Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

March 24, 2019, 02:59:25 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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16  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Earring on: April 12, 2017, 09:49:49 PM
She was beautiful, standing there, long brown hair. Acting to the world like she didn't have a care. But if you new her soul you'd know her hell, just another bad day down. Fingers through her hair, feeling what's missing there, that simple gold earring a ring forever broken. She cries to the seagulls, cries to the ocean, why, why me, am I just another token? Take this earring, take my heart, you can keep it all while I fall apart. I loved you last night, todays another day, my simple gold earring is all I'll give away.
17  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Ceiling Fan on: April 11, 2017, 08:48:38 PM
I lay there on the blue and burgundy well worn rug on the floor as a kid, bored, looking up at the ceiling fan.  Not really caring about it or seeing it but amazed and drawn to it's melancholy swirl. It's hypnotic. My thoughts drift.  Why am I here? What should I do today? Where is my brother? Is Sue mad at me? I should go for a ride. It's a nice day. I feel the sun falling on me through the south facing window. The screen door is open, I can hear the birds calling each other as they fly and flit. On the breeze lingers the scent of cut grass and dandelions. I feel held in natures scents and warmth. I do nothing. I lay there still with thoughts fluttering around my brain like a fly trapped in a jar. The ceiling fans seemingly never-ending circle of motion draws me back to peace...the lid on the jar opens and the fly escapes taking me on it's wings.  Mesmerized once again by the ceiling fan.

18  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Ashtray on: April 05, 2017, 08:40:04 PM
The old man sits there in his chair by the worn wooden farm table, shiny smooth from many meals and hands across it.  Smells of farm life linger around him, the cows chewed grain, chickens feather smell, horses earthy enveloping scent.  He's just come in from taking care of his life's work and rests his weary body. There beside him is his ashtray, old, on a stand same height as his chair, a lighter attached there as well, always in reach. He caresses the fancy iron work around it like a companion long beside him. With his hand on his ashtray he raises his head and looks toward the kitchen. She's there like she always is. She glances over her shoulder, flour on her nose and smiles at the old man in his chair. He smiles back. These two know each other like heaven knows souls and hell knows punishment. He glances down at his pack of roll your owns. Grabs a wad and squashes it his paper, that long lick the sealing grace. He puts it to his weather worn lips and inhales as he lights his cigarette. Eyes close, tips his head back, savors the sweet but deadly smell and enjoys his moment of indulgence. Ashes grow long at the end of his tomb of peace and fall gently like the lightest breeze touching a dandelion seed as it falls to earth, the ashes into his ashtray.
19  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Saddle on: March 26, 2017, 01:01:20 AM
That old saddle sits there still. Brown worn soft leather. Scroll work faded with time and the rubbing of many. How many hills it has climbed, gymkhanas it has raced and backs it has graced. How many it has carried. Carried me through good and bad. Self therapy in that cradle of comfort. Carried me like nothing else has or ever can.  Strength in it's worn leather attached to the unbound soul of the horse busting to get out. My horse. My mind. That gentle being that knows me without ever really knowing me but trusting me completely anyway. Trust, barb wire pulled tight and strong but cuts you just the same when you least expect it. I can trust the saddle, I take care of the saddle so this remains true.
20  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Lunch Tray on: March 24, 2017, 08:43:00 PM
She walks into the room, not raising her head, wants to see but not be seen. Grabs the lunch tray from the stack at the counter. Nothing new there. Places it on the metal slide where it's supposed to go, browsing the temptations behind glass, wondering what to have, not really caring. If this lunch tray could hold all the thoughts in her head there would be no room for food. She'd rather have her thoughts out of her head and on a lunch tray then food in her stomach. Thoughts of betrayal, bullying, crying, wanting to hide in a pit of despair as deep as an end you can never see, but knowing that's not the way. She'll have food on this lunch tray and will keep her head down. For today. Not forever. One day she'll empty this lunch tray.
21  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Raincoat on: March 24, 2017, 08:20:06 PM
Thankyou very much for your comments.  I'm new at this and appreciate any comment to help guide me in my writing.  Thankyou.
22  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Raincoat on: March 23, 2017, 07:33:09 PM
The Yellow raincoat hangs from the elk antler in the porch of the farm house. Rubber boots underneath. The old man wipes his weary rain soaked brow as he climbs the stairs to his sanctuary.  Quieter and lonelier now but still home. He turns at the top of the stairs to look at the other raincoat there. Yellow too. Never to be worn again; impossible to put away.  Death knocked, entered and left with that old raincoats life force.  So it hangs empty now, until not seeing it is easier than seeing it.
23  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Picture Frame on: March 22, 2017, 07:11:37 PM
Picture Frame, Picture Frame, what do you hold?
Memories, Memories now on hold.
Mom on her quad smiling in glee;
Now at the graveyard where I visit her on bended knee.
Dad beside her in the picture frame, happy at her side;
Trying now to comprehend the turned tide.
My boys, in the picture frame so sweet, gentle and small;
Grown now, bending with the winds but standing tall.
Life forever frozen in that picture frame;
Sweet yet sad and nothing the same.
24  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Steam on: March 21, 2017, 10:30:53 PM
Steam bubbling up from the belly of the earth to caress my face with water long held. I stand at the brink of the spring held meadow, boots encapsulated in mud as the steam rises around me. Wet. Hot and Cold at the same time. Touching my skin softly like a lovers first touch. Vanishing just as quickly. Leaving me cold. Eyes closed. Listening. Steam vapors gentle escape from the earth silent but encompassing. Life's worries melt with the heat and vanish with the cold left behind, if only for awhile. Peaceful here. Trees surrounding the meadow of steam. Meadow grasses nourished by the steam bath below. Thriving forever. Raise my face to the sun. It's peaceful in the steam. Think I'll stay here awhile.
25  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Envelope on: March 20, 2017, 06:44:06 PM
Envelope white, long, frail. Holds secrets dear to me. Dear to the receiver as well. What is in the envelope? Pink paper scented with aroma of sweetest blooming red roses; written on with the scratch, scratch of the fountain pen gliding on its perfumed surface. Smooth soft surface, fur of a rabbit silky to the hand and pen. Secrets put to paper. Hidden by the envelope holding it. Envelope. As beautiful or battered as the secrets within. Keeper of dreams. Keeper of anticipation. Leaving the hands of one scared of it's secrets; travelling to one yet to know.  Journey is dark, dirty and crowded. Many hands touch it's now worn surface. Received. Looked upon with glee bearing return address. Looked at with uncertainty bearing it's contents. Such a simple container. Such an unknown entity. New life inside unknown until opened.
26  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Squash on: April 17, 2016, 03:18:16 PM
Squish, Squash. Looking down at my boots being sucked into the slurpee of the black land of mud after a crisp early mornings rain. I explore on my childhood farm. I can see the shimmering blue remnants of the rain laying over the wasteland of mud.  Bugs are scattering in hurried flight - I watch them roar - their wings chaotically fluttering, sounding like my fingers running down my dads old comb. Flee or be squashed. The trees are over there.  The air filled with the liquid scent of water on their green leaves as they start to shiver with the early morning breeze in an effort to rid themselves of natures wet grasp.  The grass below looks up thirsting for the leafs castoff, drinking the cool newly born water, drinking as I would drink. The tinkle of the shedding water brings me back to my boots. Squish, Squashing in the mud.  I look around. Heart light like a falling feather floating in the air with the stretching beauty that surrounds me and the heat from the lemon yellow sun licking my eyes from above. I hear the horse neigh by the barn. I continue. Squish, Squash.
27  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Puddle on: April 15, 2016, 08:40:14 PM
Glistening wet blob surrounded by the dark oasis of land stretching in all directions. Cold. Wet oozing out a shadowed rivulet unknown at the time, unseen by the mouse in the grass; thirsted upon by the dragonfly.  Penny dropped in, see the ripples lashing out - lashing like the whip on a beast of burdens back.  Ridges of mud keeping the water in, stench of decay, stagnant.  Trench dug, water flows as freed from a trap.  Color change from dark, dank, to blue shimmering glass crystals running away downhill.  Little girl with pink galoshes, yellow raincoat, timid smile on her face, fresh like sunshine, scented like sweet roses, she glorifies in the freedom of the puddle.  Feels it's happiness of release as her own as it forms a new puddle around her boots.  Trepidation turns to glee at the settling of the puddle around her.
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