Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

August 22, 2019, 03:52:26 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

Saturday-Homesick



Word of the Day
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
 1 
 on: August 21, 2019, 10:58:25 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by marksy
This was very visual. Great! I read this and had a time lapse of the scene in my head.

 2 
 on: August 21, 2019, 10:56:05 PM 
Started by Chrisb - Last post by marksy
..."forcing its palms into the grooves of the brown-white." - Excellent!

 3 
 on: August 21, 2019, 10:50:31 PM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
Happily trudging along the warm Sydney harbour coastline, late-summer thickness and heat has become a cloak Iím used to wearing. To my right, the clear aqua water shimmering as its surface gently dances in small peaks, distant shockwaves from vessels echoing like electrical current zapping the small peaks. Trees hanging over me, bending their aching backs to shade me from the sun as my heavy legs lift one after the other like a slow old rusted oil pump clicking into gear. Dry burning earth and eucalypts blending in the floral swirling breeze, tickling my body from limb to limb like an invisible child playing tag. Sugary sweetness from my Gatorade drying my mouth into a sticky field of molasses, difficult to open. The gravel underfoot crunching like raw vegetables, my heel aching where the pebble ingrained itself earlier, burrowing into my foot like a mole. The world has a gentle blur to it as the heat rises from the ground, wobbling what lays in front of me, the trees bending in the resplendent lightÖ

I'm interested to know what you guys think may be good lines for a song in a verse, or a hook for a chorus (if there are any). I'm keeping a file for hooks and a file for fragments (for verses), that I can build using my object writing. This is one of Pat's ideas from his books that he suggests implementing.

 4 
 on: August 21, 2019, 08:38:42 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by plamb
Thanks Jamie!

 5 
 on: August 21, 2019, 08:37:32 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by plamb
Thank you so much!

 6 
 on: August 21, 2019, 08:36:31 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by plamb
My eyes are popping out of my still forming eye sockets, magnetized to the scene that spreads out before me. Barely waist high, trodding along beside a rolling cart, everything in the dollar store seems to be jurassic sized. My little feet, warm inside the velcro shoes, piddle paddling on the reflective linoleum floor which is gleaming. It's a watery mirror, reflecting an underwater version of myself. I dodge to the left, fake to the right, stop, start, stamp my foot but nothing can shake this watery doppleganger. My attention floats, like a bee to bright flower, to the squares of neon pink, bright yellow, purple lavender and ninja turtle green cardboard art sheets. My fingers glide over the paper like tiny skaters on a pristine ice rink as I continue my journey down the stationary isle. I see rows of patterned, bound, and plain journals of all sizes just waiting for a good idea or doodle to break them free of the drudgery of a shrink wrapped existence. Pencils, and pink erasers with hard angles soft and squishy to my touch. Rows of glistening tape flash before my eyes. Reaching out, I grab one and yelp as I feel the sting of the scotch tapes angry little metal teeth

 7 
 on: August 21, 2019, 07:06:49 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
Analog studio, dull knobs and worn buttons, greasy faders in a low-lit space. Nerves run high, energy tight like new bass strings, recording to tape so it's all one take, crowded around the ribbon microphone like a 1950s radio show. Sound bleeds through speakers in clean wavs, pure like a new oil painting that's still wet, breakfast breathe and old spice, gulps of air and whispered jokes. I sit in my basement, eating air fried hash browns and listening to Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club, wondering why I can't get my recordings to sound nearly that good. Yellow hue of the sun dropping down below the clouds, freckles of light--   

 8 
 on: August 21, 2019, 11:36:54 AM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by berkley84
   I walk down the steps to my high school bedroom, my parentsí basement, which smells of mold and decay. The stone is fragrant and you can hear the radio booming above us. I pass the bathroom, which was put in during my senior year. I remember showering and seeing daddy long legs crawling up and down the wall. Sometimes they were just sitting on the soap. 17 year olds can live with anything, including the mold that would frequently just start growing on the wall next to the toilet. I would let it grow until it was really satisfying to wash it all away.
   There are cardboard boxes everywhere. They have obviously become damp, dried, damp, and dried again, many many times throughout the past 30 or so years. A calendar from 1984 is still hanging above my dadís workshop. The windows let in a little dim light, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling flicker reluctantly on.
   Hereís a box of old video tapes that we need to look at carefully. I can see each of these tapes on their specific shelves when I was growing up. This VHS of Empire Strikes Back taped off of HBO, which also had a Steve Martin comedy on it. The box set of Wallace and Gromit, and Mr. Bean, and Lost in Space.
   And then the tapes that my father made of us on Christmas morning.
   I remember the feeling of waking up constantly through the night, too excited to sleep. I was dreaming of all the goods I might get in the boxes under the tree. But when I finally woke up, the tradition was to stay upstairs for at least another hour while my dad ďset up the video camera.Ē We sat there, with the sad Christmas music that my dad liked playing on the speakers, my mother trying to keep us calm, my brother pretending to keep his dignity even though he was just as squirmy and anxious as I was.
   Do we need to keep these tapes? Do we need to see the real thing? Or can we remember these golden years in our own way? Manipulated with the CGI of time.

 9 
 on: August 21, 2019, 11:25:21 AM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by berkley84
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

 10 
 on: August 21, 2019, 05:54:59 AM 
Started by Itsjamiejones - Last post by Itsjamiejones
I can see myself as a young lover feeling like the only place I was happy to be is with my love under the shade of the elm tree. Above us the scorching summer sun burns our skin when we are exposed to it like peeling back our delicate layers one by one. But under the protection of the tree, we can sit here together watching passerby by and turning in to face each other to kiss. In this moment, I can feel my body tingle with such joy and desire. Inside I am sizzling and I know that at some point, I need a release. Iíd heard about falling in love and Iím certain that this must be it. Leaning in for a kiss, our lips fit so perfectly together and our tongue know this dance between two like we have been rehearsing it for years. The reality is we have only known each other for a few months but in that moment of interlock; Iím filled with a joy so powerful this it makes my heart bleed just thinking about this evening when we have to go about our own business. Suddenly my life plans are changing as I start to secretly plan where we will live and what our house will look like. I see us bickering over the style of our interiors such as whether we go for a patterned cushion or the corduroy plain option. I see a life smelling of the sweetest flowers that regenerate after completing their life span. When you fondle my ear; it send shivers down my body. This must be love.  

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10