Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

March 21, 2018, 03:26:55 PM
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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 4 ... 10
 on: March 20, 2018, 06:06:40 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Alter the altar, season by season
Purple, green, red, white
Altar clothes in alternate colors
For contemplation at the rail.

Pentecost in its read
Tongues of flame, tongues of men
Offered to God, the seal of Babble
Godís voice in the clamor again.

Purple in Lent, the imperial hue
Crosses covered in haze
Penitent orders in royal array
The candles only faint flames.

White fo Easter, green in between
The changes of the church year
Always on alter in changing aray
ĎTill Thursday stows them away.

 on: March 20, 2018, 05:55:45 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Mountain to stone, stone to sand
Sand to silt, sediment basin fills
Weight of its depths
Sandstone waits for upheaval.

Folds of land seen from the sky
Layers rippled together
Layers of coal, layers of stone
Harder and making outcroppings.

Senecaís stone, a ridging spine
With climbers walking along it
Bowl of blueberries from West VA heights
Senecaís rising back up there.

The old indianís gone from New Hampshire
Landslide brought it down
Tumbling stones, stones to be sand
Landmarks become ocean bottom.

 on: March 20, 2018, 05:39:39 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Astounding brownies hot from the pan
Steamed chocolate filling the nose
Tongue almost singed and fingers too
Flakes too soft to be crumbs.

Heat gives the essence to tea
To coffee, to hot chocolate
A cooled brownie is a fine thing
Heat makes it astonishing.

Those eggs stirred in the bit of water
The larger portion of oil
The powdery mix, the counted strokes
Make the brownies hot of cold.

Itís the ovenís heat, warm on the face
The scent filling the room
That tempts to cut brownies before they are cooled
Make crumbs like the wake of a boat.

 on: March 20, 2018, 05:31:47 AM 
Started by ElleBell - Last post by ElleBell
You never speak , guess you are full to the brim. Wonder if what you are feeling will swipe over you and if you will release some of that which has been compressed. I found you to be a silent relief throughout most of my life but your heart beats for others in the same manner. Where does all the secrets go. sometimes you lock them inside other times you leave them for others to stumble upon. You never seem insecure about the weight you carry and how you can't find any sense of relief. you continue to collect and keep your mouth shut. I love that you are always there and I don't even have to call. you appear out of no where like the emotions from within decided to give you a call. you never worry about your size or shape you continue to play your role and play it well preventing emotional bombs everywhere while containing your own. your heart must be racing to be the sole keeper of such vital memories and thoughts. consumed with sweat and the expectation to hold it all in no matter the thoughts. you are the best listener, one should be so lucky to have your ear. never have to worry about repeat being pressed and play to follow shortly. if I could be anything I would want to relieve you of your burden in some kind of way but I know I could never master the art of silence in the manner you live with everyday.

 on: March 20, 2018, 05:26:15 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Burnished bronze bronco flank
Flexing, brushing by
Rear on hindquarters, display of strength
A steed you never will ride.

Itís the way of horses to run in a herd
To follow a stallion leader
This lone broncoís too whily for that
Heíll out smart you at every turn.

Mountain lion waits up the slope
Waits for the moment of chase
Burnished bronze bronco ambles away
Bend neck to wink back at him.

This burnished bronze bronco you never will ride
Escapes without seeming to do it
Scent of a wolf pack, scent of a man
Heís gone like the wind never blew it.

 on: March 20, 2018, 05:17:58 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
No one plays like a porpoise
No one exudes more joy
When the surf is big, a whole pod
Will ride the wave like a slide.

Porpoises will chase in a game of tag
Race with the fastest boat
Porpoises will play with floating toys
But who builds them a playground?

A teeter totter for porpoise should be
A feature of every beach
A porpoise swingset should be installed
For every porpoise to play.

Porpoise should have their own jungle gym
And a tall climbing tower
A stack of bathtubs for climbing up high
Going nowhere, not like a fish ladder.

Give play to the porpoise, bring our own joy
Itís for this we were give hands
A porpoise playground at every beach
Thatís the new mission on man.

 on: March 19, 2018, 05:40:56 PM 
Started by bluetonejazz - Last post by bluetonejazz
The summer air is a still and the sun is a heavy weight pressing on me, beating me down.  The only relief the relative crosscurrents created from swinging back and forth.  Marking seconds like they were hours, nestled in the red rope net strung between the maples in my parents back yard.  Smells like it needs to rain, but the air too thick to let a single drop escape.  Iced tea.  Where can I get iced tea right now.  Momís, with the orange juice, sweet and tart, mixed with the bitter tea, tinkling cracking ice cubes, and perfect harmony.  Iíd hold that first gulp on my tongue, letting the sugar and the ice work their magic, cooling me.  Swallowed only after all that arctic magic has been spent, and soon back for another gulp.  But the iced refreshment is in the house, in the fridge, and itís too hot to do anything but just lay here, and swing, and hear the crick crick of the old jute roper the rough tree bark, and the buzzing of the flies made dumb and lazy in the heat.  Sweat drops collect, beads, and run down my face, theyíre salty on my lips, the iced teaís antithesis.

 on: March 19, 2018, 03:12:17 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
I sit on damp steps, palms resting on the cold concrete. The day is a swirl of colors and heat. The hammock hangs between the orange trees rocking back and forth like a ship on stormy seas the breeze wipes away at my sweat the taste of metallic air lifts my lips slightly apart I swallow in dry gulps. I remember lazily playing on the hammock, spinning faster faster fast fingers fastened around the woven rope fibers, vertigo and the world spins as the whole thing flips. The ground punches my back I black out, eyes going hazy, smelling the earthy grass and moldy oranges the chain looking ominous above me I make groaning noises and get up. All in good fun.       

 on: March 19, 2018, 02:14:30 PM 
Started by AlohaAlex - Last post by AlohaAlex
Swinging gently on a tropical breeze, we took turns wiping the sand from our toes with each others feet.  Laid out on soft woven , criss crossed string we stared up, through black framed ray bans creating creatures from the clouds.   Sugar laced kisses, sticky with fruit filled cocktails, were placed all over each others faces laughing at our awkward movements.   A seaside paradise , a million miles from any worries or restraints there was no time only the placement of the sun above our browning skin.  Salt caked our bodies, and the rim of our drinks clinking each time we took a sip, a cheers for all that we were grateful for.  Smooth lapping of the waves and warm Atlantic trade wind played a soundtrack I will never forget, drifting in a out of sleep it became hard to know what was real life and what was a dream, but at this point it didn't matter.  Sinking further in the hammock, I memorized each palm frond fanning above us.  Cool ice water dripping from our cups and onto our stomachs before evaporating into the heavens.   The ocean's fragrance and song kept us relaxed and energetic, slowly untying an knots in our stomach created from years of deadlines, self doubt, and pressures of the city. This is where I want to spend the rest of my days, with you, here in this place. 

 on: March 19, 2018, 12:14:23 PM 
Started by lespete456 - Last post by lespete456
criss crossing rope pattern on your bare legs, you lay flat faced in the dirt. They flipped you over when it was your turn to relax on this sweltering summer day. At first it was fun, like a swinging on a swing set. That high you get as you violently cradle back and forth, dreaming away, trusting that they will control the hammock momentum. The sound of the lawn mower in the distance, like a subconscious white noise in a fuzzy dream. 100 degrees and on the verge of heat stroke. A migraine emerges from the sweltering sun.  The last thing you need is for this semi relaxing, somewhat intensely swinging hammock to flip over. Falling in the dry dirt. You then rolled over on your back, laying between the shaded trees that the hammock is connected to, staring at the blue bird sky, you begin to wonder what went wrong, or what is wrong with yourself.

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