Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

October 18, 2018, 03:39:50 AM
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

Login with username, password and session length
This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti

Saturday-Homesick



Word of the Day
  Show Posts
Pages: [1] 2
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fire on: October 10, 2018, 09:41:26 PM
The fire has burned a hole through the snow so that he can barely feel the heat anymore.  Soles of the boots have melted off in patches leaving bits of his feet open to whatever warmth is available.  Socks long melted. Frost bite is setting in. You can smell burnt rubber wrapped around the wood smoke, strangling it. He's stranded. He's been laying in the lean to made of the last pine tree he could find for days now, using the branches as a cushion to lay on, poles cut from a willow supporting the branch roof, his feet hanging out toward the fire. He's out of food and down to his last cup of water. He's out of fire wood too.  He didn't mean to run out of gas while checking the trapline; he's getting older, forgetful. He lays there, wondering if death will come today or if it'll be rescue. No one really knows where he is, but hopes his last friend, he can't let it go while there's breath to draw. The fire was his last connection to life. Dying to ashes now; smoldering away to nothing. He hopes he's remembered as a man who tried his best. Lets go of life with a last whisper of breath, a match to the last hiss of the fire as a snowflake gently falls into it's ring of fading comfort.
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tennessee on: October 05, 2018, 06:40:51 PM
The only thing I know about Tennessee is that it's home to "Good Ole Rocky Top", of Osborne brother fame. Doesn't matter, i had to go, the song made it sound nice. I said my goodbyes, checked in with the neighbor one more time to remind her to feed my cat. Not an easy feat, old Mrs. Jones is 85, hard of hearing, forgetful and sometimes smells bad but I doubt the cat will mind as long as it has food.  Hopefully the cats alive when I get back. I grabbed my battered black suitcase off my front step and proceeded down my cracked and worn walkway to my car.  My car's a thing of beauty, well, at least to me it is. 1969 red and white Camaro with white leather seats that still smell like boot leather, never get tired of that smell, I hope Tennessee smells like that. I hefted my bag into the trunk, slammed the lid shut, shuffled around the back, opened the drivers door and let myself sink into a white seat of luxury; kinda like sinking into a frothy white warm foam bath on a cold day, only with the smell of leather instead of lavender, both equally sensual to me. I put my key in the ignition, listened to the roar of the engine firing, like a jet holding back all it's power until it's given permission to go, hey, it's my fantasy. I take one last look around, adjust my seat, shift into gear and head out to good ole rocky top...down in Tennessee.
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Eternity on: October 03, 2018, 02:32:52 AM
He was part of a two such that finding one alone is like a lake drained of it's water, sun drained of it's heat, a man without his shadow, love without a sigh. He stands there in his worn farm denims and plaid shirt looking down the dirt road that meanders behind the old farmhouse, through the break in the trees and beyond to the green fields.  Evenings waning sun casting shadows not quite dark enough to bring out the fear that always lurks where you can't see. His black lab sits at his feet, looking up sadly at his best friend, waiting for any kind of signal. The man rests a gentle hand on his dogs head scratching lightly behind the ears offering what comfort he can. Memories flood the old mans head like a great damn whose ports have opened, nothing to hold them back no matter if he wanted to.  She was everything to him. She was the soul of his being, he was hers. Gone two years now but feels like an eternity.
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Backburner on: September 27, 2018, 09:27:10 PM
He was important but he didn't know it; put on the backburner. Where to go from here, striving for attention, not getting a mention. Always in the shadow, always trying to be seen, no one notices those genes, he's on the backburner. Cries out to mom, cries out to dad, brother, sister, teacher too, no one has a clue, of what he can do, they put him on the backburner. He's tall, he's clean, he's nice, he's mean doesn't matter how he dresses or how he seems, he's always on the backburner. One day soon, he'll know his tune, he'll turn this around, no more backburner to be found.
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Swelter on: September 24, 2018, 08:47:59 PM
It's dry and dusty. Tumbleweed rolls on by in it's lonesome trek to nowhere.  The old man sits there in the sweltering heat on the worn greyed wooden bench that's sat beside the faded pale planking of the isolated old gas station for years unknown. He takes his dusty hat in hand and removes it from his head and gives it a swack against equally dusty, blue, torn weathered jeans. Pulls a red checkered hanky from his pocket, wipes his dripping brow and settles his hat back in place with all the care you'd give to your most prized possession. He leans back and chews on his piece of straw he calls candy, he can taste the dust. Cowboy boot clad feet spread out in front of him on the hard packed ground showing cracks from lack of water, sun beating relentless down on him, sweltering heat enveloping him as he ponders the empty expanse of highway. If he closes his eyes he can smell the grass and feel the rain removing the swelter to help him stay sane.
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Robot on: September 20, 2018, 05:02:21 PM
I've hit the snooze half a dozen times already, that country music backdrop encouraging me to get up but I convince myself just one more time that I can ignore it.  I hate getting up.  It's so much better under the crisp enveloping lavender scented sheets with the heavy weight of the quilts holding me down, my head sinking into my soft silky pillow then putting that leg out to test the cold air before grudgingly getting up.  I lay still longer, just a bit longer.  My orange cat, that great ball of fur aptly named Peaches, decides to join me, she jumps up and paws at me, purring like a bad motor, there's no stopping the inevitable.  I toss back the covers, rub my eyes, ease up and sit there for a minute contemplating that I really do need to get up and go to work.  I convince myself to rise, grab some clothes and sloth-like make my way out of my bedroom to start my routine.  Bathroom, coffee, hair, makeup, pack a lunch, coat, boots, feed the dogs, go to work, come home from work, supper, bed, repeat, like a robot.
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Hostile on: September 19, 2018, 07:04:50 PM
Death makes me hostile. Why does it creep up and take away the most important things to us; life of another. We live and love, give and take, cry and laugh, try to absorb the sunshine and warmth of those around us and shelter ourselves from the hostile nature of others too, but no matter, death still comes slithering in. I feel the heat of anger and the suffocating sorrow of those around me like a hot flame doused in water over and over again. Relief from sorrow and hostility at the unfairness will come with time but it's never complete, it's the road that has no end, you just get used to the curves and try to stay in the middle, but it never really ends. It makes me mad, death, I'd like to take its black cloaked ghost and bury it where it puts others, never to be seen, felt, touched or feared again.
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Life Jacket on: February 23, 2018, 04:04:38 PM
You go through life meeting and discarding people like gum wrappers, not in a mean way, just in a moving on way and always thinking there'll be someone else to fill any void. Sometimes though you come across a person who, maybe without you knowing or comprehending is your life jacket. They are kind of always kind of just there keeping your head above water, maybe making your head tilt back a bit so you look up and see hope instead of looking down and drowning. Everyone has this person in their life, guaranteed at some point.  Maybe some still do and maybe for others that person wasn't the life jacket you wanted or was just a plain bad one so you picked someone else. Maybe you only had that life jacket  for a minute but it was long enough to make a difference.  For me, my life jacket was my mom. She's gone now. No life jacket, no matter how hard I tried to be one for her, could keep her afloat when cancer came swimming. She was a bright yellow life jacket. Sturdy, strong material wrapped around me and clasping me in tight. Not smothering, but supporting and keeping me buoyant. Soft to the touch and fresh to smell, like water and earth and life...
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Cotton Candy on: February 22, 2018, 03:45:07 PM
The sites were overwhelming, I couldn't help myself, I had to just stop. Wind gently teasing and flipping by grabs a piece of my hair and tugs it across my chin. I brush it away, close my eyes and take a big breath in. First I hear the noise, children laughing, bells clanging, vendors shouting "come right up and try your luck"! Behind the noise are the smells...corn dogs, french fries... and cotton candy. I can feel the sun on my face, feel the gravel under my feet, feel the comfort of my mom's hand holding mine but most intensely I can already taste that cloud of cotton candy. I open my eyes and pull my mom toward the box to the right with the windows all around and cones of the pink fluff stacked up outside the window.  Mom laughs at my eagerness and gladly hands the man the money that will bring me glory. I carefully grab my cone of puff, reach up and unwind that first grainy sticky piece of bliss..I'm drooling in anticipation...I stuff it in my wide open gaping waiting mouth, seal my lips around it. My eyes close in ecstasy as I savor the sweetness. There's really nothing like it I decide. What do you compare to being able to take a bite of sweet cloud without having to reach for the sky.
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Donut on: February 09, 2018, 03:54:44 PM
There was an old shop on the street I'd walked by many times in my youth. Same cracked sidewalk leading up to the worn step leading to the front door, stained grey, gritty and filled with the dust and tracks of many souls. The smell is still there of dirt. The wind carries a trace of mowed grass down the street. I looked up through the glass door but couldn't see much with the sun behind me reflecting my own image back. Grabbing the handle I moved inside, bell dinging to announce to anyone who cares that someone has entered this hallowed domain.  The atmosphere is the same. I stand there for a second, close my eyes and inhale it.  I hear the rustle of other peoples clothing as they shuffle, a child asking her mother a silent question that comes like a whisper, the ching of the old cash machine but most overwhelming is the smell of the donut. First the sweet doughy smell that gets your mouth watering, then the anticipation of the softness in your hands and finally the mouth watering body enveloping sensation of that first sweet bite. I've blocked the door, people are getting annoyed, I open my eyes and walk to the counter to order my dream.
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Aspirin on: April 27, 2017, 06:19:09 PM
The clock was ticking softly in it's bland fake plastic form on the crème colored wall, a hospital color. I sat in the blue plastic chair against the wall opposite the clock; he lay on the bed covered in more hospital yellow. The air felt thick with the nauseating perfume of sickness hospital rooms carry. The machines of life ticking away in the background filling the silence. The nurse came authoritatively into the room on her silent sneakers but carrying the sound of the swish of her clothing as she entered. I could see the chart clutched in her hands.  Nodding my way in silent understanding of my hunkered down presence, while I continued to shred the Kleenex I've twisted to pieces like my insides. She touches his wrist feeling for life, looking at the machines to gauge whether they agree with her. She looks down and makes some scribbles on her record of life pad; doesn't bother to ask him how he's feeling, he hasn't moved for days. She takes a last look and turns to go, the sound of her rustling clothes battling with the machines beeping.  This time she pauses on her way out and says the aspirin I gave him may have saved his life but couldn't stop the roar of the heart attack.
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Mosaic on: April 19, 2017, 06:45:29 PM
Life is a Mosaic.  Family starts the mosaic; mother, father creating the background for what gets layered on after. Children added, rough around the edges, maybe not quite fitting preconceived spaces but no getting away from either. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and friends, their many colors of personality overlapping and crowding each other in the Mosaic, each trying to be seen, each trying to be special, each wanting to be cared about.  The mosaic becomes so deep and layered that we lose sight of the foundation.  Foundation breeds the strength of everything whether we see it or not. It makes the mosaic strong and colorful or weak and thin.
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Shot Glass on: April 15, 2017, 09:21:19 PM
He leans his elbows on the smooth mahogany of the bar. Hat tipped low over his eyes, one heeled cowboy boot resting on the foot bar; staring at the shot glass. He reaches out a finger and touches the edge, pushing it away a little, trying to do physically what he can't do with his mind. He knows he shouldn't put that shot glass to his lips; knows he's going to anyway. Life's like that, one shot glass away from a bad decision. He picks it up, gazes upon it's liquid gold fire and tosses it back. It burns so good. Burning away life just a little bit, forgetting just a little bit. He rolls the shot glass between his figures, feeling it's empty coldness. Looks at the bar tender and nods his head for another. Just one more fire.
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tulip on: April 14, 2017, 04:11:37 PM
She kneels there at the flower bed. Hands working the dark cold earth in an attempt to create a womb for life. She has her trowel there, pink handled, smudged with dirt; a tool that labors beneath the steel to achieve an end. The dog, great shaggy brown and white thing, too big for it's boots comes up an licks her behind the ear, she lovingly brushes her away.  She has work to do. Spreading the earth with her hands she can see it now, that green bud of life poking through, reaching for the sun there not quite close enough. The first tulip of spring bursting to get out. She caresses that green sprout, seeing it as a beautiful life waiting patiently to reach it's full glory; like a baby born.
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Contact Lens on: April 13, 2017, 08:19:31 PM
You open your eyes and see nothing, everything's blurry, like an oil painting not quite dry that's had a hand dragged across it blurring the lines. You seek the edges and definition of life but see nothing, everything's melded together, there is no separation between matter, only muted understanding. How often do we go through life seeing with blurred vision, seeing with the murky makings of our mind, justifying what we see to ourselves even knowing we're wrong, clarity's lacking. We analyze and agonize. We rush and judge anyone in our way. Too bad there's not a contact lens that makes clear the ego behind the blurred vision.
Pages: [1] 2