Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

November 15, 2018, 12:44:44 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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Pages: [1] 2
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Baseball Hat on: November 11, 2018, 07:07:16 PM
Exhilaration pulled the covers off me that morning. Putting on my pants two legs at a time, I sprang to the kitchen, trying to keep my cool but having a hard time keeping my excitement bottled up. I ate my eggs, slightly greasy, and two chicken apple sausages, in a superstitious fashion that I believed would allow me to hit the ball farther. I spent 20 minutes getting ready that day, my first baseball game. Made sure my stirrups lined up appropriately, putting my pants on, carefully tucking in my shirt. I then grab the hat. I grab the bill, curve the sides of the hat. I can smell the sweat and see the colored stain inside the hat - the salt of my sweat and blood. Practice after practice of wearing my body down in an attempt to do everything a little better. I close my eyes, visualizing standing in the batterís box, my bill keeping the sun out of my eyes, the taste of sunflower seeds on the tip of my tongue, gripping the bat, knuckles lined up in order to get the perfect swing. I hear the crowd, but that sound goes blank. I focus. I meditate. Here is where I find my peace.
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Wind on: November 10, 2018, 04:06:59 PM
Invisible to the naked eye. I squint my eyelids in an attempt to see you. I canít, but I need to. I want to.

You whistle in my ear. Sometimes wanted. Sometimes a sharp pain. Always a reminder youíre there.

I cannot smell you, but I know youíre there. Youíre fresh, but sting my nostrils. Sometimes.

You wrap your arms around me, or what I imagine to be your arms. A sigh of relief, sitting in the sun with a book, and you relax me. In a different season, you and the air combine to make me colder. I snuggle up inside and watch you torment the leaves of the tomato plant on the fire escape.

I donít think you always know the extent to which you can affect things. I donít think you mean to. But I donít think you always know your own strength.

As I sit inside, cozied under a blue blanket, curled up like a cat in my red chair, I see how you affect the water, causing ripples everywhere. I have seen you on the news, toppling trees and breaking down houses.

Can you control yourself? Or did we make you this way? I wonder as I sit, listening to a musician use you as a tool to make their instrument speak.
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Dreamcatcher on: November 09, 2018, 04:07:18 PM
I run down the line. I canít believe I hit the ball that far. The dirt wallows up as I round first, nearly rolling my ankle on the bag. All I can hear is my breath as I round first, my coach yelling at me to keep running, I can make it to third. Pure adrenaline shoots through my body, the second baseman, standing, mouth agape, unsure of what to do. I close my eyes and slide.

Eyelids snap open. Sheís there, waiting for me in the audience, cheering me on. Sweat drips down my face, makeup running into my mouth and eyes as I take the final bow. I run out back to greet her, and hopefully sneak a kiss outside the back. My stomach drops - Iíve never felt this nervous before. I feel like Iím doing something wrong, but so right at the same time. Itís not until later that I regret it. I close my eyes and lean in to press my lips against hers.

I startle myself awake. The train rounded the corner and all of my belongings that keep me safe are with me. They havenít woken up yet, but I know that they will wake soon. Towering mountains reflected in the lakes provide comfort as I finally feel alone with my thoughts. I canít wait to tell them at home the experiences Iíve had. Running for trains, eating goulash, bread and cheese galore, and taking a train across the Austrian countryside. I let my eyelids soften and my eyes roll back.

I carefully open my eyes. Unsure if I am there or here. But youíre here so I must be as well. I can feel you next to me. Warm, still with sporadic twitches, heavy breathing as you peruse your own adventures. I look up. Circular, netting, feathers hanging down. Providing comfort through the night.
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / LA on: November 05, 2018, 03:09:51 PM
The plane touches down and I am rudely awakened by the bumps. I can already feel the smog start to fill my lungs. I shuttle back and forth between here and Seattle, and now I remember why I decided to to make my residence permanent in Seattle. Stumble off the plane, I find the first coffee shop, smog still filling my breath, but at least itís caffeinated. Headphones on, drown out the sound of the sirens or the person on the corner uttering nonsense after spending too much time under the bridge. I walk. No one walks in LA. Bikers driving along, cars parked in the parking lot that is 405, and a busker on the side of the street, singing her soul out to the world, infiltrating my eardrums through noise cancelling technology. I started there, scrapping together every penny to make a living, strumming the guitar strings until my fingers would bleed. I walk to the studio. Iím in a different spot now. Computer screens, soundboards, a producer that makes my music sound better. Through it all, it feels different, but I wonder, am I just another musician on the street trying to get my shot? Iím not too different.
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Umbrella on: November 04, 2018, 07:09:11 PM
I walk down the crickety stairs, grasp the handle and push down, a walking stick to help me down the stairs. These days I donít spend much time doing much of anything. The door opens, and a draft pours in, a wave of the hand of the passerby and a wave of wind that slaps me in the face, reminding me of where and who I am. A car is unloading in the front and I walk down the street, sliding my hand down the shaft of the umbrella, opening up to deflect the drops of rain. I inhale, a fresh scent vastly different from the smoke and secondhand smoke I breathe in all day. I walk the route, the heels of my boots clicking against the concrete, a layered foundation not present years ago. Carefully avoiding the puddles, I taste the rain, sticking my tongue out as far as I can. I turn the corner - the patch of grass is still there. The same patch on which we spread out a picnic blanket and lie down, soaking in the sunshine and reading our favorite couplets. That was then. This is now. And you are not here. I put my umbrella down and let the rain wash me away.
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Star on: October 29, 2018, 02:08:51 PM
I see you from afar, engaging others in your twinkle. Your glow resonates with those around you, causing a ripple effect through and through. You might still not even be there, but you shine on. For we can only see light you provided to use hundreds of years ago, akin to our ancestors, a legacy living on through generations. But even the strongest and brightest have their days. I wonder, do you get lonely up there, millions of miles away from anyone, in a soundless vacuum? Does it smell foul with gas odors constantly around? Do you ever wish you could conform to some other shape besides the luminous spheroid that you are? Are you ever nervous about the supernova you will inevitably become? For us humans think about what happens next. But as I sit quietly underneath you, in the damp grass, and a warm blanket, I canít help but feel relaxed. Small. Protected.
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Menu on: October 24, 2018, 02:13:59 PM
As you walk through the threshold, the bell dings, signaling friend or foe has arrived. A counter with four swivel chairs, and seats with red faux leather, are stacked next to one another. The grisly smell of fried potatoes fills the air, the deep sizzle of an onion, and of course, the smell of burnt coffee. You sit near the door, anxious to be the first to leave in case of an emergency. You scan the items listed. Fried hash, mcmuffin special, short stack. Simply listed in any order, using outdated marketing techniques to bring your eyes to the items with the greatest return on investment. Feeling the wrinkled paper between your hands, you direct your eyes to the laminated version sitting on the table, underneath the plastic shell of the table. You notice typos and how prices on one are different than prices on the other. You notice how they need to update their menus, how their potatoes are the best thing they have on the menu, and how they really need to find a new barista to make the coffee. You notice quite a bit. But you donít notice me. And that, is your mistake.
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Thunder on: October 20, 2018, 03:28:53 PM
I journey out from the dock and plunge into the water, the cold water soaking into my skin and chilling my bones. I had just funneled my way through tall stalks of wheat and rows and rows of onions to get here. Through not so green pastures and hills and valleys. Iím tired. Dirty from sitting in the mud by the tree that flowed by the beautiful river. But you were not here. And I brought my own rod and staff to trek through this mess. But they did not comfort me. I pulled myself out of the water on which I cannot walk and sat at the edge. I hear a crack. It does not startle me. I see the crack light up the sky. I do not fear you. I see the strike on the water, one that if, only seconds before I had been inside and I would be fried. Yet, I am comforted. The ominous clouds hang overhead, darker than the night sky, hoping to speak to me more. I do not taste my own fear, for it is not there.
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Clot on: September 29, 2018, 04:03:14 PM
Red and white flash, creating a fury of colors. Doppler is in full effect, rushing to the hospital, squeezing in and out of cars, traveling at a pace much faster than anything or anyone. The breathing has slowed. To see this reminds one of sleep - how peaceful it can seem to slow the breath, like the cousin of death. But the cousin is a cousin, and although resembles one another, has different consequences. Slow breathing continues but inhales fear. Fear of dying. Fear of getting there in time. A clot has slowed the heart, intending to do exactly what it meant to. Joining together for one last hurrah, a revolution one might say, one last call out for the blood of angry men as I drift into the dark of ages past. The screen goes black.
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Hurdle on: September 23, 2018, 03:50:40 PM
Laces pulled tight, spikes dusted off, the rows and rows of the crowd, buzzing like a swarm of bees, waiting until it starts. He takes his towel and wipes off the beads of sweat, one last sip of water, and walks to the starting position. If he can only get over this hurdle, he can take care of the other hurdles he wants to tackle before the race to the finish. Heís been training for this moment for so long, yet after every hurdle seems to come another one. He smells victory and comes close to tasting it every time, but the actual victory itself is a paradox. The never ending cycle tastes more like the venom Loki endured, searing his face, smelling his blood, sweat, and tears and seemingly accomplishing nothing. We strive for victory, to leap over the hurdles of life, and we can accomplish them, but we are too paralyzed to move forward and enjoy the race. The gun fires to start, piercing my eardrum. I look down and the runners are off, but one body lies motionless on the ground.
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Balloon on: September 22, 2018, 03:00:20 PM
The plane lands in Denver and rolls up to the tarmac. I turn on my phone, nervous about the notifications I might receive. I rush out to meet my family and we race to where he lives. It smells of new carpet, older folks, and scones. A single balloon is tied outside his room. I take a deep breath and blow up another one, rubbery material, tastes that remind me of life and death, on either side of the spectrum. Iím not sure if Iím here for a birthday or a funeral, but a balloon is always something you will see at either. The life cycle of a balloon, although much shorter, tends is flipped depending on the occasion. For a child that is young, the balloon will live much shorter. Giggles of children laughing as they take scissors and pop the balloon, piercing my eardrums. However, at an older birthday party, the balloons are merely decorations, simply an object there to look pretty and remind us of the event. Balloons at a funeral seem to last forever. I wonder if heíll get back on his balloon. See his baby on the moon. Hang flowers in her room. Iíll be dancing just to keep my cool. I know things donít last forever, but maybe in some dream they do. As I take a breath to blow up the last balloon, my grandpa takes his last breath.
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Shockwave on: September 16, 2018, 04:35:06 PM
Legs dangling next to seaweed, I grasp the rope attached to the floatation device. The crowd looks like specks from this far out, mostly pale and sunburnt bodies, as Seattle is very homogenous, but black and brown bodies scattered throughout as well. The roar from overhead pierces my eardrums as the last planes finish up before the finale. I dip under for another moment, cooling my head and face, and pop my head out of the water, smelling the fresh water and sunscreen I had just put on. It starts. Flying overhead, I see twists and turns as the six angels in blue play with fire, wings six feet apart, entertaining us as well as one another. One plane peels off, heading straight towards the water. Flying inches above the water, a shockwave is produced, sending a wave towards me. If I could tell you what happened next, I would.
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Crook on: September 09, 2018, 07:22:03 PM
Blades of grass towered and rustled in the wind, providing any predator a veil in which to hide. The workers knew this, tending to the green when they could, but also understanding it was an impossible task. For the monstrous difficulty was the sound. The sheep bleated and the sound of silence from the predators took over. The task of protecting the sheep was that of the delinquents, for it was a dangerous job. Death loomed in this hill next to the valley by the town. One could almost taste the smell of blood each and every day. Without the sheep, the town would perish. The predator approached and the crook of the staff, stiff in the hands, swung and made contact. Thinking he had finished his job, sat down by quiet waters, his rod and staff had comforted him, and laid his head down to sleep. But this was not the wolf after all. The crook lay still in the grass beside him and finished him off.
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Hoax on: September 08, 2018, 05:54:22 PM
Orange cheeto dust layers, decrepit skin, and a toupe of blond barbie hair. Looks aside, for I refuse to be as shallow as their counterparts, I seek to dive deep and unplug this drain that continues to fill the swamp. A brash voice that pierces the eardrum, creating heart palpitations in not just mine, but those of my students, and a narrative that continues to invoke chaos. Smoke singes my nostril hairs, for I am in the presence of a liar, and although their pants have been burned to to pieces, the townsfolk still claim to see the facistís new clothes. I taste disgust - the kind when a child tries something disgusting for the first time. But in this case, it doesnít get better. My tongue loses taste buds, my body becomes numb, and my voice becomes small. They deny everything, claiming itís a hoax that they touched her between the pussy, but the biggest hoax is them. They know it, we know it, but the fight continues. But for how long?
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Crowd on: August 27, 2018, 01:49:11 PM
One, two, no at least three people. But in reality, three to thousands make up this group. Balance between exhilaration and suffocation. Heaving, gasping for breath, even though my lungs are able to take in air, the oxygen is consumed by others. Unable to control my step, moving along as one giant amoeba, dancing to the beat of the song. I can hear my own thoughts, but not my own voice. Have I lost my voice, or am I simply unable to produce at this point? Condensation drips down the walls, and although Iíve dreamed of a party like this, all I really want to do is to talk to her. A wave of sweat and sex hits me as I move to the next room, a high from second hand smoke, tasting CBD injected into my state of mind. I shuffle past and squeeze through the crowd, looking for an escape. Lonely. No one to talk to. Alone with my thoughts. At time I panic when Iím alone for this very reason, and even in the presence of three to thousands, I find myself in the same predicament.
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