Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

June 24, 2019, 02:09:34 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 ... 8 9 [10]
 91 
 on: June 13, 2019, 03:29:31 PM 
Started by mattvs86 - Last post by Fletcher
I liked this one!  It really captured the on again, off again relationship with that funny little tube of wax.  We only need her when she's gone.


 92 
 on: June 13, 2019, 03:20:34 PM 
Started by Dorian Black - Last post by Fletcher
Good writing here!  the whole thing kept me in a moment of emptiness and melancholy that related to the anguish behind some doors and behind the eyes.


 93 
 on: June 13, 2019, 03:14:27 PM 
Started by plamb - Last post by Fletcher
"I see their fish bowl faces half full of bleached water. Comical thoughts planted in my brain. Seeds that may grow into cardboard trees."

I really like these lines and many of the other metaphors and similies that you come up with!  Nice work.

It took me to the balance beam with you. Turgid and straining yet all within the limits of the mind.  Gravity is no match for the trained vision of focus. The smell of confidence radiating from the familiar stench of sweat and powdered rosin.   The grit of the teeth and quick sip of breath, heaving every ounce of energy in to the movement.  Delicate and precise from a distance the movements of the master seem to float in defiance of logic.

Thanks for that work.!  Keep diving deep!

 94 
 on: June 13, 2019, 02:59:35 PM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
I've knocked on a thousand front doors, sometimes I could tell by the sound of the door what type of person would answer.  Not necessarily just the sound, but all the physical traits.  The clean and unencumbered front step and polished handles with a solid wood, tick and clock type of sound paired with the hint of glass cleaner and lavender flowers surrounding the pristine welcome mat which waited unworn for shoes that might never pass the threshold.  Everything in its place, and seemingly perfect.  The smile from the inhabitant would be perfect too.  Properly gestured, shoulders back fully dressed for any occasion or visitor, but yet some thing missing...Warmth of spirit.  I always knew there wouldn't be a sale here because these types are far too guarded.  These folks invented the Facebook fake long before there was such a thing.  Keeping up appearances seemed to be the only thing that mattered in life.  There was always a sadness behind the pasted on plastic  smiles. The eyes, blue, green, or brown all had a tear shining ever so slightly like a tiny crystal on their freshly polished chandelier or the glinting silverware placements at a dining room table that sat freshly dusted and waxed, stating its presence and prominence in the front room.  Napkins, knives and forks spaced perfect for guest who felt unwelcome. That ethereal sense of something is wrong and it makes the mind jolt back and forth looking for anything out of place to reveal that utter poverty of the soul that radiates

 95 
 on: June 13, 2019, 02:35:43 PM 
Started by Fletcher - Last post by Fletcher
Thanks Plamb,

the great part of all this is focusing at will.  A discipline that is rare and valuable. Imagine being able to command your focus without distraction?  Each 10 minute write is practice and honing that skill with others is improvement and encouragement upon that exercise. Even bad writing is good, because it shows us where we have been and reminds how far we have come!  Keep writing!  Look forward to the next one!

 96 
 on: June 13, 2019, 12:35:04 PM 
Started by Dorian Black - Last post by Dorian Black
Maybe today will be the day. Just maybe. It’s been so may days, months, years, she doesn’t even know how much, time has now become a vague idea of something that just passes. And still she waits to hear the sound of the keys jangling, the lock turning and the door creaking.  She waits in her silence, that’s all she has left now, an empty house filled with silent memories, fading ghosts from a time past, a time of happiness and bliss, a time she knows can never return. A hit and run they said, and their candles went out. Three fragile candles, husband and two children unexpectedly wiped out, leaving her longing for their return, a fool’s hope being the only thing that still keeps her in this world. And so she still walks in the house, pretending that they are temporarily away, maybe in a camping trip, out to chores or visiting a friendly face. She still walks in the house, every so often looking to the front door, momentarily thinking that she hears their voices and laughter coming in, filling the room with their voices full of life, full of happiness and the carelessness of not knowing what the next day holds. Life is most hard on those left behind, behind that closed front door.

 97 
 on: June 13, 2019, 07:12:22 AM 
Started by Sarchen - Last post by Sarchen
The noise is unmistakable on a sweltering hot summery day. The air is still and nothing moves too much so as to save energy for tasks that really matter. But that creak as the front door swings open, stretching and resisting until it can open no more. And then in the next instant, bang. It slams shut but rebounds a few times, bouncing back and forth as the old latch doesn’t work like it used to. Dad’s come home from work, the sound of his rumbling voice punctuates the air in rhythm with the door, “who wants to go to the beach?” His clothes a mixture of grime and sweat, the smell of a hard day’s work fills my lungs as I wrap my arms around his muscled midriff. He’s tall and hunched over, the mark of an iron worker’s life. All summer long, his skin is alternates between bronze and deep crimson, peeling away in places

 98 
 on: June 13, 2019, 01:03:52 AM 
Started by ZacharyJames - Last post by ZacharyJames
Broken winter.
No snow and freezing temperatures make this broken winter unbearable.

Interdependent hinge.
Without holding fast to it’s door and frame, the interdependent hinge has no greater purpose than a lifeless, metal butterfly.

Didactic noose.
The rope tightened as his guilty body fell. Throughout the kingdom the noose was especially didactic today.

Nonchalant scale.
Without a burden for a few days, the nonchalant scale lay out of sight on the bathroom floor.

Groggy argument.
Had he studied or simply cared more, his argument wouldn’t have been so groggy.

 99 
 on: June 13, 2019, 12:05:43 AM 
Started by ZacharyJames - Last post by ZacharyJames
The little bronze key discovered it's home inside the padlock.

The tree sings as the wind conducts it's song.

The thunder interrogates the sea and the sea roars in response.

My poster, with it's bright colors and beautiful design, faded quickly into the crowded community board.

 100 
 on: June 12, 2019, 10:28:34 PM 
Started by marksy - Last post by marksy
Warm honeycomb deluge of crisp morning sunlight flowing in smoothly through the top dusty window pane. An aura of light blazing around the front door outside, peaks of light incising the house, refracting playfully off the ochre smooth walls, accosting my morning weak eyes, squinting and tightening my face, crows feet around my eyes grow fiercer as the glare grows in power, blurring my vision into a semi-white haze. Seeping under the door, intruding and feeling its long arms and hands sneak in and grab my ankles, the cool biting breeze indulging in a game of teasing, but has borne on it earthy nectars and sweet gooey saps filling the house, blending with my robust and organic fresh coffee, lifting my spirits and careening my heart and mind. The seeping wind wooing and whining under the door as it squeezes in, whinging in desire to come further in…

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