Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

August 20, 2018, 01:52:06 AM
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

Login with username, password and session length
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: August 19, 2018, 03:26:39 PM 
Started by FirstUsernameWasDeleted - Last post by FirstUsernameWasDeleted
                  "You know that old man has one hell of a nerve discounting me because of this ink on my skin" I told Ben as we walked out the glass automatic doors. The sunday morning cars zooming into parking spots and the smell of dry asphalt. I pushed my cart into the metal framed cart cages that are scattered throughout the lot. I felt my left arm tense up as I let go out of it, I must have been gripping hard. "I mean I don't get it man. That dude had a Cross around his neck, I'm all for God. Strongly. But if you're going to talk down on someone or treat them with a lack of respect because of whatever the pigment of their skin is.... pshhh. That is not cool. Period." It was silent for awhile as I turned the ignition and the AC blew hard into the Air freshener vent clips. Leather. You can damn near taste it. Ben finally replies, "Masks man. We all wear them to some degree sometime in our life. Unfortunately some people just never take them off".

 on: August 18, 2018, 10:49:08 PM 
Started by daflem - Last post by daflem
3 rows of 3. Cemetery style. Classroom lineups and numbers on a keypad. Are we here to find the answer or to work through the process? A wave of sweat, body odor, and puberty create a stench that causes me to gag, tasting creamy sweet potato curry in the back of my throat. Students in uniform, navy or white polo shirt with khaki pants, interact, each with their own pizzazz before the bell rings, signaling to stop, cause a wall of white noise as I enter the class. I pull out a case, yellow and oddly shaped with calculators. I grasp the case and slide the contraption out, smooth on one side, bumps that relate digitized information into the tool. And thatís what this is, merely a tool, that, when used correctly, can provide information at the touch of a button. I feel the history in my fingers, stretching them back to the abacus, all the way to the mechanical calculation. We one did this in our heads, but we use them for other things now. I turn to the class, their eyes watching my every move.

 on: August 18, 2018, 07:20:43 PM 
Started by FunkySea - Last post by FunkySea
My first calculator. I was 8 or nine and although I wasnít the first in my class to get one; well, I did get one. The boys (mostly) would show them off between classes or in recess amidst the smell of lunch sandwiches and the low intensity chaos and restlessness of young children. Mine had I think ten digits and the lights were green and before they came on there were just these deep dark green holes you could almost get lost in them and then you pressed a number and it appeared in the first slot a bright and deep green. I stared at those lights for hours on end. It was soothing beyond anything. My son has a set of nesting plastic cups and some of them are green. Iíve noticed a physical effect that feels soothing to me when we have the two green cups out at the same time, I was reminded of the calculator lights. Itís like it enters my whole nervous system spreading like a warm vibrating green glow putting a blanket of comfort and softness around everything. Itís a subtle effect but itís more powerful because itís so unusual for me to associate this kind of effect with the eyes. How can it feel so good to look at something green?  Maybe I should really get a green cuch a green carpet a green sink paint the baby green paint my wife green wear green glasses or well just go to the woods more often. Touching the bark and watching the rustling leaves. The trunk solid and the dirt underneath. Itís life and death together. The first is made of dead trees that once stood immovable and seemingly eternal. Itís also made of human flesh and bone. One day a worm will eat my rotting eyes right out of my socket while I, perhaps, unchanged, am watching from ....everywhere. My green eyes, eaten. Eaton. A friend of mineís son asked

 on: August 18, 2018, 07:17:15 PM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by berkley84
   Your fingers are little drummer boys, beating out a rhythm in 4/4 time. You tap away at the numbers and make magic appear. You knew the answer anyway, but you chose to check your work. Pencils scratching lines out on graph paper, letters and dots and numbers, symbolic of Earthly progress.
   Itís so simple a caveman could do it. But here we are at the dawn of the 21st century where not all minds are created equal. Some people can memorize biology terms or famous battles fought in the Revolution. Some people can craft metaphors better than Shakespeare. Others use numbers like cigarette smokers; habitually multiplying three digit numbers in their heads. Adding the tax before the purchase, just to make sure that they can.
   You start to hear voices in class; pleas from the cool kids to help them understandÖwhat the hell is x and why do I want to know what it is?
Well, x is the unknown. Itís anything you donít know.
So x is the meaning of life?
No, the meaning of life is to not be a jerk to everybody. (It really is just about that simple) X is the ingredient in a dish that is going to change it from mediocre garbage to pizza. Crust plus sauce equals nothing that anyone would care about. Crust plus sauce plus x is pizza.
   Oh, so x is cheese?
   Thatís right.
   I get it now!
   You start to get high fives in the hallways. People start to learn your name. You try to sit down by yourself in the cafeteria, but get called over to a group of kids. Now they donít want help with math, now they just want to get to know you better. This is weird, a little uncomfortable.
Me plus x equalsÖ Huh

 on: August 18, 2018, 04:49:34 PM 
Started by FirstUsernameWasDeleted - Last post by FirstUsernameWasDeleted
                 It's protected by a sheath of plastic. Numbers one through nine simply stated in an orderly fashion on its face. It's screen small but readable. The size of the mathematical tool you have beside you displays just how smart you think you are. I stick to the basix T130x.  It's helped me get out of jams when my mind is caught up with the conversation I just had with the pretty brunette. The plastic number crunching you hear often while taking a test sometimes annoys the piss out of me, that just goes to show you just how involved I am with the test I am taking. I feel the sanded edges of the desk press into my arms, my biceps, as I lean forward staring at the test. Dazed and confused.

 on: August 18, 2018, 07:18:22 AM 
Started by FunkySea - Last post by FunkySea
The thundering hoods hit the sand in what sounds like a drummerís ruff, as the black mare gallops along the beach. She leaves deep marks in the wet sand which are quickly filled by the lapping waves. Her nostrils steam with hot air and her black fur perspires. The enormous muscles glide between tension and relaxation in a smooth and supple manner making her movements appear almost slow. But sheís fast! Riderless, she races toward the edge of the bay where dark clouds assemble in a gathering storm. Lightning can be seen and dark rolls of thunder mix with the drumming of her hoofs. Her gaze is fixed in her destination but every so often, she glances out to the black sea where white foam is seen against the velvet blanket. She sends sand flying as she runs, and it specks her immaculate and jet black coat. She carries a colorful blanket on her back. Where is her rider? The blanket is woven in many colors and seems oriental in design with combinations of dark colors and lighter ribbons in straight lines and arches and circles. Her tail whisks wildly back and forth like a banner of a conquering army. She rides alone but she seems to crystallize the entire scene of the beach, the dunes with thick grass, the beginning rain, and the distant lightning. The scene appears frozen in a brief instant; the line black figure, the falling sun, the dull yellow sand, the gusting wind. All stand

 on: August 17, 2018, 01:22:49 PM 
Started by FirstUsernameWasDeleted - Last post by FirstUsernameWasDeleted
               The fence was coming into focus as she felt the thrust of muscle between her legs. "Cal" she called him. She heard the West Montana breeze, relentlessly blowing past her ears. The string that was attached to her hat was nearly choking her but she and Cal made their way into the wind at a speed that could of left the grass charcoaled. No reason really. Fast was just how they liked to travel. Cal was a thoroughbred. Onry and hot- blooded.... but so was she. The taste of lilacs reminded her of the summer before when perhaps she lacked the nerves to bound to a hoarse this fast. The leather of the reigns layed gently in her hands, she didn't need much control up high, it was the warmth must of the muscle rubbing up and down her levi's where she.......x

 on: August 17, 2018, 10:23:21 AM 
Started by cheeky_panda - Last post by cheeky_panda
I heard she could ride
But I didnít see her jumping fences
Doesnít seem that type
Classy, aloof, and more expensive
Itís just the way she moves
Pirouette in her Jimmy Choos
You can try to break her loose
She wonít be domesticated

Prancing horses
That her daddyís parked by the stables
Stangs and Porscheís
Theyíre her only kind of labels
But her airs are getting in your head
Make a pass but donít forget
That this girlís a thoroughbred
And youíre just at the races

 on: August 17, 2018, 12:06:35 AM 
Started by tatterdemalion - Last post by tatterdemalion
He watched her gait, sleek and toned, shiny black hair with purposeful stride. An aroma of wildness and abandon approached him, dangerous but intoxicating. The sound of her bray spoke of possibilities, opportunities. The deadline neared, would he commit? Could this be the one who would improve his fortunes or lay him waste like so many before? The lust for the race flared from her nostrils, her minions barely able to contain her raw power. Paraded around this dress circle with the knowledge of her strength and breeding. Could be the ride of his life or a life thrown from the saddle of despair. But this want, this desire is too great so he steps up to the bar and orders her requested drink. She meets his gaze and offering with a hint of knowing, a wink of superiority. She own him now.

 on: August 16, 2018, 08:19:02 PM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by berkley84
   It was a cool morning, lots of long sleeves and steaming hot chocolates in styrofoam cups. An older guy with a porous red face and a mustache was yelling out orders at the boy scout troop. I felt cold wind on my face, tears dripping from my eyes. It was too early; you could tell because there were hardly any cars on this typically busy road. Clouds threatened rain in the early fall sky. We were all tired of blue, but not quite ready to give up our Saturday mornings for this nonsense.
   They walked up and down the streets looking for the bags people had left on their porches filled with cans and bottles. They worked in pairs. The parents stood back, sipping coffee and gossiping spiritedly. Political terms that would not mean anything to kids of a certain age were thrown around like baseballs. Football season was starting and it had been a rough looking preseason Ė we were in for another rebuilding year. Still playing hockey? Yeah? Me? No, I had to give it up, my knees have been killing me for years.
   The celebration came later with big sheet pizzas lining fold up tables with big green and brown and red plastic bottles of pop. Plastic cups and napkins held down by rocks that someoneís mother had found on the ground nearby. The kids chatted about cartoons. The kids talked about sports in a very superficial way; it sounded almost exactly like how the fathers talked about it. The new soccer league was starting up, and most of them were on different teams. I felt weird about having requested to be on my best friendís team. I felt like a burden, a failure of a player at 8 years old. I wasnít even a real boy scout. I was just here to get a taste of scoutdom. To be frank, it wasnít my thing. I was more of a cereal eater, the kind of kid who watched a whole 3 hour block of cartoons before changing the channel to something with live action; or puppets.

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10