Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

February 16, 2019, 04:11:50 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
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
 on: February 15, 2019, 10:01:45 PM 
Started by FunkySea - Last post by FunkySea
Back seat
The car door closes and we sit there the echo of the door still reverberating and subtly rocking the entire cabin. The springs are compressed or the foam and the fabric is slightly rough and my back touches the rest in certain places my bones burrowing slightly into the foam and the white bones are like icebergs slowly pushing amidst the green icy water slowly turning over but with incredible force. I touch the smooth slippery surface and itís oily and cold but graceful like a figure skater. The steel blade cuts the ice like a surgeonís knife and sprays up a wall of shards as she stops then sets off at speed. The contact point is small and every move she makes translates to incredible and direct force between the blade and the ice. Her breath is seen as wisps of steam when she stops for long enough. Otherwise itís dispersed and an Uber is waiting outside Walmart and the client doesnít come and their days diverge and the driver sets off and meets the next rider and the woman is trying to get everything done and glides off into the parking lot. Another driver picks her up and together they make her day work and move it forward. A room full of babies of all colors yellow white brown and all mixtures their eyes and limbs interchangeable. They see with their mouths and hear with their eyes and the soft pillow breaks the toddlerís fall and he shrieks with the sensation I feel my head pounding and remember Pat said to OW before coffee and I didnít. I made coffee so my head wouldnít hurt and now itís better and Iím writing my fingers dancing over the virtual keyboard. I love this way of doing it. Anywhere. A typewriter is nice too. More of a ritual. Like a guitar in the corner. Waiting. Beckoning. And Iím flying in a double decker airplane from WWI and the wind is incredible and powerful. Just a roar and my body shakes and I try to hold on to the side railing and the wall is shaking as well and good thing Iím wearing goggles. Down below I see the landscape peacefully gliding by and my mind rests for a few long seconds as I contemplate the

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:58:30 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
On the desk thereís a lamp
A forty watt bulb
Enough of a glow
For reading you know.

A lamp with a neck
Curved like a goose
Shine on the spot
That might have some work.

The lamp switch clicks
From twist of the wrist
Off for the evening
Slide back in the chair.

The desk drawers closed
The papers arranged
Thatís enough work
for this or that day.

Iíve camped in the cubby
At the graduate library
Iíve sat in an office
Night and day.

Lamp off in the evening
And on to the kitchen
Seems powerful civil
Or clean civilized.

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:52:01 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Itís the grapes they say
Hung in a bunch
The wild fox grapes
For the fox lunch.

The grapes too high
Hung up there
For a fox leap
In the air.

Leap and leap, the owl watching
Foxís feet raising dust
Leap and leap for high hung grape
Bead-like fox grapes on a long vine.

Grape the sparrow has left alone
Left to hang in the fall
Grapes that need a frosty freeze
To even sweeten at all.

Iíve tasted just once
The wild persimmon
Itís true, itís true
It turns you mouth inside out.

They rot on the ground
No takers
A fruit too powerful
For even Eveís son.

Leap and leap for the unsweetened grape
Leap and jump into a tale
When you give up, youíll be right
Those grapes really are sour.

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:39:55 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Weymouth Waterford Williams walked the midway
Cotton candy in one fist, the other in his maidís
Weymouth Waterford Williams had come to ride the rides
His size was against him his maid gently sighed.

The bumper cars, the tilt-a-whirl, the ferris wheel so high
All had height restrictions, you must be this high
Weymouth Waterford Williams was a dapper little tyke
But little was operative, no matter how much style.

The roller coaster was the worst of it, ten feet you must be
To ride the ride of rushing sky, so it seemed to him.

Weymouth Waterford Williams was a midway disappointee
Yet his maid swung him in the air for all the world to see
Weymouth Waterford Williams got his ride that day
Swung in the air by both fists by his twirling maid.

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:28:13 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Scratch the scalp, the bedhead itch
Where pillow and hair nested
Scratch the scalp with teeth of comb
The hair loosened, skin reviving.

Itch in the head more than the feet
Behind ear or over brow
Rub and scratch, riffle with comb
Add itches under a beard.

This is why puppies stretch and yawn
And fall down scratching their ears
Itís the purpose of fur to tug the skin
Scalp hair gets just the same itches.

Ancient bone comb, the archaeological record
Of itches and straightening rituals
Hair pins in a cave of ancient days
The accoutrements of being human.

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:18:47 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Sweat in the brim, the outfield sun
Hot, hot August afternoon
Sweat down the back, cicadas whine
In the trees lining the ballfield.

Dust in the infield, second base slide
A base stolen in anger
Adjust in, the second base hole
Now emptier, ready for batting.

Dust rises higher, a thermal perhaps
Gives a view now of the plate
Dip the hat brim below dust shimmer
The line drive right to the glove.

The second base lead is arrogant
Turn the easy double play
Steals a base, loose a base runner
The dust rises again.

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:11:22 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
When the wind blows for your brother
Out upon the sea
Foams up the wave crests
To an army burial.

When chaos builds an order
as regular as rows
Marching, marching, marching
Out upon the sea.

When the wind blows for your brother
Whips away the battle smoke
Each mortar puff
Tearing from its bloom.

When orders are followed
Beyond all hearing
The wind a silent blowing
Ripping at the flag.

When the wind blows for your brother
It blows around the world
Blows to where you stand
In the breeze.

When peaceful in the sunlight
Washed of battle songs
Wind bears your brother
Silent back to you.

 on: February 15, 2019, 06:01:40 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
In the back office the counselor
Brushes away the crumbs
Of a sandwich built on bread
Maybe a little stale.

The next appointment enters
Slouches to the chair
A cloud of Idonknow
Fills the air.

Asking about aptitude
Interests, hobbies
Computer games
Like so many others.

Mention the Army
But there was a problem
In ROTC, a problem
And dislike of authority.

What is there to work with
What is there to guide
A life so without purpose
A life without a dream.

So make a little small talk
Mention stale bread
How crumbs on the desk
Were a problem.

Thereís a little spark
Baking fresh is something to do
Maybe a little dream
To feed to a culinary school.

 on: February 15, 2019, 05:52:24 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Sunlight pours through a keyhole in the sky
A beam of clear brightness in the grey
Soggy trees drip a saturating rain
They glisten out of sight on the far side of the hill.

Unlock the sky, let clouds disperse
Open wide wide to the blue
From this single beam, unlock the opening
Key of sunlight to sunlit open sky.

Coyotes cry at night for the climbing Moon
Another chink of sunlight into the world
Light is the key to unlock the canine heart
The moonlight reflecting the Sun.

 on: February 15, 2019, 05:44:18 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
In peopleís homes around this land
Youíll find a trifolded flag
Ten stars showing against the blue
The burial shroud kept in a case.

Youíll see it while visiting
Maybe with kids on Halloween
A glimpse through the door on a shelf
The ten stars on the triangle.

Nothing to say, just a sunken gut
The soldier lost for liberty
No more at table come Christmas time
No grandchildren along that line.

So teach your children to be polite
To say thank you and to smile
Someone may dream of might-have-beens
And get a sad joy on Halloween.

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