Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

March 25, 2019, 08:22:51 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 / Tin Can on: March 16, 2019, 04:53:36 PM
Fall colors the leaves differently - red, brown, yellow, all falling from the trees into our laps, as we enjoy nothingness. Our fingers interlock as the sound of a tin can kicks down the street playing kick the can, the reason we first met, remembering the game we once played together.

Falling in love colors my world differently. From the blue and green of a budding friendship, suddenly turned to a fiery red, wanting everything about you. I dreamed about your smell, the sweat dripping from your forehead after running for hours and hours. I longed to taste you, as we talked back and forth, late at night, through the tin cans running from one window to another, a string attaching the cans.

Falling into new habits changes the color of our relationship. The red passion I had turned to a dark pink, realizing what we had was real. I remember when you brought the tin can of alcohol into our clubhouse. We were both 13 and werenít sure how this all worked. That night, the taste of liquor in our system, caused the social barriers to break down and we were able to touch for the first time that night. Since then, we never looked back.

When you fell, the lights turned off and the color was gone. I sometimes sit under the same tree, the one where we interlocked fingers and listened to the laughter of children. The streets are empty now. I bring your ashes in a tin can and grasp the cold metal, hoping you will come out like a phoenix. But you wonít. I have to accept that. I close my eyes, and wait.
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Comb on: February 12, 2019, 05:21:55 PM
Clear events become muddled in my mind as I close my eyes, remembering the details of what happened that day. Bare feet on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, the grout providing some sort of traction after a hot shower and floor full of condensation. I opened the drawer, fumbling past half-used toothpaste, assorted brushes and floss, and finally clutched the comb. My hair is curly, so combing my hair turns it into an afro, but the best time is right after a shower. I run the comb through my hair, the teeth clutching each strand of hair, flossing the teeth of the comb, giving it a fresh smell. The day has started. I can be whomever I want to be in front of this mirror. I am in control. For now.
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Card on: January 22, 2019, 02:57:45 PM
I used to be one for sentiment, but now, in an act of what I thing is decluttering, I throw these memories away - the receipt from the cocktail lounge where we tasted dry whiskey and sweet vermouth in order to find the best Manhattans in Seattle, the train tickets that whisked me through the countryside of Austria and Switzerland, taking me to Interlaken where I threw myself off a mountain in order to feel alive, and my college acceptance letter, which I received with a box of onions, tears running down my face, from the onions of course.

Am I throwing away these memories, or have I stored them in the terabytes of my brain? I havenít heard from you in awhile, so I indulge.

I see the words on the card. I can see you in them. I know youíre not there. But you are here.
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Roller Coaster on: December 13, 2018, 06:20:35 PM
Squeezing through the entrance, claustrophobic from the crowds of people. I thought a Wednesday would be a good day to come, but it feels like half the city is here today. Donít people have work? Or school? Or something? Note to self: avoid amusement parks if you want solitude. I walk past the industrial sized water fountain, the stands of fried food dripping in oil, knowing if I take a bite, the ecstasy in the moment will not outlive the stomach pain I will feel later. Children laughing, parents taking pictures of their kids, and the smell of popcorn fill my senses. I wait in line for what seems like hours. This is what I came here for. The grind of metal on metal, the tourists screaming like we played roller coaster tycoon, the 90 seconds of thrill, because, letís face it, thrill doesnít happen in my life much. That should have been clear as the only solo person here. I donít care. Seatbelts on, stomach feeling queasy by the smells of fried food and popcorn, and a front row seat to my doom. The click of the roller coaster takes me upward. My stomach starts to lurch forward. And we drop.
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fish on: December 02, 2018, 05:34:20 PM
I donít shine, I shimmer. I donít swim, Iím a swimmer. Sometimes the water, as I journey further into the depths of my home, grows dimmer. My tail parts the water. I am Moses and the sea is red and all I see is red. My family and ancestors continue to evade the grasp of others, but we are not always lucky, living one day at a time. My skin is a shield, but it is not indestructible. I do not choose to fight, but I do not flee. I spend my time among the trees, plucking their leaves, I feel the rush of energy flow through my body as I eat, breaking the leaves down, enjoying the slimy texture in my mouth. Sometimes, I sit under the tree and listen to the sounds around, thankful for the expansive home in which I live.
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Sidewalk on: November 25, 2018, 07:29:27 PM
Walk carefully, avoid the cracks, youíll fall in, youíll break your motherís back. Sidewalks took me everywhere and have been with me everywhere, for better or for worse. The panoramic view of the city, for which my school was named for, could be seen standing in one square of the sidewalk, no matter how small or tall you stood. I ran and played along these sidewalks, each taking a different form, rounding out to follow the street up the hill, or staying flat and steady, my walks of life being created for me. Laughter from my friends stills lives in my eardrums, chasing me at night with the game we played. Salty tears were tasted as I tripped on the curb, bloodying my knee, feeling my inner self for the first time. I didnít walk carefully. I did fall in. I landed. I certainly didnít break my motherís back but the thud from my walk of life nearly broke mine. I avoid the cracks now, but I see them more clearly. Some take up the entire square. Others are created from the curb. Sometimes I avoid the sidewalk altogether and take on my own walk of life, creating the sidewalk for myself. I walk through trees, let myself feel the grass between my toes, and sometimes I let my sidewalk end, like Shel Silverstein said. I sit at the edge of the dock now sidewalk. I look at the reflection of my past life. I think of you. Sometimes.
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Chimney on: November 24, 2018, 06:57:00 PM
I remember the house on the corner down the block from my childhood home. After school I would hop right onto my bike, 18 gears, brakes you clenched with your hands. Biking around the corner, I would try and picture myself living in the space. A square lot, small driveway, tended grass, and a chimney that went up the side of the house. Long bits of ivy draped up the side, bricks layered on top of one another. A sleepy cat in the window, and the reading nook where I would see her sometimes.

I now visit once a month, in a medium I did not think I would. Avoiding flare ups that singe my bottom, I spray down the inside with water, wiping away the ash. I wonder to myself if anyone has climbed up a chimney, attempting to admire the beauty of the soot stained bricks, the way so long ago I admired from the outside. If I was trapped, would they hear me? I sometimes wonder how Santa did this, every night delivering presents, but climbing down a chimney. Did he ever get dirty, like I am now?

Scaling down the tunnel, a spelunker of domesticity, I leave, covered in sleepy embers, hungover from their wild night.
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Spoon on: November 18, 2018, 07:42:07 PM
I shimmy open the drawer and fish around, looking for the right one. I prefer the ones with the smaller circumference. It makes me feel like I have more, even when I have less. I see myself in you, yet when I turn you around, my world turns upside down. One can understand the value of every living creature simply by looking at our spoons. A porcelain spoon for slurping soup, a warm bowl of pho on days where even clouds cry. A silver spoon with chilled gazpacho, in a packed container, sitting in the grass, a picnic and the sun shining on my face. A wooden spoon, roaming the loud, cobbled streets of Rome, scraping the last bit of raspberry gelato from the bottom of the bowl. A busker in the street, singing along to the twang of a guitar while accompanying with two of his metal spoons, creating a rhythm and driving the beat. And today, I use my spoon, with the smaller circumference to stir the sugar into my tea. English Breakfast, while I sit at my window, look out at the water, John Adams in the background, and a good book.
9  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.
10  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.
11  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.
12  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.
13  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.
14  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.
15  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.
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