Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

June 24, 2019, 02:05:10 PM
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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 4 ... 10
 11 
 on: June 22, 2019, 02:35:11 PM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
Chrome pipe cylinder base bolted to the floor. the seat top upholstered in an early faux leather red sparkle that aged poorly and became more of a cheap cracked plastic vinyl like consistency.  The cording along the top edge of the seat burned hot lines into the back of the bare thigh during the summer time.  It felt like sitting on a dull knife edge, legs dangling of the side and if you moved wrong it would cut you the bone on those sharp joints where the "fabric" bulged together.  Bar stools lined up like soldiers in front of the soda bar. Once a shiny new improvement on this small town, now a staple of how country life can really wear things down.  The quilted stainless no longer so shiny, the soda machine quit working and the owners didn't have the scratch to get it working again. Ice cold "Coke" was sold at the counter instead. Twenty cents or something like that.  Poor is something you don't recognize as a child, if your parents are good magicians.  Mine must have been pretty good.  Later I found that being" broke" is not the same as being poor.  Being broke can be remedied, being poor is a prison sentence; a stain that you can't wash out.

 12 
 on: June 22, 2019, 06:54:04 AM 
Started by Eloisenm - Last post by Eloisenm
Where did it go? A quick and winding trip to the bathroom that had way too many men in it, the Mens must have been full, followed by a short visit to Jacques behind the bar. That's kind of our joke, his name is Jack so I call him Jacques, he was so pissed off until somebody vomited on the counter and then he had to go clean that up instead. I got a free drink though! It tasted like water but my girlfriend, Jessie, keeps telling me it's a vodka tonic. If it is, it's going down real easy. Wait, where am I? Oh yeah, my chair. Jessie  grabs my arm and drags me in the absolute wrong direction. She's gripping on my arm so tightly she must be stopping my blood flow because the room is spinning so fast. I wave my free hand around to get Jessie's attention and then it starts raining except it stopped straight away. Why is no-one else wet? A guy walking past takes the empty cup from my hand with a laughing smile, I don't remember drinking the whole vodka tonic but I must have. Maybe I should call it quits for the night. "My stool!" I run past Jessie to my bar stool gripping it tightly as the room tights hard to the right. My other friend, Steph, hands me a new glass of vodka tonic and asks me why I'm wet. "Raining back near the bar" I reply. I see Jessie roll her eyes but my vision is all blurry, it doesn't help that the room keeps shifting. Jessie comes over and...

 13 
 on: June 22, 2019, 06:50:05 AM 
Started by Eloisenm - Last post by Eloisenm
Ah, the annual spring clean, although the last time I participated was at the crazed urgings of my mother. It was most likely an attempt to see the carpet on my bedroom floor again with a faint side of goodwill and cleanliness. This time it feels like growth , a formal word for the scowl I sometimes have when I look at an unkempt closet full of clothes I despise wearing. Why do I keep them? A pastel gift with too many frills, an impulse purchase with too much on display and so many more asking to be worn but at the price of my confidence. So, what feels better than getting rid of unworn clothes? Getting rid of them under the guise of giving to charity and the therapeutic nature of the humble "spring clean". Sifting through dusty drawers and closets I run a quick fashion parade to really convince myself I'll never wear those clothes. Neat piles begin to form throughout the room itemized by use and body locale. Soon the wardrobe rehaul turns into a blown out clean and I'm trapped beneath a giant pink photo album that's slowly coming apart at the spine, lost in the swirling memories of my tiny self and her tiny siblings and ridiculously youthful parents. Any passerby would wonder at the obscured choked sounds popping out un guarded, almost mournful but also grateful somehow. These little porcelain faces of my family, smiling, unaware of their futures...

 14 
 on: June 22, 2019, 02:31:23 AM 
Started by amld16 - Last post by amld16
Seasons changed with the same blissful vision. The sun loomed over our soft hair and our thighs cradled the sand. These clothes and worn out leather, the sun sizzled off this worn skin like a shoe. Battered with bruises and red hives poking out the epidermis. The smell of coconut dew and sweet tangerine tree sap, gaping off the bottle of sunscreen. The beach grew blue with an ominous moon looming over the shore. The cold sand was frozen in time as the sky rumbled and roared. Nature can orchestra a mess of things. I remember how they use to sing. The necklace tumbled dangling over my frozen heart. The same place my chest felt the sky breaking. The sky fractured apart from the frozen grey clouds. Here comes a storm. The rain shot bullet holes through the sand with hives and trickled from the roof. Long snake watery tails off the roof. The rain tails and trails down my skin. The drop of rain mushed inside the scares and bruises of my eyes. The rain felt amazing. I never got to feel it every time. The rain sizzled my Tonge and hugged my soul, it was a rag that wiped away the tears and held the frozen icepack on my eye.
The aroma of salt



 15 
 on: June 22, 2019, 01:05:45 AM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
Thick and still hot air unmoving enveloping and hugging me firmly, my body responding by deploying bubbles of salty tasting liquid whose mission is to stream down my body cooling my skin. The bar flooded and moving in waves with my voice leaping around, guitar brightly and percussively strumming, stomp box booming, and the crowd of young promiscuous backpackers bellowing and waling along with the song. The bar stools soft top is comfortable and pillowy, but round at the edges, shaped like the smooth rounding edges of a mushroom. Slipping forward off the bar stool slowly in small increments, unbalancing and feeling my left calve work harder to balance me on each stomp, thudding down on the box and hard wooden floor, booming through my heavy leg, a vibration like an electric shock sizzling up through my body. Stale beer and old chemical cleaning agent hovering around attacking the senses. Carlton draft still refreshingly on my pallet. The guitar resting slightly awkwardly on my lap, fingers sliding along the rough and tightly strung strings…

 16 
 on: June 22, 2019, 12:21:59 AM 
Started by amld16 - Last post by amld16
The engine murmured jolting to a stale and abrupt silence.
Alright now” she said, halting her toe on the brake while leaning forward
She pulled the key out the ignition. 
“Hand me my purse, son”
I fished my hand to reveal the concealed velvet purse from under my seat and rested it on her lap.
“Come on,” she said nodding quickly.
She placed her feet on the ground as I did the same.
I dipped my toes to the ground.
Grass trampled under my soles drowning in starburst candy wrappers and plastic bottle caps. Lankly strip of grass catapulted up clawing the clouds for rain.
Sweat faltered off my brow as the heat sprung downtown. Soft whirls of wind zipped from ear to ear as a dozen cars swooped down. A whiff of gin and mild tobacco parked on my nostrils.
The metallic shrill of car tires closed in on us. Bamboozled our safety. 

 17 
 on: June 21, 2019, 11:55:24 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by plamb
The sadistic little fiery red man inside me takes pleasure everytime I open up my family photo album. He knows its an especially sensitive area and relishes the sweet taste of insecurity. He likes to poke me in the ribs and whisper in my ear with his gravely little voice. He says things like "your face looks fat" and "you know they just give trophies away to all kids, you won't amount to anything".. Stuff like that. He likes to point his crooked little finger at the back of my eye. Sometimes when he is in a particularly nasty mood he aims an imaginary gun at me or in me?.  He sits curled up on a nice bean bag chair of grey matter somewhere behind my right ear. The room in which he lives is very neat. He knows how cutting people can be so he does his best to keep his universe as tidy, spotless, and clinically clean as can be. He's probably looking at me right now and arming himself for the next roasting. Little does he know that I take pleasure observe him observing me.

 18 
 on: June 21, 2019, 03:21:57 PM 
Started by TBubs - Last post by TBubs
The dust rises as I pull the photo album off the shelf.  The smell of old chemicals hits my nostrils as the cover creaks when I open it.  There I am, young, long thick hair, wide smile and sparkling eyes.  Full of joy and excitement for the three-week cross country road trip ahead, my best friend next to me, we were about to embark on the trip of a lifetime.  Little money, no cares, no plan...a simpler time before families, houses, responsibilities.  Every stop on the trip was something new we'd never done before, somewhere we'd never been.  That feeling of being open to all the possibilities of what the day might bring.  Finally arriving on the west coast, setting up our tent on the beach, only $9 per night at the state park.  California dreamin'.  We stole some firewood from the guy next to us when he went into town...just a few pieces so we could have a fire for an hour or two.  Smoking cigarettes, drinking beer, watching the sun set the sky on fire then duck behind the horizon.  On to the next place.  Heading back east as we'd gone as far west as we could.  To the Grand Canyon, where it was 32 degrees at night and we had to sleep in the car.  Adapting without overthinking.  Yes, simpler times.  An unforgettable trip.  And lots of photos to remind me and take me back when I forget how good life can be if we just let go.

 19 
 on: June 21, 2019, 02:05:11 PM 
Started by amld16 - Last post by amld16
The grease is lava under the black rusty pan. The crackle and volcanic pops of grease. the smell of ash and burning metal, rust. The smell of small copper pennies. The orange cover over a snowy like an egg. The smoke erupts from the pot opening my shriveling pores. Letting the air breathe with the spice of peppers. The volcanic pit of my skin. The omelet is a blood orange sunset over the streetlights of amber, erupting over my melanin and brown hair's spiraling into the shadows with the heavy twists of my arms. Not a really big pullout. Pollute my bones with musk and trees. Autumn leaves are my charcoal.


 20 
 on: June 21, 2019, 12:46:45 PM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
Black faded and cracked leather binding brittle to the touch. Tarnished brass corner protectors one missing and the other falling off. The photo album crackled paper and cellophane preservation layers now needed preservation of their own.  The black and white pictures now sepia toned ghosts of family photos and long past relatives. The mix vapor of cardboard and mildew carried the nostalgia into the room like grandma's old perfume.  Those faces that almost mirrored your own as a child or young adult, now weigh on you like the gravity of melancholy.  A hopeless sense of wanting to know those spirits and a few crystalline tears welling up from somewhere within

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