Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

June 24, 2019, 02:05:42 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
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 on: June 21, 2019, 12:28:21 AM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
Resting under mild warm light in retirement occluded by stacks of boxes and chattel, the photo album sits brown and worn. Stretching my arm and body so far to grab the book it stings down my side, aching due to lack of use much like the book. The album is heavy, bearing down on my soft hands and arms, pulling me down into the soft cloud-like lazy boy to relax. Scents of old chemicals from the photos of dried out leather hanging in the air. The flaking leather rough down the wrinkling spine, showing its years of use, a meaningless tough brown shell to hold the precious moments of a family. Wiping the dust of with the outside edge of my hand like a snow plough machine, throws the particles into the air in a plume, a cloud attacking my throat, graining tasting and dirty. Creaking in protest, I open the cranky old album, stretching its unused stiff spine, giving way and thudding heavily on my leg. Old yellowy sepia photos of strange faces, some familiar giving rise to my body and heart…

 on: June 20, 2019, 11:33:21 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by plamb
The concept of myself is a wedge between a vast ocean of consciousness and every object that arises in it. I felt my shoulders rise in a knot when I perceived his slight the other day. I always seem to have to show my teeth when people walk into my space. I'm rigidly glued to a journal which is bound by my plans and pains. I often wonder how the keys below my fingertips would truely feel without my perception wedging itself between. Sometimes I think I get close. On a meditation retreat a few months ago I had moments where that self seemed to vanish everytime I went looking for it. I have never seen a salad explode off the plate like I did during those meal breaks. Red rivers of beet juices flowing, mixing with fiery orange carrots, the veins reaching out of the leafy greens into my awareness. Some link was severed and the only thing that existed was this world of colours, sounds, feelings, and thoughts that blew up into a 5 D. Fireworks, symphonies, explosions, big bangs and little bangs, universes the size of chick peas, cities of insects a layer below the soil, clouds that were nailed to a sky while this giant wheel spun below me, moving everything with it. All the pain I've ever felt and will feel curled, unfurled set free and dissolved

 on: June 20, 2019, 04:12:38 PM 
Started by TBubs - Last post by TBubs
A wedge of cheese, a wedge salad, there's something wedged between my teeth.  Will a toothpick get it?  I don't know.  I hate the feeling, prodding with my tongue.  It won't budge, stubborn piece of God-knows-what.  It's soft and pliable, but yet won't move the way I need it to.  Time for the big guns...time for floss.  Do you know in jail you can't keep your floss?  You have to give it back when you're done so it can't be stockpiled to be made into a weapon.  Who do you think the first person was to do that?  Or do you think "they" thought of it first and made the rule before something bad happened?  A wedge of wood could be a weapon too, sharp, hard, made of wood or rigid plastic.  But I guess they don't need to prop doors open in prison. 

 on: June 20, 2019, 02:17:46 PM 
Started by markhatting - Last post by markhatting
Wedges of pineapple hit the cutting board with dull thuds. The only thing standing between it and my mouth is my patience. Running my fingers along the cool, wet meat means that it's only a matter of time. Placing it in the blender, I rend its natural state to a mere liquid. The blender screams as I mercilessly increase the power. I sense it's becoming a bit laborious, so I decide to help it by adding some coconut cream to the blender, giving it a second wind. A sense of control and power washes over me as I continue to increase the power, hoping for the perfect piña colada. Adding ice cubes helps me see the crispness of the drink and helps me see it begin to take its final form. I increase the power again as I add the liquid confidence I've learned to love and respect. The drink takes its final form in my tall glass, and I'm be able to once again bear the summer heat that insists on drawing sweat from my body. The first sips hit my mouth, and instantly, saliva rushes to embrace it. The heat from the alcohol gushes down my throat, and more sips and gulps follow suit. As I peer into the glass, the creamy-colored libation swirls and hypnotizes my eye, like a stretch of highway road lines. Consistently and slowly, I absorb the cocktail, soaking the liquid like a paper towel. The drink becomes part of me, and I feel

 on: June 20, 2019, 11:03:04 AM 
Started by mlh - Last post by mlh
She was a wedge between him and his dreams.
He was a wedge between her and her happiness.
Her words wedged themselves in his memory, in his self-concept. When he woke up he heard her tone of disappointment wedged in between every thought.
He tried to wedge a word in edgewise but she chattered on like a waterfall.
His smile was a door wedge, keeping the conversation going even though it was difficult to for her to hear his words.
The sunshine is a wedge in the dark curtain of my mood, giving me hope. Stay open it says. I almost want to take it away and just be depressed. But I can't block it out.
I want to be a wedge between them. Keep him from her. Keep her from him. He's mine, mine, mine.
I want to be a wedge in a crack, fill it with love and hope.

 on: June 20, 2019, 10:51:23 AM 
Started by olylep - Last post by mlh
I enjoyed reading this!! Congrats on your first object-write!

 on: June 20, 2019, 10:50:15 AM 
Started by mlh - Last post by mlh
There's a wedge of cheese in the fridge, wedged between the drawer and the side of the fridge. He will shave it, grate it with his special omelet on Saturday morning, make some toast, rest the plate on top of the toaster to warm it up. Make a lovely omelet with eggs and cheese and leftover meat if there's any. And sit and enjoy it, his butt wedged into the couch, legs, blanketed, resting on the ottoman. Our dog will enjoy her chew bone, wedge her teeth into the crevices where bits of tasty dried chicken-matter is wedged. She will gnaw and gnaw on it, cleaning her teeth, hooray in the process. Then she will climb onto his leg-bridge, wedge herself in there, curl up and take a nap. I will come home or come downstairs, she will come to greet me. Unless she is in chew-bone land. Her tail wagging, she will wiggle her butt into a little happy-to-see me dance.She will have been taken outside, fed, pooped and peed, so I will be glad of that, and grateful. I may wedge my own but in between the low couch cushions for a bit. Or roll on the foam roller. or announce that i am going to work out. I will not have any of the cheese wedge, not then at least. I am a wedge. I come between things. I keep doors open. I am a piece of coffee-cake. I like that word. I like that shape. It is part of a circle, or a sphere. And I like circles and spheres. I like wrapping a wedge. It is asymmetrical. It is bread. It is fun to eat.

 on: June 20, 2019, 10:43:37 AM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
Tan legs finishing into a summertime open toe wedge.  Light cream cotton straps, tied to a bow, cling ever so lightly to the ankle. She seem to float when she walked.  Red sundress bouncing from knee to knee as if gravity had a slow motion effect.  Auburn hair with a hint of blonde cast flawless down her back, and that Audrey Hepburn smile teleported me beyond the current dimension.  Mesmerized , I could only spy from a safe distance, this beautiful creature was surely just a figment of my imagination, an apparition soon to be lost in the evening mist.  Chanel perfume played games with the air around her as everyone in the room turned to look as if they had been summoned by the fragrance that now lingered and commanded attention.  Her lips tasted  of strawberry and champagne, the tart, sweet, tingle of each tiny bubble in every kiss. That warm glow of

 on: June 20, 2019, 10:03:33 AM 
Started by olylep - Last post by olylep
If you think about it, a wedge has an odd shape: triangular from the side, but a rectangle from the top. Yet it’s wooden, rough texture holds many childrens’ laughs. For example, locking a friend out of the classroom with the wedge, while you look at their laughing and cursing face, was a massive adrenaline rush, and I could feel a toothy grin invade my face. And then as the teacher reprimands both you and your friend, with a stern face and a wagging finger, you and your friend interchange between looking suitably remorseful, with eyes looking down (as you hear the other children snicker behind your back) and laughing yourselves at the ridiculousness of the situation.
After that, you return to your plastic chair, in a musty and sweaty classroom where none of the windows open more than an inch. You sneak a glance at your friend, feeling your hair stand on end when he does the same. You try to concentrate on your work, but your pen refuses to write, and slips out of your hand. You feel hungry and restless, knowing that lunchtime will come soon, when you can multitask between eating your sandwich and playing football

 on: June 20, 2019, 08:17:59 AM 
Started by Eloisenm - Last post by Eloisenm
The white porcelain bowl arrives at the table, number exchanged for food. The bowls asymmetry makes drawing from it difficult if you are on the wrong side. Slowly wafting tendrils of steam lick up from the fresh wedges, the heat burning fingers and tongues forcing patience upon unwilling patrons. Faithful sidekicks sit in wait ready to receive a steamy wedge and blend its battered skin with sweet chilli and cool sour cream. Conversation drops around the table as the tendrils of steam lessen, their greedy mouths lapping up sauce and fingers savouring the taste of wedges after chilled beer. The sun beats a pattern between the trees as the sky radiates a salon sapphire blue, wonderously uniform, welcoming in the cool afternoon breeze cutting away at the midday heat. Slowly talk starts to rise back to its original volume as initial urges are satiated and the  arms that were plunging for the bowl eke out. One of them rises holding the empty beer jug and counts the hands shooting up for another round. The jeers and nods erupt again, pushing the volume straight to the top as they settle in for a long one.

I realised afterwards that I used "eke" incorrectly after googling it to double check my understanding of it. Whoops - still, worth it!

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