Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

November 19, 2019, 06:18:04 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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1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / nose on: June 06, 2017, 03:53:37 PM
it was the part of her face she hated.  too broad for her face, more like a lion's than a girl with petite features. a confidence eliminator. an arrow from her face to all the other girls' noses in her class that were pert, narrow, perfectly proportional to their other features.  everyone talked about her pretty green eyes, but she knew each time - a dull kick in her stomach - that it was because they were avoiding the bulbous hunk of bone and flesh in between her eyes and lips.  she had fantasies of smashing it, mutilating it mixed with dreams of molding it like clay into the perfectly slender, upturned feature that would align all the rest of her.  that day at basketball practice it was as if the universe fulfilled her wish as the orange, rubbery-smelling ball smashed violently into her face upon turning around. the wetness trickling down her upper lip and subsequent gasps told her it was bloodied. she licked and tasted the salty liquid. the raging pain in the middle of her face told her the nose was broken. all playing stopped and bodies rushed towards her, worried faces all around.  they all offered cries of sympathy, as they gently lowered her to the ground.  her best friend held her hand to comfort her.  but none of them understood. she cried tears, yes. but they weren't a reflection of her pain; they were an outpouring of profound joy and relief...  she finally had a reason to see the plastic surgeon.
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / trapeze on: May 31, 2017, 07:47:46 PM
A round silver handle blankly swings to and fro until a hand in mid-air snatches it just before it goes back the other direction, accompanied by a coordinated gasp from the audience.  Applause follows.  The gymnasts are skinny and sequined, their lithe bodies like rubber bands, twisting and turning in unnatural directions. My body sways in the same direction they fly, tensing and releasing with each launch through the air and subsequent grabbing of the ring.  The smell of sweet popcorn, cries of babies, stickiness on my sneakers… my focus shifts from the trapeze artists to a clown harassing a child, in her face, seemingly unaware of her terror.  The child's eyes are wide as if deciding whether to laugh or cry in that moment.  He offers her a flower and she offers up a cautious smile. Something jolts my left side.  I don't look; I know it's my brother leaning abruptly to see something that's being blocked by the large body in front of us.  Fingers pointing this way and that at the various sights.  A drum roll begins and the event I've been waiting for begins.  I breathe more shallowly in anticipation and the rest of the crowd quiets down slightly.  "Where is it?" a small voice near by says.  The curtains at one end of the ring open and a man pulling a large cage steps through accompanied by a roar
3  Metaphors & Similes / Metaphors & Similes / Button on: May 30, 2017, 08:16:53 PM
A metaphor is "something used, or regarded as being used, to represent something else". and a simile is a figure of speech involving the comparison of one thing with another thing of a different kind,.. so, pick a word and set your clock for 5 minutes [it might not take that long] and try to use the 5 senses, for example a license plate tastes like a prison workshop [Simile] or a dentist drill is a missile that explodes in your mouth [Metaphor]

Senses: sight, sound, taste, touch, kinesthetic, smell

A button tastes like 10-week old gum
A button smells like an empty room
The sound of the dropping button gave him a sense of the world coming undone
He caresses the button like a hungry lover
The button refused to release its grip on the shirt, as if knowing a slip through the hole would render it useless
The twinkling of brass buttons reflected in the sunlight reminded her of Christmas

A button is insurance for keeping people decent
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Kazoo on: May 30, 2017, 07:58:19 PM
Spittle forming on the inside, which only makes the whiny buzz more resonant, if a kazoo could be called resonant.  Red and silver in color, it's hard to believe this tinny thing can make a noise - a lesson in physics.  Experimenting with highs and lows of voice through the tinny thing, feeling powerful making "music" even as a wee child.  The tunes were always accompanied by laughter, as the sound coming out of this so-called instrument couldn't be taken seriously.  Much like paper over a comb, although that was one that always made for greater awe among listeners. Birthday parties with friends making funny sounds, just to tease laughter out of one another.  Sucking on straws to pick up the dried black-eyed pea and put it into the coke bottle with a tinkling sound as reward.  the feeling of rounded glass on which to put my lips , tilt back head and out came syrupy, fizzy goodness - relief on a sweltering day.  the clanking of glass bottles in the kiddie pool, a minor prick and then seeing the water turn from clear-ish blue to brownish red… trying to figure out the source of the new color only to realize it was my ankle bleeding.  No sensation in the water, but once out, it stung mightily.  The sensation of rushing from the back seat of the Dodge.  Sitting in the cold, sterile, white and silver office watching a kind of oversized needle being threaded while a major prick
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / roadblock on: May 12, 2017, 04:55:33 PM
Too many thoughts demanding attention at once… mental roadblocks to what I really want to focus on.  Too many synapses firing, trying to cram into a small tunnel, creating a traffic jam of productive mental activity, requiring detour after detour, resulting in my mind tracking in circles, getting nowhere, producing nothing of value.  Need to find a single-lane road to the country, with fewer distractions, allowing for greater concentration.  Breathe in the fresh air and recently harvested corn.  Soak in the warmth of the sun's energy, relaxing the tension in my shoulders and neck.  Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. A gulp of icy water from a gurgling stream from a time when streams were clean.  Or soaking in a steamy hot springs, my limbs weightless, fingers bouncing off bubbles, toes dancing in the whirlpools of foamy sulfur.  Hands pressing down on my back with smooth heated stones, tracing up my arms
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / circus on: May 11, 2017, 01:35:57 PM
stilts in striped pants, looking up and up to see where they stopped, clown face at the top. rhythmic beating. body tense in anticipation of the elephants that the shrill voice from afar has announced .  my first sense of awe as the huge, lumbering creatures enter majestically, trunks holding tails. my feet tingle with the vibration of their steps. people in leotards swaying on swings in the air. hypnotic as my body picks up their pendulum motion then stomach lurching when one lets go and somersaults in mid-air.  my fists clench willing her to grab hold. time slows down. huge exhale when he catches her.  the cry of Popcorn! Peanuts! and sweet smell of spun, pink sugar.  my mouth waters. different music and the crackly voice announces another something. a cacophony of sound and too many sights.  slightly dizzy.  "Look!" says a familiar voice and I look to where the finger in front of me is pointing.  years later a different kind of circus, a new kind of amazement with laser lights and dancing to thrilling electro-music
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / motorcycle on: May 10, 2017, 02:47:50 PM
arms around his waist, an odd intimacy for a brother and sister.  recognizing the need for immediate trust. the rev, rev, revvvv of the engine, the wild thumping of my heart.  breathe in, breathe out, breathe in… and suddenly i lurch backwards as he propels the bike forward.  eyes squeezed shut while the steady roaring of wind whips hair around, stinging my face.  his voice, thin and distant says something, but it's too loud to hear and to much effort to respond.  i open my eyes and take in the scene to my side whizzing past.  all motion suddenly stops. we're at a light.  fumes of petrol mixed with baking bread.  a sensation of warmth and contentment.  is this what happiness feels like?  before i can relax into it, my body is lurched backwards again and we wiggle as i almost throw us off-balance by tightly squeezing him as if a solid pillar.  but no, he's no sturdier than i, just a body atop another body of metal perched precariously on two wheels.  we turn around a corner and i lean against it, following his lead.  a few more lights and then we're off into the hills, a freeing sensation on multiple levels, the wind roaring even louder
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Lava on: May 09, 2017, 01:53:36 PM
steam rising from a slow-moving, bubbling gelatinous liquid that reminds me of molasses on fire.  science class in elementary school, a model-sized volcano that fascinated and presented no danger.  B-horror films where whole towns are threatened by the eruption of an old dinosaur of a sleeping giant, screams of villagers with terrified faces.  goosebumps on my arm, hair raised, imagining the pain of burning skin.  could my feet run fast enough?  i'd probably be trampled, hundreds of feet breaking my back, crushing my skull, pressing me further and further into the ground until the fiery lava smothered me, turning me into a new form.  anthropologist chipping away years later with tiny tools, discovering delicates bones of humans.  the dusty remains of femurs, jaw bones, teeth delicately wiped with the bristles of a small brush, tickling away the non-bone debris, then each bone being bathed in a solution and pieced together by a conscientious scientist, breathing in and out as she concentrates on meticulously arranging
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Basement on: May 08, 2017, 01:20:59 PM
A finished basement… one with carpet and walls and a sliding glass door out to the yard and possibly a bar in the corner stocked with liquor… that's the kind he wants.  Added square footage for his man cave.  Theirs smelled dank, cluttered with leftover computers and other objects now unrecognizable.  The crack in the wall was emblematic of their marriage.  Tiny, narrow stairs leading down below to a group of small rooms that felt oppressive in atmosphere.  I was short, but felt the need to duck my head, in spite of the ceilings being high enough for me.  Anxiety, depression seeped into these rooms as well, as I noted the sad look on his face of unfinished business, a life left undone.  A whiff of mildewy rankness hit my senses and a chill ran through my body. This pool table sagged with the weight of heavy boxes.  I ran my fingers along the soft faded green cloth, wondering if the table itself longed for more useful days when balls clinked atop and wet beers perched on its rim.  Blue chalky tips - my favorite task in pool as a child, the only one I could accomplish with any panache.  Certainly not the breaking, my stick always tacking sideways before reaching the white shiny ball. My weak tap was always followed by someone else's satisfying crack as they finished what I had barely begun.
10  Metaphors & Similes / Metaphors & Similes / Metaphors and Similes on: May 06, 2017, 02:59:51 PM
His heart felt like an ocean without water
His heart felt like an empty ocean
She laid her feelings bare and felt like a buoy floating in the middle of the ocean

She looked up at the ocean in the sky, gray-blue with waves of clouds
Her mind was a tumultuous ocean of thought
An ocean of tourists walking Times Square

11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Necktie on: May 06, 2017, 02:45:38 PM
My favorite was the one I bought for him to go with one of his suits.  It was more contemporary in design with purples and blues and had a sheen.  The smell of him, something I barely remember.  Usually it's easier to hear his laugh or his singing.  When I let myself go there.  Nag Champa incense, something I had never smelled until him.  Black and white movies - an anathema in our house growing up - became my new discovery thanks to him. Passionately gesticulating to make a point - also something that we never did in our household. We were expected to be more composed, sophisticated… Getting chastised for being "too dramatic" the few times I did express my passion… through tears, through loud voice.  Even his skin was different, smooth, always moist - he would say "oily" - but of a different texture than my dry southwestern skin.  Running my fingers through his wavy, thick hair.  Loved the hair on his head, not the goatee on his chin, which scratched my own chin when we kissed.  His attempt to mature his baby face, rounded cheeks and inquisitive eyes, forever young at heart.  Being held in his arms, swaying, as he sang to me a jazz standard in our basement brownstone apartment with exposed brick.  Clomping from upstairs neighbors drowned out by Martin Sexton or David Gray.  Cushy blue couch from IKEA
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Apple on: May 05, 2017, 01:49:13 PM
Crisp and tart. Skin in between my teeth.  Slightly bloody due to my overly sensitive gums.  Slice upon slice with cinnamon and spice for the pie.  Gooey, sugary goodness complete with pastry.  Dessert after huge dinners of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas. Papaw now waiting for his dessert but sitting at the table until his slice arrives.  Warm, sweaty days, toes in the mud.  Walking along rows of corn, enveloped in the leaves, the smell of new kernels and earth.  The barn where the muddy pigs were kept, cautiously approaching, not wanting to make them squeal, then being delighted when they did.  The smell of manure, and other unidentified scents.  Rusty tools that you couldn't touch, warned to stay away from.  Cans of paint.  The paint shaker with its steady rhythm and thwacking of paint against the can.  Papaw whistling as he mixed, letting me stir with the broad stick in the thick, creamy substance that resisted my pull.  The colors streaked, like marble, then gradually fade into one another forming a new color altogether.  The swishing of the roller and sticky paint against the wall as he paints broad stripes in consistent lines.  The up and down motion as I attempt the same, not reaching high enough, unsteady with this giant stick and sponge, more in control of me than I it.  The fumes of paint tingling my nose, the sweaty smell of Papaw
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Gazebo on: May 22, 2016, 04:02:29 PM
From afar, it appears romantic, quaint, with ivy woven in and around the lattice-work for ornamentation. But once I step closer, I can smell the rotting wood mildew. I see that the ivy is, in fact, crawling in and around the gazebo like a giant boa constrictor intent on destroying the thing.  Stepping up into the gazebo, my boot makes a hollow sound and the wood creaks with every bit of movement, giving it a precarious feeling.  Will this next step send me crashing through the floor?  The benches where once someone could sit are now home to dead leaves, flowers, twigs, and dirt, more on one side of the gazebo than the other indicating which way the wind tends to blow in.  Buzzing from behind me.  I cautiously twist around - careful not to move too much - to see a multitude of flies feeding on a stiff, dead bird. The stench hits me at the same time and my stomach turns over, somewhat nauseous. 
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Campsite on: May 19, 2016, 02:22:58 PM
Gooey inside and crispy, crusty sweetness on the outside.  I liked to catch my little white sugar pillows on fire and then quickly blow them out... the quickest way to get a roasted marshmallow.  But sitting and turning the hanger wire to try to get the perfectly roasted one, caramel brown on every side was a fun challenge too. Twisting, twisting, attempting to save the white goo that lost its shape and dropped in, sizzling.  The smell, like entering a candy shop, always signaled when it was close to done. Feelings I had never experienced towards my camp counselor who had strong legs and confident husky voice and who played guitar. All nerves on end in a tingly way, feeling giggly whenever she came around.  The chill on my back and warmth on my face as we sat around singing songs that are branded in my memory forever. Hard cold ground, but who cared? Crackling sparks, flickering on faces, a sense of being bound together forever, as if our hearts were holding hands when we all sang, me providing harmony after hearing it for the first time... Sleeping on a creaky cot in the tent with floors above ground due to possible scorpions. Hollow clomping on the wooden floors - a comforting sound.
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Mango on: May 18, 2016, 02:39:35 PM
I had been battling the smell of summer stink all morning down in the subways. When I surfaced this time, the smell of fresh and sweet beckoned me even before I reached the cart.  Orange neon mango "blossoms", expertly carved by the cart man, awaited purchase. My skin is damp and I watch the save heat rise from the scorched pavement. I swallow - dry parched throat - and my taste buds salivate at the thought of enjoying the juicy fruit.  I purchase one, exchanging pleasantries in Spanish, walk to a nearby bench and sit down, only to stand up immediately. The bench, too, is scorching hot. I walk towards the river, allowing myself to smell the fruit but not yet taste, knowing it will be better with anticipation.  I'm reminded of the time he and I experimented with mango. It was cold from having been in the refrigerator and the thought of getting messy, sticky didn't appeal to me.  But then he rubbed the soft fleshy fruit over my soft fleshy parts and suddenly I didn't care. At the river the slight breeze caressed my face. I bit into the mango letting it's juices running down my chin, my neck, between my breasts.  And once again, I didn't care. 
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