I enjoyed managing the highschool baseball team, moving up to varsity, attending the games, sitting on the bench and keeping score and charting pitches. I love baseball to this day. I had problems getting along with others in highschool, and once, I am pretty sure someone threw a baseball at my head as I walked to the field. It whizzed by my ear like a rapidly fluttering bird, I can still hear it, the noise the laces make as they contact the air, as the ball spins forward. I never wanted to believe someone did it on purpose, but I think someone did. Later I read The World According to Garp, in which his mom dies being struck by a baseball, and it made me think about this highschool incident.
There was an afternoon of which trwo people where walking through the park, upopn this occasion it was affirmed that indeed that was exactly what the park wanted. Soon enough all the benches the couple had passed without notcing started to attack and beginning chewing on their legs.
The bench was white with a mission style base. The left arm was a bit wobbly but it seemed like a pretty sturdy bench. There were a few stickers on the back of the bench. It looked like it may have been in a kids room previously. It was being sold for $10 which seemed like a great price.
There was a bench. Just one bench. One streetlamp. One foggy night. George, recently turned eighty-one, walks up to the bench. The bench he once sat with his wife. Now ex-wife. The bench where he once watched his kids feed the ducks. Now deceased kids. One hazy past. One sad, unfortunate man. One unknown private life.
There are too many god damn benches in this relationship. Why can’t we have just one bench that we always sit on, that is always ours? The infidelity is killing me. We need to be faithful to the benches in our lives. They do so much for us, why can’t we ever do anything in return, such as staying close with just one? Does this even make any sense? Please, someone get me out of here.
It was in Dorking when we met. He sat on a bench. His little beady eyes looked up at me and I couldn’t help but love him on the spot. He had a wet nose and his fur needed combing. He followed me home and we called him “Bench” for no reason that I can think of…..
sitting nonchalantly wondering if life really is like that box of cholesterol ridden sweetened chocolates. not wanting to be excluded, knowing that i was never good enough the sport of life has me passed out and beat i dont want to admit defeat. Fighting against the wood that has been placed under my bottom i am splintered and bleeding from its unforgiving exterior sometimes its better to be superior when being inferior hurts as much as this.
the park bench in the middle of and park you could come across, millions of people sit on it, and heck, some even ASLEEP on it! Covered in bacteria and food particles, used as a place for relax and a great spot to enjoy the scenery. They’re usually placed in just the right location to enjoy a particular view for your leisure.
I met her on the bench. We sat there before morning prayers in the dewy pre-dawn. With the moss wall of the nunnery behind us and an apple tree above, only the gay song of a single lark punctuated the silence. I sighed. In this setting I could confess to her the true burdens of my heart. I told Sister Clarice about the significance of my rosary and I the wretched treachery I had brought upon another Sister. It was her death that caused me to devote my life to God.
Sitting down on this brown wooden structure can be illuminating if the bench is in the right place. Sometimes it is in front of a piece of art and sometimes you find it in the perfect spot where you grow tired.
I sat on the bench, the old man coming towards the spot where I sat, I felt an unexplained apprehension as I realized it was him, he had found me. I found comfort in the strong grain underneath my hands and clenched the wood, feeling solace in the prick of wood in my finger.
she sat on the bench and her golden hair flew out behind her slowly in the summer breeze. god she was gorgeous and she would never know how i really felt. she looked over at me and smiled, standing to greet me.
sitting on a park bench thinking about the park, regents ark in london. i really missed it. the ducks, feeding the duck and going out with friends, the fox at midnight sniffing at street lamps, i used to walk through rengts park with such a feeling of uneasy happiness, as if i knew at the time that i wouldnt be there again, yet i felt at home
i even wrote poems about it i guess thats like love, you tkae
Benches are cool you sit on them. you can also sleep on them if you want…
sometimes they can be drawn on too with like gravity and stuff which is cool i guess if youre into that kinda stuff.
So. There was this guy Gabe. We met after an awards cermony that me and my friend Tim attended. We had out first kiss out side on a bench at 3 am outside of a jewel on the east side. He seemed really nervous and I didn’t know what to do.
Benches are meant for sitting and waiting for buses. NOT for having deep intellectual conversations with those whom you can’t quite remember too well afterward.
The bench sat lonely as me on that cold morning. I could feel the coldness of its thoughts. Funny it seemed to find comfort in me. It was my new friend and partner in sorrow.
Jess and I had our own bench. At a park with a quarter mile track and man made brooks, we claimed it as ours, leaving hours worth of conversation there. This is when I was fond of her. This was before she fucked around with my little brother. When she was revered, and when we had a bench. She took a picture of it one day and I wrote our names on the shiny print out.
the bench was littered with leaves and left over wrappers. no people stayed in sight, the lonely vigil kept by surrounding trees and moonlight casting down more shadows than light. or maybe they’re eating up the light. who knows.
i was sitting on the bench in the park when it started to rain. I ran all the way home. When I got there I went to bed. The next day I went back to the bench. It didn’t rain that day. It was a good day!
Bench on the top on my shoes and the dog shit on the bottom. Where is the bus and will it be the one that brings me home or the one that takes other people home. It is cold right now and my thighs are cold because I have alot of meat on them.
She sat on the bench outside of the hardware store looking at nothing in particular. She held a lollipop in her hand but licked it idly and was likely to simply toss it away before she was finished with it. She had folded up her bright yellow work apron and tucked it inside her purse rather than be recognized as an employee.
i like to sit on benches and talk to people. one time this girl had shorts on and she sat on a bench that was shaped funny so whens he stood up she had the imprint of the bench on her legs. my best friend and i thought it was the funniest thing ever. i don’t know why that memory of a stupid bench is still so vivid in my mind. bench is a weird word.
I sat on the cold, green metal of the bench trying to make out the graffiti letters with my fingertips while waiting for the bus to come. My red polka-dot umbrella did little to keep my shoes from getting wet.
His ammunition cocked and ready, Evans zeroed in on his target. He was coming in at a steep angle but the wind stayed with him and he’d be able to pull out in time. “And bombs away!” He released the projectile onto the bench and its occupant with pinpoint accuracy and pulled out of his nosedive. Mr. Adams jerked as the full force of the ammo hit him on the head. He raised a flailing fist and yelled, “Damn Pigeons!”
i like to sit on my bench. my bench is a good place to sit. i sit and i think. i like to be alone. i might be alone forever. if i am alone, i’ll sit on a couch and watch people. by couch i mean bench. i sometimes like to sleep outside. maybe on a bench? maybe like a homeless person? can they have cats? on my bench i’ll sit, alone.
O! bench! Why are you so fucking tortorous!? Cruel in the infinite? Telling me you can hold me up, telling me that I can read a book for hours with your support, basked in the cool sunshine of Spring? You vile liar! Villain!
Where I go to school, there are barely any benches. If someone sits down on a bench just to relax, no doubt if someone they know sees them they will ask what the hell they are doing just sitting around on a bench. It’s sort of like the awkwardness
In the middle of a void, in pace, stood a bench. And on that bench were two humans. A man, and a woman. They began to talk, but not to each other, but to the void itself. But slowly, they began to slide together. And slowly their words began to echo into one another, and mingle. Until at last they learned each others names. Adam, and Eve.
i sit alone on the bench
the bench that sits next to the world
with trees and snow
all all alone i look
i think, how beautiful this place is
how this bench tells a story
of life, of love, of people
what do people stare at?
us? the wild? the world?
one bench one world
all in one.
so much to know and it all goes back
to this one bench
The bench was quite warm, as if someone had just farted on it and had never quite bothered to wave away the stink. What a terrible pungent smell, a passerby thought. It is utterly disgusting, and no doubt has it originated from that detestible being over there on the bench.
I saw a bench the other day. It was black with intricate designs all over it. It looked as if a small child had been given paint and asked to create whatever his imagination would allow him to. There were spirals, circles, and then suddenly it would hit you – this was no ordinary paiting and no child could have ever made it. The painting made the face of a man.
sitting on the bench is fun because you can watch the people walk by in their rain boots and their hats. but the bench is hard and unforgiving just like life. a bench is the benchmark of the park, that much is true, but do we ever really know why someone has chosen to sit there and spend their time on that bench?
beautiful brown bench, how I love to sit on you and admire the sunset. The edge of the reservoir is so peaceful at night with the glowing sun on the water. It’s always better with you there.
Benches are everywhere. Subways, parks, malls. Everywhere. Google ‘bench.’ You’ll get a lot of hits. I know you will. Just Google it. You know you want to. BENCH. GOOGLE. BENCH. People sleep on benches. Eat on ’em. Sit on ’em, even.
I enjoyed managing the highschool baseball team, moving up to varsity, attending the games, sitting on the bench and keeping score and charting pitches. I love baseball to this day. I had problems getting along with others in highschool, and once, I am pretty sure someone threw a baseball at my head as I walked to the field. It whizzed by my ear like a rapidly fluttering bird, I can still hear it, the noise the laces make as they contact the air, as the ball spins forward. I never wanted to believe someone did it on purpose, but I think someone did. Later I read The World According to Garp, in which his mom dies being struck by a baseball, and it made me think about this highschool incident.
There was an afternoon of which trwo people where walking through the park, upopn this occasion it was affirmed that indeed that was exactly what the park wanted. Soon enough all the benches the couple had passed without notcing started to attack and beginning chewing on their legs.
The bench was white with a mission style base. The left arm was a bit wobbly but it seemed like a pretty sturdy bench. There were a few stickers on the back of the bench. It looked like it may have been in a kids room previously. It was being sold for $10 which seemed like a great price.
There was a bench. Just one bench. One streetlamp. One foggy night. George, recently turned eighty-one, walks up to the bench. The bench he once sat with his wife. Now ex-wife. The bench where he once watched his kids feed the ducks. Now deceased kids. One hazy past. One sad, unfortunate man. One unknown private life.
she waited alone
the backs of her legs growing numb
from the cold metal pressing into them.
she looked frantically
from side to side
hoping to spot a familiar face,
anyone
who could help her out of the trap
that was her life.
There are too many god damn benches in this relationship. Why can’t we have just one bench that we always sit on, that is always ours? The infidelity is killing me. We need to be faithful to the benches in our lives. They do so much for us, why can’t we ever do anything in return, such as staying close with just one? Does this even make any sense? Please, someone get me out of here.
It was in Dorking when we met. He sat on a bench. His little beady eyes looked up at me and I couldn’t help but love him on the spot. He had a wet nose and his fur needed combing. He followed me home and we called him “Bench” for no reason that I can think of…..
sitting nonchalantly wondering if life really is like that box of cholesterol ridden sweetened chocolates. not wanting to be excluded, knowing that i was never good enough the sport of life has me passed out and beat i dont want to admit defeat. Fighting against the wood that has been placed under my bottom i am splintered and bleeding from its unforgiving exterior sometimes its better to be superior when being inferior hurts as much as this.
the park bench in the middle of and park you could come across, millions of people sit on it, and heck, some even ASLEEP on it! Covered in bacteria and food particles, used as a place for relax and a great spot to enjoy the scenery. They’re usually placed in just the right location to enjoy a particular view for your leisure.
Bench, benchmark, mark my words or you will be on the bench. There is no I in team but there is in WIN.
I met her on the bench. We sat there before morning prayers in the dewy pre-dawn. With the moss wall of the nunnery behind us and an apple tree above, only the gay song of a single lark punctuated the silence. I sighed. In this setting I could confess to her the true burdens of my heart. I told Sister Clarice about the significance of my rosary and I the wretched treachery I had brought upon another Sister. It was her death that caused me to devote my life to God.
Sitting down on this brown wooden structure can be illuminating if the bench is in the right place. Sometimes it is in front of a piece of art and sometimes you find it in the perfect spot where you grow tired.
I sat on the bench, the old man coming towards the spot where I sat, I felt an unexplained apprehension as I realized it was him, he had found me. I found comfort in the strong grain underneath my hands and clenched the wood, feeling solace in the prick of wood in my finger.
she sat on the bench and her golden hair flew out behind her slowly in the summer breeze. god she was gorgeous and she would never know how i really felt. she looked over at me and smiled, standing to greet me.
sitting on a park bench thinking about the park, regents ark in london. i really missed it. the ducks, feeding the duck and going out with friends, the fox at midnight sniffing at street lamps, i used to walk through rengts park with such a feeling of uneasy happiness, as if i knew at the time that i wouldnt be there again, yet i felt at home
i even wrote poems about it i guess thats like love, you tkae
Benches are cool you sit on them. you can also sleep on them if you want…
sometimes they can be drawn on too with like gravity and stuff which is cool i guess if youre into that kinda stuff.
So. There was this guy Gabe. We met after an awards cermony that me and my friend Tim attended. We had out first kiss out side on a bench at 3 am outside of a jewel on the east side. He seemed really nervous and I didn’t know what to do.
sitting. water. public transportation, This is strange, but I’m a fan. Are these supposed to be one word or multiple sentences?
Benches are meant for sitting and waiting for buses. NOT for having deep intellectual conversations with those whom you can’t quite remember too well afterward.
The bench sat lonely as me on that cold morning. I could feel the coldness of its thoughts. Funny it seemed to find comfort in me. It was my new friend and partner in sorrow.
Jess and I had our own bench. At a park with a quarter mile track and man made brooks, we claimed it as ours, leaving hours worth of conversation there. This is when I was fond of her. This was before she fucked around with my little brother. When she was revered, and when we had a bench. She took a picture of it one day and I wrote our names on the shiny print out.
the bench was littered with leaves and left over wrappers. no people stayed in sight, the lonely vigil kept by surrounding trees and moonlight casting down more shadows than light. or maybe they’re eating up the light. who knows.
i was sitting on the bench in the park when it started to rain. I ran all the way home. When I got there I went to bed. The next day I went back to the bench. It didn’t rain that day. It was a good day!
Bench on the top on my shoes and the dog shit on the bottom. Where is the bus and will it be the one that brings me home or the one that takes other people home. It is cold right now and my thighs are cold because I have alot of meat on them.
She sat on the bench outside of the hardware store looking at nothing in particular. She held a lollipop in her hand but licked it idly and was likely to simply toss it away before she was finished with it. She had folded up her bright yellow work apron and tucked it inside her purse rather than be recognized as an employee.
i like to sit on benches and talk to people. one time this girl had shorts on and she sat on a bench that was shaped funny so whens he stood up she had the imprint of the bench on her legs. my best friend and i thought it was the funniest thing ever. i don’t know why that memory of a stupid bench is still so vivid in my mind. bench is a weird word.
I sat on the cold, green metal of the bench trying to make out the graffiti letters with my fingertips while waiting for the bus to come. My red polka-dot umbrella did little to keep my shoes from getting wet.
His ammunition cocked and ready, Evans zeroed in on his target. He was coming in at a steep angle but the wind stayed with him and he’d be able to pull out in time. “And bombs away!” He released the projectile onto the bench and its occupant with pinpoint accuracy and pulled out of his nosedive. Mr. Adams jerked as the full force of the ammo hit him on the head. He raised a flailing fist and yelled, “Damn Pigeons!”
i like to sit on my bench. my bench is a good place to sit. i sit and i think. i like to be alone. i might be alone forever. if i am alone, i’ll sit on a couch and watch people. by couch i mean bench. i sometimes like to sleep outside. maybe on a bench? maybe like a homeless person? can they have cats? on my bench i’ll sit, alone.
O! bench! Why are you so fucking tortorous!? Cruel in the infinite? Telling me you can hold me up, telling me that I can read a book for hours with your support, basked in the cool sunshine of Spring? You vile liar! Villain!
Where I go to school, there are barely any benches. If someone sits down on a bench just to relax, no doubt if someone they know sees them they will ask what the hell they are doing just sitting around on a bench. It’s sort of like the awkwardness
In the middle of a void, in pace, stood a bench. And on that bench were two humans. A man, and a woman. They began to talk, but not to each other, but to the void itself. But slowly, they began to slide together. And slowly their words began to echo into one another, and mingle. Until at last they learned each others names. Adam, and Eve.
When the star player hits the floor, it’s time to break out the smaller guns.
For example,
Hi.
i sit alone on the bench
the bench that sits next to the world
with trees and snow
all all alone i look
i think, how beautiful this place is
how this bench tells a story
of life, of love, of people
what do people stare at?
us? the wild? the world?
one bench one world
all in one.
so much to know and it all goes back
to this one bench
The bench was quite warm, as if someone had just farted on it and had never quite bothered to wave away the stink. What a terrible pungent smell, a passerby thought. It is utterly disgusting, and no doubt has it originated from that detestible being over there on the bench.
I saw a bench the other day. It was black with intricate designs all over it. It looked as if a small child had been given paint and asked to create whatever his imagination would allow him to. There were spirals, circles, and then suddenly it would hit you – this was no ordinary paiting and no child could have ever made it. The painting made the face of a man.
Bench press. Bench (judge). Park bench.
sitting on the bench is fun because you can watch the people walk by in their rain boots and their hats. but the bench is hard and unforgiving just like life. a bench is the benchmark of the park, that much is true, but do we ever really know why someone has chosen to sit there and spend their time on that bench?
beautiful brown bench, how I love to sit on you and admire the sunset. The edge of the reservoir is so peaceful at night with the glowing sun on the water. It’s always better with you there.
Benches are everywhere. Subways, parks, malls. Everywhere. Google ‘bench.’ You’ll get a lot of hits. I know you will. Just Google it. You know you want to. BENCH. GOOGLE. BENCH. People sleep on benches. Eat on ’em. Sit on ’em, even.