Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

July 18, 2018, 10:55:43 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 5 ... 10
 on: July 12, 2018, 06:02:12 AM 
Started by peekschris - Last post by peekschris
In certain rooms of this old two story house, it's blistering hot. In other rooms, it's freezing cold. He likes to sleep downstairs in his grandfather's office because there are at least two window units running at full blast. One of the 10 or so people who live here like it cold at night. He wakes up and there are icicles formed in the inside of his nose. The room is empty. He steps onto the cold, wooden floor. It’s quiet except for the hum of the a/c units. It’s probably 7 or 10 o’clock in the morning. He wanders out of that room and into the hallway.  There he can see across the hall into the living room. Cattycorner into the dining room and kitchen and to the left the front door.  The sun is coming through the window in the front door.  No one in this part of the house.  He can smell the lingering of cigarette smoke in the dining room. Cooling coffee and the remnants of breakfast cooked not long ago.
Above him, the staircase leads to the secret lives of his family. His young aunts and uncles. His mother's siblings, their friends, and his grandmother.
He walks up the creaking staircase quietly. He knows if there is a hungover aunt or uncle up there, they will be annoyed at him sneaking around. If grandma has worked the night shift at the police department, she will be angry if he wakes her up.  He nervously and excitedly walks up the staircase, trying to make no sound.
Once upstairs he can see doors on his left and straight ahead. There is a window to his right that looks out into the front yard. He can see the big oak tree with a hole in it. So many toys lost in that hole.  He slowly turns the knob to the first door.  Still no sound.  Only the hum of air conditioner window units downstairs.  Upstairs is completely silent.  He looks in to see a sleeping aunt behind door number one.  She’s all tangled up in the covers and snoring gently.  She doesn’t wake up. There will be no rustling through her stuff today. She makes a small moan and turns over in bed but doesn’t wake up. He shuts the door as quietly as possible. This is one bored, lonely kid. He tries the next room.  Boom. It is empty. this is another aunt’s room.  Bingo. He must be

 on: July 12, 2018, 05:54:31 AM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by Lowwraine13
I dig.

 on: July 12, 2018, 05:52:10 AM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
      He named his dog "spy". A beastly of a critter. I'm not that tuned into the dog world but I could tell you it was a pitbull. Paws as big as a grown mans palm. I asked him why you would name your dog "spy"? He goes on to tell me his favorite movie of all time is "Pink Panther". I just nodded. I unfortunately couldn't keep the conversation going any longer than that, so I just told the man to have a nice day and removed myself from the Tuesday evening park bench. The leaves were making it easy to enjoy the outside world especially busy New Jersey. I could see my car from where I was walking and decided it would be a good time for me to start heading that way. My leather bound church shoes tapping the sidewalk with every step, I started thinking about why or how I ended up in the dog park to begin with. With my hands in my coat pocket, I cocked my head around one time and took one last look at "spy".

 on: July 12, 2018, 02:46:10 AM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by berkley84
   Clean cut and cool with a blazer and tie out on a patio party drinking something violently red. The Sun is long gone tonight and the conversation is at such a calm level it is almost like listening to light jazz or a soft rock radio station. The smiles spread on every beautiful face, but he can see the lies resonating through their teeth. Pardoning himself, he sips his drink and leaves it on the rim of a table. Stars begin to gain visibility in the night sky. The crowd noise softens as he slips past the restroom and down a narrow stairway. Silence now as his feet move lighter and more skillful than a running back. Darkness, too. He must rely on the rocky walls to guide him, as they grow more damp and decaying. Suddenly a light goes on somewhere several feet below him. He pauses before smelling a roasted chicken being pulled out of an oven. Ah, he thinks, I am nearly there. He feels the weight of the gun in his pants pocket, and slowly reaches for it. Just as he feels the grip and begins to pull it out, he hears, “I think not,” from behind him. Instinctively, he turns his head. He sees a face and a blur before the butt of his saboteur’s gun nails him right between the eyes.

 on: July 11, 2018, 10:40:44 AM 
Started by Yveah - Last post by Yveah
The old man hobbles in the water puddle at the entrance to the under bridge. The rain as just stopped, leaving a smell of freshly watered earth. The man removes the old torned up rag he was wearing. Every aspects about him has a shade of earthy, dirty brown color. The under bridge is the home of countless miserable people and all these people found shelter there during the heavy rain of the past days. The man is accustomed to this atmosphere and has no trouble finding its way to his tent. His tent is what resembles the most to happiness for him. When his wife and son died two years ago after a car crash, he couldn't find joy again in life.

 on: July 11, 2018, 06:06:48 AM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
      It sounds as if someone is throwing rubber darts at this tent when it rains I swear. I watched two beads of water race down the seam of the green cloth. We came in late last night and we neglected to cover up the tent with the tarp that's offered up in the little green bag the tent is held in. It was long before I hazily unclouded my morning mind and realized it was pouring out. I was quick to jump up and check under the cot to make sure nothing was too wet. I offered up my eyes to the sides of the tent, making sure nothing was touching the sides. She was still fast asleep, as she wears a blindfold and ear plugs when she sleeps. She says I snore too loud and that she prefers the darkness of the blindfold rather than the natural darkness. To each their own.

 on: July 11, 2018, 02:43:58 AM 
Started by berkley84 - Last post by berkley84
   Poles make a rhythmic satisfying beat as they straighten out. The wind blows above in the pines and birds call out to one another in the canopy. There come voices from up the hill, an excitement like that of a tailgaiting party for a football game. But the season is wrong, the heat tells you that. Dead leaves and twigs crunch underfoot. I could lay down here and absorb the smell. It’s the most natural odor in the world and although the leaves are past their prime, they continue to smell like pure life. The tent unrolls and we look for flat ground. It pops up so easily. We remember a decade ago, the thrift store tent we brought here that had no instructions and no logical order to its parts. We sipped boxed wine and whiskey early in the morning, wondering how the darn thing was supposed to be put together. Like a bunch of kids with a Lego set, eventually we found something that sort of worked. The tent was lopsided and a little more flat than we had hoped for, but we looked and we saw home. I’ll drink to that.
   You feel the adventure in your heart, with a syncopated beat. You think of the smell of soap and couches and toothpaste, and you feel free.

 on: July 10, 2018, 10:58:35 PM 
Started by oohl90 - Last post by oohl90
7/10/2018 - Tulip

How did we find each other and grow out of such an ugly place? Out of a cliffside that claimed so many others before me, you bloomed. Velvety red petals swirling into a dark crimson center burnt by passion and infatuation. How did you find me here? What did you do to grab my attention as I fell off my own self absorbed cliff of detachment? To think you existed all this time, all the time I wasted blind to your beauty and regal disposition. My memory suggests I picked you, but you picked me. You wrapped me up in your safe warm embrace and whispered, “Don't worry, I got you.”

 on: July 10, 2018, 06:04:46 AM 
Started by peekschris - Last post by peekschris
She handed me a clear, glass vase.  Thicker at the bottom and with a flared opening at the top. Kind of like an hourglass. It had little decorative nubs on the outside. Inside held an array of white flowers. “It’s for your first show. They’re tulips.” “Oh, thank you so much,” I replied as I smelled them. I have no idea what the difference between a tulip and a toucan is. I don’t know flora or fauna. I’ve smoked for so many years that my sense of smell is non-existent. But the white roses are gorgeous. And the gift is thoughtful. Kim, on the other hand, didn’t seem so thoughtful. She’s about 45, blonde. Very funny and energetic on stage. But has a bad case of resting-bitch-personality. I mean face. She tries to help everyone in the show, but it comes off as bossy and mean. She even pulled me aside and whispered that sometimes when she’s being a bitch it comes off as ‘bitchy’ and not to take it personally. Ok, so maybe that’s not exactly what she said, but I’m going deaf and it’s hard to hear in that hot, dark theater. Man, that place is old.  Falling apart even. Kim means well. I believe. She’s a funny and talented actress. True to her craft. Those white carnations she gave me were a thoughtful gift. Kim could stand to lose some weight though. Maybe that’s why she’s dating online. Community theater is full of strangers and strangeness. If there’s a next time, I’ll be prepared for that. Thanks for the criticism and the sweet-smelling carnations, Kim. I hope you fall in love and die! Please forget to write!

 on: July 10, 2018, 05:56:45 AM 
Started by Lowwraine13 - Last post by Lowwraine13
      Lord knows how long they'll last here. They always seem to get swept up or damaged by the mower. That care less operator. This time though, it's different, I put them in a vace and place them in front of the stone. The stone in which has been a haunting reminder of my last name and a delicate one of my Mother's first. Lord, how I miss her. She was beautiful. Loved flowers and loved her family. I look toward my brother. The smooth breeze gently stirring up his light blonde hair. He stands with his hands in his blue trench coat and face toward the road. It's been two years and a trunk full of tulips since the bittersweet passing. I get down on one knee like I always do, the sun is beginning to paint that sky amber, I take two fingers, put them up to my lips and kiss them. I reach over and give my mother that kiss. "Quite an epitaph" I say to my brother. He just nods. A tear, a hug, and the slamming of the Impala doors. It's time again.

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