din of crickets and a dog's bark the only soundtrack besides the snap of branches and crush of grass on the path. Back in his city home he'd be getting ready for another lecture, standing in front of an led-lit mirror, adjusting his looks of excitement and his tie. This search has brought him away from the normal, the routine, into a rented jeep and across 45 miles of barren highway, to this land of possibility, where animals are the only breathing thing for miles. So he thinks. The shovel in his left hand shakes a little as he reaches the spot, red face flashing a smile of excitement. He pierces the earth, digging until his muscles become stiff. The day fades until he---
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / diary on: March 20, 2018, 07:32:10 PM
Late afternoon light spills in from beyond the curling juniper tree. Shadows dance along my desk, making patterns on the wood grain my eyes dilate as they adjust the dim-lit room. Old journals sit piled up like records. The pulpy smell of dated paper hangs in the room, spines with creases that creak when you open them. I take a peek into my youth. High school auditorium, cold linoleum floor, loud chatter echoing off the high ceiling the warm soft hand of my girlfriend folded in mine. Feelings come flooding back. Paper plates loaded with lasagna, mouth messy I look around for a place to sit. Hard lonely fold-out table my breathes are short and spurted, school books hang in my back back hard against my skin the air is stiffling--     
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Hammock on: March 19, 2018, 10:12:17 PM
I sit on damp steps, palms resting on the cold concrete. The day is a swirl of colors and heat. The hammock hangs between the orange trees rocking back and forth like a ship on stormy seas the breeze wipes away at my sweat the taste of metallic air lifts my lips slightly apart I swallow in dry gulps. I remember lazily playing on the hammock, spinning faster faster fast fingers fastened around the woven rope fibers, vertigo and the world spins as the whole thing flips. The ground punches my back I black out, eyes going hazy, smelling the earthy grass and moldy oranges the chain looking ominous above me I make groaning noises and get up. All in good fun.       
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / String on: February 26, 2018, 11:42:04 PM
I sit low, rubbing my baggy eyes with bony hands. Numbers glow from the screen, I stare and work until my mind is seeing in binary, words become string theory, conversations of jet propulsion and Higgs Boson. Cracked leather compressed beneath my butt, swivel chair, one wheel sticking to the laminated flooring, rain falls, pushing puddles down the empty street. I tug at my beanie, loose thread sticking out I pull at it, breathe minty, covering the dank sweaty room, taste of papers and film of disturbed dust. Soon lunch will wake up my senses, salty crackers and meat covered in fake cheese, washed down with warm coffee. The day seems to--   
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