Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

June 17, 2019, 03:50:53 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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 1 
 on: Today at 12:40:07 AM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
A yellow and golden soft and hot steaming land of protein, dappled with white creamy milky textures. Flora residing with the bouncing soft eggs, a land of multi coloured vegetables, like shrubbery red and grey, hidden and occluded, subsumed into the formed omelet, frozen in time. Cracks and explosions of pepper corns leave trails of debris, like bombs exploding on my palate, garnishing and reacting with the acidic orange juice laying dormant from minutes earlier. A vibrant mix of soft smells wafting by, hanging by my head, forcing salivation. Salt cracking and explosion, crunching and grinding like stepping on the cracked brown old leaves of autumn lying freely without loyalty outside. The glass panel fogging, as I stare out to the road, steam rising from the omelet turning the window from transparent to translucent. A…

A hungover brain doesn't work as well as it should  Grin

 2 
 on: June 16, 2019, 10:05:57 AM 
Started by Eloisenm - Last post by Eloisenm
It's autumn and you can feel it as dusk falls with a fresh chill turning the sky the same orange and gold as the maple-shaped leaves falling off the trees. It's the same each year, the earth is blanketed in dead leaves and every morning everything is coated in a damp cold until the sun blitzes it to a dried crust. As the chill sets in the camp fires start with jacket potatoes tucked amongst their coals and children and teenagers hit the showers.  The guitar comes out after dinner, an old nylon string that knows Peter, Mary and Paul songs as if the trees it was made from wrote them. In the daylight hours we roam the grounds, climbing up impossibly large granite boulders and sliding back down. At the back of the property sits a small, almost abandoned white chapel, empty of all furniture but patiently waiting for a Sunday service that will never come. Our imaginative minds find stories in its sealed walls, a marriage where the bride was murdered and still haunts the grounds, a priest died trapped beneath the organ calling people in with hollow, lonely notes to lead you to your grave. The youngest always became the most scared, perhaps because they never had to lead or find the confidence an eldest child seems to have. Later in the tents we'll defend our horror stories to parents...

 3 
 on: June 15, 2019, 11:58:09 PM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
@Sarchen - Thank you! I went a little abstract with this one  Grin

 4 
 on: June 15, 2019, 11:57:14 PM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
A deep low whirring surrounds me as the driving winds throw themselves against the medieval hand hewn stone walls of the tiny chapel, harmonised by a soft high whistle of the stout building fighting back as the wind whips in through gaps of the smooth deep brown and heavy door, reaching me with its infinitely long arms protruding and icy cold hands grasping at my neck. The chapel glooming from the hearth inside, its heart lit gently and warmly by a chorus of candles varying in height and size. Musky dry air hovering still and wafting, peppered by fresh earth and dew, the rain tinkling down, pattering rhythmically, tasting the sweetness of the outside flora borne on the wind. The stone floor hard and uneven, the inside walls roughly hewn and textured like used sandpaper from the ages of hands rubbing. An overwhelming sense of weight falls onto my eyes as relaxation and peacefulness…

 5 
 on: June 15, 2019, 09:08:33 PM 
Started by Eloisenm - Last post by Higgs88
We're our own worst critic.

"They echo through the chambers of your broken reasoning"

That's a powerful line.

 6 
 on: June 15, 2019, 09:05:09 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
I remember riding a horse, smell of thick unwashed animal, loud exhales from flared nostrils, hair matted, flies kamikaze into my face. Static of air, I climb up the stirrups into the saddle, feeling my legs stretch awkwardly. The bridal and reigns jingle like wedding bells, movement startles me. There is no brake, no gas pedal, just maintaining the illusion of control. Wind brings water to my eyes, hair whipping behind my ears. This horse is reddish-brown and young, only broken in last year. I wonder at strength, hooves stepping over rocks and logs like nothing. Click of my tongue, pulling the leather handles in my stiff hands-- 

 7 
 on: June 15, 2019, 03:02:05 PM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
Two trembling hands touch one over the other with rings of gold in place. The white lace of her gown and the black wool of his suit frame the back drop for a sepia toned picture to be placed upon the mantle of the fireplace.  The April day was perfect, blue skies and warm breeze's floating off the lake and kissing the cheeks of guests and party alike. A light song of the birds harmonized with the wedding bells as everyone cheered and smiled as they welcomed this new union into the fold.  The rice peppered the ground and the sun tickled the the spaces between the leaves and left a crystal like sparkle on the afternoon reception.  Champagne was poured and that refined bubbling dry grape sang praise and calmed nerves.  An easiness captured the guests and the world settled down for a first song and a long sigh

 8 
 on: June 15, 2019, 02:32:45 PM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
Red and black large woolen checkered blanket placed on the grassy clearing between the limestone rocks just off the walking trail.  The end of summer breeze seemed a bit cooler marking the approach of the fall.  The rustle of the soon to be drying leaves carried above our heads as the view across the lake reminded us of how lucky we are to be alive.  The glimmer of hope sparkled on the water as we read our favorite passages from new books that caught our eye.  The pages still crisp and fresh with new ideas still hidden within the ink and paper.  Her delicate hands slipped slowly down the page and the new pink nail polish juxtaposed perfectly against the soft white.  There were laughs and looks, but there was loss as well.  It was welling up between us, the aching feeling of discomfort that lodges in the back of the mind and feels like a headache.  The more you push it back the larger it gets, almost like raking leaves in the fall.  As the small pile becomes larger and larger.  Our leaves were overwhelming,  so big now that even a heavy fall wind couldn't blow them away, and certainly one picnic by the lake was never going to cure all the resentment.  Silence between the words became saviors

 9 
 on: June 15, 2019, 01:18:45 PM 
Started by Yonny J - Last post by Yonny J
My view is blocked by a wall of black and brown pants. The air feels like an oven thats just been opened. My mother has some sort of artwork dangling around her neck. She takes my hand and we make our way through around the fancy dressed people.There is a burst of sound coming from the heavens making my ears tingle and echo. The sound comes down and anoints me. Back and forth the wedding bells swing. And then

 10 
 on: June 15, 2019, 12:42:36 PM 
Started by Eloisenm - Last post by Eloisenm
When you're in the arms of love hovering above its safety net on a tightrope made of steel thick as the state of New York you can hear them. When you're plummeting down in your own self doubt cradled by the hands that will guide you on to a path of self-worth and kindness, you can hear them. They even sound over the shouts that rattle the walls of your home, over the cries of being misunderstood and learning that not all lessons are easy. They echo through the chambers of your broken reasoning, the excuses you create to keep walls in place, a barricade against pain. It's a gentle tolling that does not charge for the unconditional faith you lay upon each other, the resounding strength like 50 m deep pylons buried within rock and raising up into an unbreakable mountain of steel and glass running with currents without insulation turning the mountain into a radiant star on earth. The eyes that fall upon it are warm and not burned, welcoming the radiant glow like a new morning. The bells ring, a union of sound reverberating with the chorus of voices celebrating two families...


Man, I really hated this one haha.

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