Comments Posted By Will B. Somethin

Displaying 1 To 30 Of 40 Comments

wealthy

The wealthy dogs only shitted on the left side of the street, filled with red fire hydrants and a plethora of shimmering bermuda grass to comfort their paws mid squat; the strays passed by on the left, hoping to find a loose shoe to chew or drain to sniff into, delving themselves into the liberation without a leash.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 08.03.2013 @ 1:34 am

deft

Deft she was not. Nor graceful. Nor beautiful by contemporary, bottomless standards. But she had girt. A soft smile. A deep gaze. And expanding embrace of the dance floor. So I said hello.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 07.13.2013 @ 1:49 pm

collection

They were a collection of misfits. Former teachers, indoor plumbers, delivery men, and one who held a summer job at an ice cream stand. They had no similarities other than their fate–to be the seven who saw the thing only they could save.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 07.06.2013 @ 1:07 pm

instant

An an instant, everything loved was lost. The blast from the small 1993 SUV four-door was so great that the nearby trees could only be identified through photographs. Accidental catastrophe. Life taken through the continuous small actions of torment extended towards a man who did not want to live anymore, exhibited through the ignition of his programmed engine, the burning of unnoticed, unexpected flame.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 06.29.2013 @ 12:29 pm

claims

The claims we make on life are temporary. How much we own, how much we think we know, the phrases or people we claim to hold dear—these are the things that pass away. But it is the moments, the small moments in each breath, tidbit of knowledge, spoken word, or listening ear, that allow us to make this permanent claim for life every second of the day: we are grateful for the small things even in the season of the temporary.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 02.06.2013 @ 11:44 am

speak

Silence

Speak now or forever hold your violence.

For those that say nothing, do nothing, and dare others to do the same,

Are as silent as the wind that leans against the tree

but causes nothing to shake, not even one limb.

If civility is the art of pleasing,

then justice is the art of allowing others to realize.

Speak now or forever hold the peace.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.26.2013 @ 5:59 pm

Speak nor or forever hold your violence.

For those that say nothing, do nothing, and dare others to do the same.

Or as silent as the wind that leans against the tree

but causes nothing to shake, not even one limb.

If civility is the art of pleasing, then justice is the art of allowing others to realize.

Speak now or forever hold the peace.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.26.2013 @ 3:31 pm

responsibility

The responsibility of Jack’s job was quite simple. Do not let the young maiden’s of Anna Lee’s Girl Power circle infiltrate the BoysRule GirlsDrool fort made up of a collection of pillows, chairs, tree limbs, and an old lawn mower from Uncle Tim’s garage down the street. Years later, Jack would go on to marry Anna Lee, but for that moment, Jack’s responsibility outweighed his eventual affection.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.24.2013 @ 11:33 am

musical

The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s musical of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.23.2013 @ 1:14 pm

The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s performance of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.23.2013 @ 1:14 pm

The musical playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy’s second-grade class’s performance of, “What’s My Name: A Veggie Story.” However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.23.2013 @ 1:09 pm

sound

The sound of her voice came like a winter chill on the backs of our necks. “Time to come in,” my mother shouted. She did not know that we were far beyond our front yard by now–we were in the land of Oz, the battleships of space, the adventures of the raging seas. So much travel can come with the drop of a few flakes of snow, and the mind the warming minds of curious travelers, children once were called but adventurers we became.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.18.2013 @ 12:40 pm

sweep

The method of sweeping the gym floor never changed for Jim Walton, 35-year janitor of Pedora Middle School. Back and forth, in deliberate vertical lines, until not a speck of dust was left. How he longed to be remembered for the specks he swept away, and for the small speck that people saw in him.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.16.2013 @ 11:29 am

size

When we live in a time that ‘size’ is our dignity’s own four-lettered word, something we turn away from in shame and embarrassment, we forget that the our bodies do not bulge in shame but in possibility. We are weighed down not by our bodies but by our lack of attention to the capacities of those bodies to be seen, loved, and reinvigorated.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.15.2013 @ 11:21 am

end

There are very few expected endings: romantic comedies, bits of rope, that last bit of your chocolate birthday cake. Despite these expected endings, however, the letting go is not easier. The realization of departure, separation, or discontinuation is still ever as cruel when it is done in plain sight. ‘We know not what we have until it is gone’ or maybe we were too busy eating to care.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.14.2013 @ 5:05 am

cry

There is plenty of empty glass mason jars hear beside me to collect your tears. There are tissues, chocolates, movies, rain boots, and your favorite quilt right by our bare feet on the wood floor as our bodies sink deeper and deeper into the couch’s embrace. Let the time and mourning come. We are here. Now. Together. Vulnerable. Yet. So. True.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.12.2013 @ 9:29 am

master

Let life be your master. Let the intricacies of your daily occurrence into this world be the things that guide you–the slurping of your soup, the exhale of the morning, the glance of the morning paper and the world around you, the world inside of you.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.10.2013 @ 1:35 pm

politician

He grew up as a man with one ambition: political life. He died as a man with one regret: political life. The difference between what we sometimes want and the regrets of the things we have is not perhaps found in unexpected salaries or work conditions, but rather, in the fact that our ideals are sometimes best fulfilled in professions we have not thought of yet–and are compromised in facade professions we never really were meant for.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 01.09.2013 @ 12:40 pm

now

Now backwards means you won. But I don’t think that means looking back will always bring one victorious results. If you switch them around, now also can become ‘own,’ a verb usually meaning an act of submission, of slavery of one thing over the other, an entitlement. Any yet if we can do anything in our lives to bring fruit, the ability to “own” right “now” is perhaps the best of them, the only indicator we have “won” in this thing called life by finally appreciating what it is worth instead of trying to spell everything out.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.26.2012 @ 11:22 am

fire

There was a single lit flame, a small fire of its own for the holiday garland surrounding the sole white candle on the old wooden table. Its mere existence represented a presence and an absence–the absence told by another family chair empty at the table, the presence of a reminder through flame that the chair would be filled again.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.25.2012 @ 4:29 pm

actual

The actual report said that there wasn’t much hope. Damien’s improvement was little to none. He read like a first grader but was trapped in a third grader’s body. He had little economic or home support. He was a minority in a majority-supported culture. However, the wrinkles in his eyes as he smiled told another story–one of joy, of hope, and of the love of a new book, slowly turning page after page at a rate that took much longer than all the other kids. Looking back now at his picture at his college graduation, I remember thinking his slow pace was probably to let the joy and possibility sink in.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.23.2012 @ 2:55 pm

sate

I have never been sated as much as I heard this phrase from your mouth: “You are not perfect but for always, you are good enough and worthy to me.”

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.19.2012 @ 1:49 pm

game

There is all fun in games.

Or so we thought.

We pushed our kids towards each other, laden with pads and pigskins, urging them to thrust their bodies at each of their friend’s delicate temples.

And when it was all over and we cross that ever-present line,

I put my hands up in the air, signaling, “My God, what have we done?”

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.18.2012 @ 5:09 pm

five

The were five hands pressing against the foggy morning glass. Five sets of eyes watching as the air plane began its descent into the cold November morning. There were five small, innocent scuffles of feet away from lounge where “Flight Departures” lit up with the morning light. Five hands, five pairs of eyes, five sets of feet–all things which bring into question why a fifth deployment in five years should ever be necessary.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.17.2012 @ 12:40 pm

due

The books were overdue. The ideas were not. As she watched young fingers fumble over fingers, pages being turned in anticipation, the librarian did not mind the expiration date on the old note card in the back of the book. The young girl in pink tails was lost in her imagination, just trying to find her new way home in chapters yet to be read. There was no due date for that–just mystery.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.16.2012 @ 5:32 pm

stir

To stir something once meant to intervene, to place one long wood spoon in a boiling pot or one long, encouraging phrase into a young child’s mind. There was a chef once who taught me at a culinary class, and he said, “To stir is to include even the burnt pots at the bottom.” Thinking back to my classroom fourteen years ago and my teacher’s words to me, I couldn’t help but agree.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.15.2012 @ 1:00 pm

determined

The burial site had yet to be determined. The flowers had not been picked. The prayer had not been written. What had been done was a collection of photos brought together, held together by small fingers and shaking hands, recalling the happiest day of the deceased’s life—little Jeremy, walking him in the open field, with a chewed tennis ball and a fresh bone in his owner’s back blue jean pocket.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.12.2012 @ 6:24 pm

available

“Not available” the words never posted on billboards.

Just on hearts.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.11.2012 @ 12:40 pm

presented

She presented the award to the retiring professor, a square plaque with gold trim, and his initials scribbled in next to a few choice words. As she handed over the award, the professor handed her a small note which she put in her right coat pocket. Later that night, when she left, she opened up the small folded note on half a napkin, and read, “I once couldn’t even read.”

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.10.2012 @ 4:11 pm

methods

Her methods were correct. She followed the guidelines on the folded lab report to a ‘T.’ The chemicals were mixed, the clock was ticking, and her professor’s pacing was seemingly approving her efforts. However, no one could tell her where all that fizzing, all the bubbling, all the mixing would eventually lead to and if it would feed her infinite wonder or the kid down the street. So with that, she walked out, hanging up for coat for curiosity and dirty hands.

» Posted By Will B. Somethin On 12.09.2012 @ 11:36 am

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