Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

December 16, 2018, 04:48:28 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: December 15, 2018, 06:22:43 PM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
                        "It's on my desk dear!" he shouted from the kitchen. Echoing down the halls she replied with an "okay". She just needed one more form to fill out before tax season and she was bound to get it done before dinner. Pushing the heavy wooden framed door open, careful not to smudge the beautiful inlay of glass, she stepped inside. She found the computer lit up casting light on a desk scattered with papers and sticky notes. "He's so unorganized"..he thought. As her eyes wandered about the clutter for the W40 she couldn't help but notice the little message that had popped up in the corner of the screen. From: Leslie. Okay? She thought. Her eyes a little faint because of the change in lighting, she peered in closer to the screen confused. The message stated "Are you still coming this way in May? Can't wait to see you  Wink".....Her world crashed. Painfully. In a flint spark and a heartbeat everything had gone from "is" to "was".

 on: December 15, 2018, 05:31:31 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
Still air. Her collar feels tight around the gills, hands glued to a computer screen her vision blurs. Smell of cleaning products, bright lights illuminate off her co worker's balding forehead, her desk is smooth and sturdy, grains and knots all laminated in a clear coat her fingers glide across. The clock seems to seize up. Angry voices ramp out of phone ear pieces, she gives sympathizing --

Jogging out in the fresh sunny early hours, feet tapping the blue stepping stone path, lungs fill with freedom. Wild animals scurry for cover, taste of juniper and coffee on her breath the world is mostly still asleep, a few other dawn joggers, breathing out cold and sipping lattes or pushing strollers. dry hands, mouth paper she licks her lips and sucks in the violet-scented air.


 on: December 15, 2018, 05:03:55 PM 
Started by AlexVidal - Last post by AlexVidal
(Sorry, I've been out for a while. Hope to retake the daily habit of object writing again and never let it go!  Grin )

Just place it besides the window. Saturday morning joyful sunlight falls in its light brown mildly rough surface. It's my first working desk, and I feel the future of my writing jobs just by stroking it with the bare palm of my hand. It smells of brand new desk, recently burnished and painted, the sharp scent of carved wood, and the light works as a magic link between the dead wood, the life of the trees, the ground and the imagination, just eager to sit down in front of it, placing books and manuals and portfolios and pen and start writing again. It's been so long since I last had a place on my own, all alone, and let words flow from the dead brown lake on the inside. The desk is the key, the password to let the river flow again, and could not happen in any other way but with a new desk and the spring light pouring all over the place. It feels so good, so right. I'm on the place I've always longed to be. But no time also to spent staring at the desk. It's time to fly over the boxes and unpack, to shelve the books. In a while, the place will be warmer with the soft sound of the echoes muffled by the books, and the bittersweet smell of the paper and the ink. And after that, the ozone sparkling from the plug, the bright colors of the screen and the flow turning white into black into words into meaning, and let the water pour and wash myself anew on the inside. I feel my pulse beating slower, like dancing a slow waltz in the countryside, candles and trees all alike all around. It's time to write. Breathe and keep going.

 on: December 15, 2018, 03:46:40 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Itís the desk chair that really counts
Two arms but fairly thin
Straight back but not too high
No padding, just a wooden seat.

No wheels for rolling around the office
No spinning and reclining springs
A chair with four legs to sit at a desk
And now the work can begin.

And what work it is, the concentration
Hours disappear at a glance
The reading, the writing, the coding away
Look up and itís already past lunch.

So, itís not the desk but really the chair
No distraction, the simplest design
The work is complex, no doubt of that
The chair keeps your seat on the ground.

 on: December 14, 2018, 05:52:16 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Helter skelter
Ride from the top of the slide
Roll from the top of the pole
Rattle from the midst of battle.

Shouts on the midway
The missing child
Screams from the roller coaster
Cries of alarm.

This is excitement
Dirty Harry at the carnival
Turning the wheel
Ducks in a row.

Louder and louder
Wheels rattle
People scream
Float in their seats.

Tumbling in turmoil
This is what it means
Itís all a ride
Amid cotton candy stands.

Amid a midway
In a crowd
In excitement
In fear.

 on: December 14, 2018, 05:45:02 PM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
In the scrub between runways
In Portland, Maine
A fox noses along.

Easy to see
Unbothered out there
Perhaps mice are out there too.

Big panes of glass
Airport windows
The always scent of jet fuel.

Whine of engines
Takeoff roar
The fox just trotts along.

There used to be dogs
To run in packs
Before all the leash laws.

No room for a fox
Back in those days
Now the fox trotts along.

Coyotes at night
I hear them now
In the woods in Maryland.

Dogs on the deck
Go a little wild
Nights when the coyotes cry.

Room for cousins
Room for a few
When we hold close to our friends.

Fox, coyote
Someday a wolf
I hear thereís a bear by the river.

 on: December 14, 2018, 02:46:32 PM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
                         The seasons change and it's fall. Leaves cover the ground and the air? Moist. It's hard to be homeless and rely on cardboard to keep you dry through the night when the everything is saturated with water. I'm not sticking around these parts for long, I decide. There's a train yard no more that seven miles down the road. The trains blow by these thickets of woods everyday and the earth shaking sounds let me know there is some major heavy train parts being handled over there. The train yard is where I'm going tonight. I'm going to find an opening, sneak in like a fox avoiding the faint lights casted over the rocks and thick steel tracks, hope a carrier and I'll let that train take care of the rest

 on: December 13, 2018, 06:33:49 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
Suit pressed, hair slicked back and combed through (after some painful tugging), I stop in the florist, smelling the fragrance, unsure what to buy. Colors collide and pop like a sunset, leaving me overwhelmed the florist recommends roses I have them wrapped in cellophane. Hands tapping nervously on the steering wheel, practicing my smile in the mirror. The truck smells musty I should've cleaned it. She opens her door and our eyes find each other. Calm, excited, drowning. So many things. Her fragrance, beauty overwhelms the dingy truck.
Stomach full of Tortellini and olive oil chicken dessert comes I feel out of sorts, small talk worn out I can't keep up. Nerves kick in again, I pick up my glass to drink. It's empty. Still. Admiring the paintings on the wall I avert my eyes in passive nonchalance, forgetting to breathe, her hair falls slightly over her face. Love is such a roller coaster.   

 on: December 13, 2018, 06:20:35 PM 
Started by daflem - Last post by daflem
Squeezing through the entrance, claustrophobic from the crowds of people. I thought a Wednesday would be a good day to come, but it feels like half the city is here today. Donít people have work? Or school? Or something? Note to self: avoid amusement parks if you want solitude. I walk past the industrial sized water fountain, the stands of fried food dripping in oil, knowing if I take a bite, the ecstasy in the moment will not outlive the stomach pain I will feel later. Children laughing, parents taking pictures of their kids, and the smell of popcorn fill my senses. I wait in line for what seems like hours. This is what I came here for. The grind of metal on metal, the tourists screaming like we played roller coaster tycoon, the 90 seconds of thrill, because, letís face it, thrill doesnít happen in my life much. That should have been clear as the only solo person here. I donít care. Seatbelts on, stomach feeling queasy by the smells of fried food and popcorn, and a front row seat to my doom. The click of the roller coaster takes me upward. My stomach starts to lurch forward. And we drop.

 on: December 13, 2018, 01:00:53 PM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
We fall in order to get back up
it's the part of life that makes us tough
like a roller coaster ride makes a change 
life will throw you around and do the same

At times it'll be smooth as silk
the ride may last and reach no hill
Ticking of tracks and unsettled shake
will occur when you think all is okay

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10