Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

October 18, 2018, 11:21:55 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
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
 1 
 on: Today at 08:02:43 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
We sit on the front porch with it's chipped brown paint and smooth banisters. Hands holding the bucket of dye, colors bleed onto the white t shirt, twisted, ink reaching some parts but not others. My fingers grow numb, bucket heavy and digging into the skin I finally put it down and let the shirt dry. Tie dye, reminds me of my parents, children of the 60's with long dirty blonde hair and flowers woven in mom's strands. T shirts are all we wear because it's too hot for long sleeve and I'm self-conscious about my scrawny arms. Picking oranges, holding the hem of our shirt in our teeth like a pouch for the fruit, it'd get stretched, I'd hear "I'm throwing it" and round ball of dark yellow through the branches into my outstretched hands, breaking twigs and later we'll make fresh juice, acid burning our lips, sweet pulpy nectar-- 

 2 
 on: Today at 04:21:23 PM 
Started by AlohaAlex - Last post by FunkySea
“I’ve never felt safe...” and the reference to the mice really pulled me in. Good job!

 3 
 on: Today at 04:11:23 PM 
Started by FunkySea - Last post by FunkySea
The first thing that came to my mind was a t-shirt my parents brought back from the US when they visited in ‘85 or so. This was before they took my brother and me in 1988. It was white with an abstract print and New York City printed on it. I loved it it was like a talisman or the bat mobile. I felt somehow transported to America when wearing it. And I wore it all the time. The purple and yellow print etched into my memory all these years later. There was a particular way it felt against the skin. It wasn’t the best quality or anything. But then there was this Avenue with cobblestones and the cobblestones seemed especially big and bulbous and polished shiny like huge alien starships in black onyx coming to take us away. Blinking red lights in a strange pattern in the impenetrable blackness. The brisk autumn afternoon with clouds being chased across the sky and then the landed craft and everything has changed. The feet of the craft have flattened a little patch of grass and an ant is making its way unperturbed beneath it at is was on its way and won’t be disturbed the loud thud as the foot slammed down on the grass but the ant lives in a different world a world of tiny signal molecules picked up as scent and the tiny clicking and wiggling le

 4 
 on: Today at 12:41:06 PM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
The sun was going down
and her t-shirt hung around
the end of the limb

I watched her move
to the delicate groove
of the flowing river I waited in

She warmed the air
with every step and stare
her smooth thighs coming my way

Darkness fell
trickling water swelled
and I was just about to break
 

 




 5 
 on: Today at 11:24:04 AM 
Started by Dreobject - Last post by Dreobject

A quick head turn into the arm pits of his t-shirt (a smelfie) revealed bad news. His body odor was pungent, with raw garlic odor mixed with putrid body odor. He’d been working out for well over an hour by then, and the t-shirt was covered in sweat. When he spotted the cute girl he always sees, his heart fluttered and his head swirled. But the fear of the stink hit him right in the stomach. Earbuds in blasting hip hop, he stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice her. But she came over for some small talk. “That is a wet t-shirt” she said, reaching out and touching it. Thanks, he thought, as he pressed his arms against his torso to limit the odor. Turning to walk out, he glanced over his shoulder to see her smile back. Maybe I smell good he thought. One more sniff told him otherwise.

 6 
 on: Today at 11:03:22 AM 
Started by John M - Last post by Chris Dudley
You and alohaalex did not write about singing and Church. Is the Winthrop, Maine?

 7 
 on: October 17, 2018, 11:49:40 PM 
Started by AlohaAlex - Last post by AlohaAlex
Crystalized memories shine like kaleidoscopes as we pass through stained glass archways.   An early Sunday morning inhale burns with the crisp fall air.   Following my family single files line and the echos of our black soled hard heels still shiny and new from lack of use.  The vast opening of the  cathedral pulls my breath from my chest as it had to many times before.  My gaze darts from symbol to symbol dizzying me just in time to take seat.   Dull spearmint chews ring among the silent murmers of a waiting congregation.   The pulpit’s sweet and sour odor of judgement and regret covered with smiles and handshakes of lost souls fills changes my expression .  I’ve never really felt safe here, only scared small like mice that run through the old wooden walls that surround us.   

 8 
 on: October 17, 2018, 06:15:05 PM 
Started by John M - Last post by John M
we used to attend sunday mass
wake up early, put on our sunday best
crowd into the car and head on down to winthrop
st. francis was a welcoming place
tall, wide open doors, like wide open arms
encouraging people from all walks of life to step inside
our town was pretty basic, most people talked, looked and dressed the same
like cardboard cutouts
i remember those sundays
they felt so sunny
like god above really did shine his light a little brighter
springtime comes to mind, fresh air and green grass
the glimmering lake across the street
church always felt strange
it was the last place i wanted to be at ten years old
basically chained to the pew, forced to digest stories from a thousand years ago
i could never catch on, my attention was too easily drawn to the slow ticking seconds of my watch
twenty-four more minutes
my younger brother and i grew restless easily
my father's patience wore thin easily
while i had no choice, he attended for mom
faith is pretty loaded concept, its hard to boil down
why do we look to the sky for answers when only contains more questions?
communion tastes like cardboard and that, sadly, that was the highlight of my church going sundays


 9 
 on: October 17, 2018, 04:19:13 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
My feet tap on the smooth linoleum floor. Bleachers folded away, benches and chairs form lines facing the home basket. Underneath, the rustle of pages, the whisper of breathing, the occasional "Amen!" or "Ahhchoo!" my hands feel clammy. This same floor, where I tried to grab the ball from my sister and ended up with seven stitches on my chin, hard wood and flesh colliding, pain killers, beeping sounds and blue smocks the doctor telling me I'll be fine. The gym smells of lemon-scented oil and perfume, row of older ladies with purses bigger than them sit fanning their faces, makeup concealing the age lines, I feel stifled, trying to follow the words that this large man with a shiny forehead and a potbelly is practically shouting at me. Church isn't a building, I remember hearing that once. On Easter we meet at the beach, roar of waves crashing, hot sand burning the soles of my feet, shade umbrellas stuck in the ground, more my speed. Ice cold drinks in the cooler that sweat condensation--     

 10 
 on: October 17, 2018, 04:06:02 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
It really is. And thanks.

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