Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

November 14, 2019, 02:08:19 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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346  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Blockhead on: July 23, 2015, 12:58:33 AM
Scaling the house with desperate eyes, looking for an open window along the blue molding walls. Black moss makes them look like territories in a risk game. No opening, my feet are wet and heavy as I trudge across the moonlit marshy lawn thinking I'm such a blockhead for leaving in such a frenzy. Evening has quieted the neighborhood, only crickets and television continue the song, the layers of noise we grow so used to living in town. Finally I find an unlatched pane and pull myself in, chest and stomach sliding sharply over the right angled wooden ledge.
347  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Curfew on: July 21, 2015, 11:00:36 PM
I remember camping at Makalawena Beach, the road so bad you see old brown mufflers and imploded tires, strips of rubber open and hanging off like a band-aid on the side. Sweat trickles down my jawline and I grimace as we bottom out, scrape of metal on rock worse than scratching a chalkboard. Clouds try to hold back the burst of heat from the orange sun, smell of ocean air crisp and loud, musty pine needles and urine as we pass some trees and park, Us boys plan on staying up all night, even though there is a ten 'o clock curfew. We do, eating sugary s'mores and losing control of our faculties, laughing at words that don't make sense to a coherent
348  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Limousine on: July 20, 2015, 10:44:10 PM
The sun turns my arm a bright luminescent orange, arm hairs glowing like candle wicks as I sit against the plush fabric of the back seat, squinting as radio and conversation reaches me in bits and pieces from the front flying, cutting, staccato like Morse code and my eyes droop heavy. 'Turn right by that faded stop sign' I say, feeling like I'm being taxied around, pretending I'm in a limousine going to a high-class event instead of to stock shelves for 8 hours. Black lines of shadow make shapes around the dash, the time blinks and I chug down my breakfast, globs of granola falling unchewed down my throat as the day...
349  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Elk on: July 20, 2015, 10:37:29 PM
Thanks!
350  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Elk on: July 17, 2015, 10:29:32 PM
I slither along, twigs and old buried leaves breaking under my belly. Quietly I approach with caution as droplets of dumped rain water make their way down the silver oaks and the bending juniper branches. My elbows and knees are dark with dirt, dew transferring onto my jeans like ink until they are stained deeper green, little specs of dirt and dust float up into my nostrils as I chew my gum, a flavorless distraction. Out in the yellow-lighted clearing the elk stands, proud, oblivious to it's closing demise. I pull out a feathered arrow, long wooden shaft cold against my thumb. Pull back the 40-pound bowstring. My heart turns.
351  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Glutton on: July 06, 2015, 07:49:33 PM
A memory rolls down my mind, helping a friend move a fridge into his apartment back straining as little veins pop out of our necks, smell of mildew and dried mossy concrete, thud as the dolly rolls up over each step then rest, a smattering of rap music makes it's way out from downstairs, halfway up and I count the steps, 13, thinking I'm a glutton for punishment faded red railing, my hand leaves a sweaty residue as I look over the side and get a small dose of vertigo slippery plastic handles, white and expectant as I wipe my hands on my cotton shirt and we pick up where we left off... 
352  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: onlooker on: June 30, 2015, 10:25:53 PM
Interesting angle, nice job Cheesy
353  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / weakling on: June 30, 2015, 10:23:05 PM
In the weight room, smell of dried sweat and sharp metal laces the air and we all get a try to free lift some dumb bells, I try puffing out my muscles, pectorals clenched and I'm barely breathing, instead trying to look cool, shaky arms pull thin, sinewy muscle groups along, a small boy in the class shakes his head, brown straight hair falling over his eyes and he looks through his shoes, an unspoken shame at being the weakling. Cracked leather and laying on the short black bench like some death sentence feeling hungry as my stomach folds itself over, clanking and grunting and jocks feeling right at home, I wish I
354  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Onlooker on: June 29, 2015, 07:34:03 PM
Grey clouds drop down, like low hanging ceilings, cold crisp air numbing my face as I walk the past, others bobbing at different speeds, floating along the early morning. Eye contact catches and I turn my face abruptly from the imploring evergreen eyes, keeping pace with me as my first sweat becomes a nervous one, onlooker keeps cocking her head in my direction and the game continues, imagination ablaze about the possible intentions, damp packed pine chips under my shoes feeling like quicksand, feeling a metronome heartrate rise with the heat of the day, lips salty and dry I get weary of this barrage of stares, then I glance up and she is a breath away and I wonder what her intentions are and then as I think of bolting she says "did you drop this?" 
355  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Turnips on: June 20, 2015, 06:41:42 PM
I recall going through the produce aisle with mom, hands on the cold slick metal of the cart, dirty wheels slide and squeak, swivel like an office chair colors bright and vivid and polarizing eggplant and carrots and turnips two-toned long fingerous roots hanging over the side of the display round and red-white soft glow like they've been powdered to look good on television. I think of them being dug out, dirt cakes sticking and shovels flipping them like pancakes thump thump a cadence of spades hitting the stubborn earth, harvesting the turnips, now naked and dirty and back sore, sweat stained hat wicks moisture from my forehead, I wish those turnips could stay hidden forever, nobody to bite into their bitter flesh as I glance back to
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