Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

July 21, 2018, 09:42:23 PM
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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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1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Trumpet on: Today at 08:48:50 AM
              Cross legged on the turf grounded lanai for three to four hours a night was how I spent most of my teenage years. Practicing. Reading. Learning. Mostly making noise and trying to stay in key. Dad would slowly creep open the sliding glass door that seperated the porch from the rest of the house, his raspy voice cutting through the Florida smog that I became used to until the AC hit me gently in the face. He would say "miss Elizabeth, it's time to put it down, it's late and you have school tomorrow". "Yes dad". I would put the faded bronze instrument in my case, rub the bright red velvet one time before closing the top, lock it up and proceed inside.  I am 63 now and playing a trumpet to me might as well be easier than breathing. The bronze valves, the finger buttons, my fingers.......
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Diary on: July 20, 2018, 05:46:26 AM
            "Is it alright with you if I just told you everything?" she asked. I replied "that is what I'm here for". She was staring me in the face. She  looked down in here lap once more, took a deep breath knocking some of the dust off my bindings as she exhaled. I saw her reach for her sparkled blue pen that sat closely off to the left and she began to write on the pages I offered up to her. Perfectly formed paragraphs and big excited writing, the kind girls in high school use, sat on top of the each of the lines on my pages. Boy's names, mom and dad, the anticipation for the arrival of her drivers license, and the mean girls in school were all information previously unknown. I sat there and listened and took it all in. That's all she wanted really. The back side of her hand rubbed along each of the lines as she wrote on. Breathing heavier at times, that's when I could tell she was letting it out.....
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Hammock on: July 19, 2018, 11:02:29 AM
Very Nice
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Hammock on: July 19, 2018, 11:00:30 AM
              When it was it was good, it was good. But it didn't work out and I guess things happen that way. None the less I cleaned out what I had of mine at her place just the other Saturday. She was out at some farmer market. At least that's what she told me. When I finally had everything moved back to my buddies house iI though I heard the halls echo a sigh relief for me. I knelt down, my knees tight up against a cardboard box. I opened it, miscellaneous item of such. Something was missing though. I didn't know what it was. I took a quick glance out the sliding glass window that was letting the only source of calm light in which was perfect, I wasn't in the mood for bright lights. I peered out toward the two old oaks tree that perch themselves in direct view of hole #8. There wasn't much action on the golf course today. The relaxation that would offer to be out there right now. I then had the thought of my comfort laced stretch hammock and just how eloquent it would fit in between the two rusted barked oak trees. I looked down in the box. I got up from knelt position and made my way back to her house. 
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Altar on: July 18, 2018, 06:06:17 AM
                His slender word down sandals pressed and formed so slightly around the red rock in which he walked upon. Kicking up little bits up dust as he made his way to the top of the hill. There he looked over the land. It was dry. For miles and miles it was dry. But he remained unfearful knowing the Lord was with him. He cried out to the Lord, "O Lord God, how am I to know that this is land is mine to possess". The Lord spoke through Abram that night while he slept and Abram knew it could be done. He would chart, harvest, grow, and raise upon the land in which he stood. The land known as Chaldea was soon to be cherished by the ancestors of Abram. Abram knew what was to be done before the land he possessed gave him room to grow and that was to build an altar. With the minimal supplies he had and the wood he could scrounge up, Abram built the Lord an Altar.
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Stone on: July 17, 2018, 06:06:39 AM
              He's tumbled and fallen many times over. He's been stepped on and held back but stays optimistic, he keeps pushing through. He's been through the weather - rain, sleet, dust storms, and nights as long as a monday. But all in all he prefers it that way. He's never held a hand with a lover, he lacks any sort of emotional attachment. Traveling at night although gets his mind wandering doubtfully he enjoys the solitude and sedateness. With no sun on his back it keeps him lively longer. Sleeping through the day when most are just going about enjoying one. Although he considers himself a loner he thrives off the acceptance of individuals from time to time so when he passes through villages he plays music. He gauges each village on the amount of accepting ears that choose to consume his music. He's only found a handful of villages he likes. He's passed through many. No matter the amount of discouragement he will keep rolling. Rocking and Rolling.
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Brownie on: July 16, 2018, 05:49:23 AM
        It was a golden batch. The kind you know doesn't come around that often. Sitting there, innocent, losing its warmth with every passing second, I couldn't wait to long to sneak a piece. But how in the hell I was I supposed to sneak the first bite. I had learned mothers pattern of cooking from watching her all these years and when the living room shares the same walls as the kitchen it makes it easy learn such habits. She would soon be exiting the kitchen to go and do whatever mothers do. Not sure what that was but it was a matter of time. As each minute rolled by the smell of the crisp chocolate stuck to the outside portion of the 5 x 7 tray didn't do a good enough job holding the smell in. It made it's way across the room and circled the nose I claim as my own. When it bent around and kissed it, I hastily turned. Mother was gone. Deliberately but rather carefully I tip toed up. Peering my head over the tray like a giant on a city. I grabbed the rough edged wooden spatula in my tiny hands and chose carefully. Where was I going to cut into the city. Avoiding taking too much time. I cut into the corner. The wood against the  stainless steel and my teeth against the crisp chocolate, it made for an early unexpected arrival from a disappointing mother.
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Bronco on: July 15, 2018, 09:03:42 AM
            He had a pack of cigarettes in his rolled up sleeve, side burns as thick as a baby dog's ear,  a toothpick hanging from his mouth, and it was like he couldn't ever hold the steering wheel with two hands. It was always his left hand placed up there at 12 o'clock. His larger than usual calloused hand gripping a tight chain link steering wheel. That hand and the steering wheel belonged to my older brother. He was 18 at the time and Mom had him drop me off at school. I couldn't wait to hop in those plush leather vanilla seats. I'd climb up in, and bounce on up and as I pressed down, the aroma that leaked from the pressure was something I wasn't all that familiar with. Then I would hear Mom yell from the blue framed front porch "Evan, you better not be smoking with your brother in the car! You better not be smoking in that Bronco period!" My brother wouldn't say anything. Just precede to hoist his leather boots mostly covered up by frayed bleach soaked cotton jeans-
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Swingset on: July 14, 2018, 07:02:59 AM
         I feel my rubber of my soles and the pressure my body gives down onto the runway. Nothing however like the pressure these F-16's have on my conscience and the runway itself. I love this. Wings, Freedom, and War. I've always wanted to be pilot. I always wanted to fly. I still remember, sitting there when my feet couldn't touch the ground, my little hands wrapped around rubber coated chain link, and my Dad to my back. All of a sudden I was flying. Summer gusts blowing against my face. I was eye level with leaves I thought I would never see the top of. It was freedom. My heart sinking as I would retrace where I just came from. Whoooosh. I would then feel my fathers rough hands grab my little new balance shoes and again I would thrust forward. I am 56 now. It's made out of cedar and wood and sits in our back yard. My children love their swing set just as much as I loved mine.
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Spy on: July 13, 2018, 06:01:23 AM
Thank you!
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Mascara on: July 13, 2018, 05:59:07 AM
         It was damn near a scene out of the "Top 10 Best Places To Treat a Woman". They had candle light on petite tablecloth draped tables. The boats were crawling slowly up and down the river  as they made they're way through downtown. We had front row seats to it all as we made our way through a gracious evening. The dinner was a delight. I however needed a glass of milk with my steak. I was given a glass of milk and through the constant motion of hands I used when telling her some odd story, I accidentally spilled my milk. I say "ahhh shit" and proceed to pat it up, its dripping down the side of the table cloth. I finally look up at her and I notice the pigment of the black that was once highlighting her eyes is running down her cheeks. Her mascara is running. I ask her hastily, "what's wrong?". She just points at the spilled milk.
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Spy on: July 12, 2018, 05:54:31 AM
I dig.
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Spy on: July 12, 2018, 05:52:10 AM
      He named his dog "spy". A beastly of a critter. I'm not that tuned into the dog world but I could tell you it was a pitbull. Paws as big as a grown mans palm. I asked him why you would name your dog "spy"? He goes on to tell me his favorite movie of all time is "Pink Panther". I just nodded. I unfortunately couldn't keep the conversation going any longer than that, so I just told the man to have a nice day and removed myself from the Tuesday evening park bench. The leaves were making it easy to enjoy the outside world especially busy New Jersey. I could see my car from where I was walking and decided it would be a good time for me to start heading that way. My leather bound church shoes tapping the sidewalk with every step, I started thinking about why or how I ended up in the dog park to begin with. With my hands in my coat pocket, I cocked my head around one time and took one last look at "spy".
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tent on: July 11, 2018, 06:06:48 AM
      It sounds as if someone is throwing rubber darts at this tent when it rains I swear. I watched two beads of water race down the seam of the green cloth. We came in late last night and we neglected to cover up the tent with the tarp that's offered up in the little green bag the tent is held in. It was long before I hazily unclouded my morning mind and realized it was pouring out. I was quick to jump up and check under the cot to make sure nothing was too wet. I offered up my eyes to the sides of the tent, making sure nothing was touching the sides. She was still fast asleep, as she wears a blindfold and ear plugs when she sleeps. She says I snore too loud and that she prefers the darkness of the blindfold rather than the natural darkness. To each their own.
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Tulips on: July 10, 2018, 05:56:45 AM
      Lord knows how long they'll last here. They always seem to get swept up or damaged by the mower. That care less operator. This time though, it's different, I put them in a vace and place them in front of the stone. The stone in which has been a haunting reminder of my last name and a delicate one of my Mother's first. Lord, how I miss her. She was beautiful. Loved flowers and loved her family. I look toward my brother. The smooth breeze gently stirring up his light blonde hair. He stands with his hands in his blue trench coat and face toward the road. It's been two years and a trunk full of tulips since the bittersweet passing. I get down on one knee like I always do, the sun is beginning to paint that sky amber, I take two fingers, put them up to my lips and kiss them. I reach over and give my mother that kiss. "Quite an epitaph" I say to my brother. He just nods. A tear, a hug, and the slamming of the Impala doors. It's time again.
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