Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

July 20, 2019, 09:46:05 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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31  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Subway Car on: June 18, 2019, 06:54:07 PM
This was really compelling. Nicely done Smiley
32  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / subway car on: June 18, 2019, 06:49:18 PM
Holding on to the pole overhead, smooth chrome full of smudgy fingerprints, the subway jostles to movement. Slight sense of vertigo, tunnel spins by, graffiti passing in bright waves, a life-sized kaleidoscope. My body heat radiates from under thick cotton, next to me a girl pulls her hand out of a bag of funyuns, plastic crinkling, crunch, crumbs on her lips on her seat she stares straight ahead, earbuds keep her attention inward. sharp hiss of the brakes, doors squeak open I step onto icy concrete, yellow leaves crumble under shoes, wet footprints. Heavy coats and breath clouds, my ears are numb already.     
33  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Omelet on: June 17, 2019, 05:30:54 PM
This really took me into the scene. Nice work!
34  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / omelet on: June 17, 2019, 05:29:19 PM
crack of eggs sizzling on the ceramic pan, whipped and sliding, little salt crystals embedded into the yellow flesh, pepper flakes falling like dust as the sunlight catches them. Newspaper folded over his plate, he flips through the headlines, rustle of paper as he comes to the comics. His laugh is an earthquake that shakes the table, a deep belly laugh. These eggs, bought from the store, shipped on saran wrapped crates from a California farm, rusting John Deere whirring, mixing earth like an omelet, ready for next season. The chickens run with forked dirty feet, clucks when the feed comes--     
35  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Wedding Bells on: June 15, 2019, 09:08:33 PM
We're our own worst critic.

"They echo through the chambers of your broken reasoning"

That's a powerful line.
36  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / wedding bells on: June 15, 2019, 09:05:09 PM
I remember riding a horse, smell of thick unwashed animal, loud exhales from flared nostrils, hair matted, flies kamikaze into my face. Static of air, I climb up the stirrups into the saddle, feeling my legs stretch awkwardly. The bridal and reigns jingle like wedding bells, movement startles me. There is no brake, no gas pedal, just maintaining the illusion of control. Wind brings water to my eyes, hair whipping behind my ears. This horse is reddish-brown and young, only broken in last year. I wonder at strength, hooves stepping over rocks and logs like nothing. Click of my tongue, pulling the leather handles in my stiff hands-- 
37  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / front door on: June 13, 2019, 04:44:07 PM
I sit, itching to go, glancing at the white pine contours of the front door. Words blur across the page, pulpy smooth, an apple sits cored on the hard counter, slivers browning in the oxidizing air. My feet press into the lauhala mat, sliding it back and across the floor. Patches barks outside, a deep, cutting bark, aimed at mynah birds sitting on the bowed telephone wires. The air tastes heavy, throat sandpapery, faint smell of dusty books I just want to go outside.   
38  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / chap stick on: June 12, 2019, 06:34:46 PM
I could taste her chap stick, creamy gloss sliding over my lips, faint vanilla scent. Warm breathes, steamy car windows, the rain outside patters, thudding on the roof. My cologne is overpowering, I realize, Ralph Lauren giving me a headache, dusty seat fabric suddenly itchy on my arms as she crosses the cup holder divider. A club soda sits, fizzless half-empty liquid inside. Her hand cups my cheek, leaving a burning sensation, an oily mark where I'll probably sprout a pimple. I laugh in pain at my head knocks back against the window. We sit, staring at the rain, at each other through slanted eyes. 
39  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / balance beam on: June 11, 2019, 07:22:55 PM
running in a marathon, colors of shoes and shirts, sweat beads on exposed skin, scrape of feet on the black road. Water station, like an oasis in the dessert, I pour it on my face, chew a powerbar, willing my legs to move, the path ahead a balance beam. My neck blotched with red, breathes a metronome. I remember watching the Olympics at home, dad with coffee breath, we eat popcorn, hot kernels burn my mouth. Gymnasts, all muscles and skin tight outfits, blue sequins glittering. Close calls, intense looks, silly deductions for feet rising or arms popping out to balance. The tears on the wooden podium as our national anthem plays, medal hanging heavy and gold. I try--     
40  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / unicycle on: June 10, 2019, 05:35:29 PM
Grey mist floats over the ground, water running down the river tickles my ears. I stop, breathing hard, body of dorritos and sprite cursing my name, stink of detoxing sweat.
I push my bike, thorn lodged in the tube of the front tire, which sags like 90-year-old breasts. My bike is now a unicycle, single working air-filled tire defiant and teasing, treads puffed up. Dirt dark, like coffee grounds, smudged on my calves in crisscrosses. They found a body up in these woods once, bugs and crows pecking at the decomposed bones, clothes--


*Well that took a dark turn  Shocked     
41  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / birthday card on: June 07, 2019, 06:09:05 PM
Sitting at a long wooden table, grains different shades of worn. Scratches on the finish, I trace one with my finger, a maze made from careless forks, fingernails, steak knives. Candles comes floating in from the dark, I see the glow of my mom's face, shadows dancing across the wall. An assault of voices of different pitches reminds me that I'm getting close to my third decade. Angel food cake, berries glaze down the side, leaving soggy spots in their wake. I breathe in, blow out hard, the room goes silent for a split second, then light floods in and cheers erupt from my friends and family. Engine hums outside, doors open and shut. My mouth opens and shuts, chewing sweet spongy birthday goodness, whip cream sticking to the corners of my mouth and nose. Candle wax puddles in bright rainbow colors---
42  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Polka Dot on: June 06, 2019, 05:04:40 PM
I can def relate to this feeling. Nice work setting the scene.
43  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Polka Dot on: June 06, 2019, 05:01:15 PM
nice.
44  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / polka dot on: June 06, 2019, 04:54:01 PM
Squeezing out lemons in the back yard, fresh cut citrus freckles the air, radio on the table plays positive vibrations. Tense muscles reach for fruit dripping on the outskirts of branches lichen white and scraping off the bark. Last year I flew over our house in a biplane, people little polka dots, yard like a crop circle of overgrowth and manicure engine screaming, our voices can barely keep up. Barf bags in our laps just in case my friend looks like he's gonna hurl. The plexi-glass adds a slight gausian blur to everything, like I'm wearing glasses that I don't need. Ears pop, eyes water, we land with a roller coaster bounce. Legs a little weak as gravity pushes the blood back down. Taste of humid-- 
45  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Balloon on: June 03, 2019, 06:37:44 PM
I remember a birthday party for my great grandmother. chairs scattered around a gymnasium, light stretching down from long ceilings. My neck tingles with chill, I hold a balloon. Yellow smiley face, paper arms and legs dangle and shimmy back and forth. Behind me, a kid tapping my shoulder I turn. Let the balloon string go. People pointing. It's up in the rafters, smiling down on us. Dad scolding, a tear trickles down my cheek. I wonder what will happen to it, banished to live in exile with the cobwebs and blinding incandescent bulbs until one day the air begins to slowly leak out of it and gravity carries it back down to it's linoleum resting place. Taste of thick chocolate frosting, smudgy on my face, fingers. Neck sore from craning I watch the balloon silently, say a prayer for it. It smiles. 
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