Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

January 16, 2019, 04:23:59 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 / 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.
2  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.
3  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.
4  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.
5  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.
6  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.
7  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.
8  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.
9  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.
10  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.
11  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.
12  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.
13  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.
14  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.
15  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.
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