"concerted" poems
*“If people bring so much courage
to this world the world has to ****
them to break them, so of course
it kills them. The world breaks every
one and afterward many are*
strong at the broken places."
A Farewell to Arms,
Ernest Hemingway
<>
struggling with so much,
then this scripture of writing sent
by some unfamiliar, a providential
provider; and I am realized, this man
is broken in ways you have no idea,
can~not comp~re~hend
understanding floods, healing
required, for I too have been killed,
my trust and beliefs, trashed,
too many fools who think that
moral equivalence is a thing,
that the unspeakable is justified,
hatred makes me so broke so low,
how,
justification is not justice,
nor an excuse to do whatever
cross the street, and believe,
that drivers will honor a red,
a stop sign, but plenty think
this don’t apply to me, not me
getting on the back of a line
is for fools, people who cannot answer
the arrogant question of the insistent
“Do You Know Who I am?”
I know who I am, yet the ponderance
of evidence says that is not enough,
I
am insufficient,
I am less
than human,
I am
undeserving,
because of my
ancestry
And I will spare you the precise definitions of these statements,
for it should be unnecessary, you should be nodding in agreement, clear eyed understanding, intuitive, in your own broken bones felt!
But,
my bones are broken, and the healing needs a source, a “see here”
directive, explain me how my insane madness is not a proper
responsa to the
weight of hate
my eyes see, seen,
and that my own
eyes
are not lying,
but believed.
but intuitively understood
that my broken bones can be
healed, each in their own way,
so I will retire, perhaps return
when, even if not fully recovered,
sufficient to care enough,
ready to be rebroken, again,
for this! this! is my
true poetic ancestry
thousands of years have not broken us,
and never will, for it is not fear that will
prevent our resurrection, for we immunized,
for what unimaginable have we not known, and yet recovered,
this,
I believe,
my healing will be quiet, solitary, removed
from the distractive noises of invective infecting,
but I will be present,
for my children, and my children’s children will
look to this ancestor and learn that his blood
and bones deeds them the self-healing properties
that always has and always will defeat those
who seek to destroy your future
1) the DNA of your ancestry
inherited inherent in your bone marrow
and bone tissue is continuously remodeled
through the concerted actions of bone marrow cells
2) Stem cells in your red bone marrow
(hematopoietic stem cells) create red and
white blood cells and platelets, all of which
are components of your whole blood.
so here is our truth:
when,
***The world breaks every
one and afterward many are
strong at the broken places!***
our whole blood will replenish us
Nov 17, 2023
Nov 17, 2023 at 10:09 AM UTC
Swiveling chair
Clicking mouse
Clattering keyboard
Replaced by the steady glare at the monitor until it is naught but a blank stare,
a blank stare that begets a long pause
You wish could last forever with you lost in it;
Lost in your benevolent and untainted thoughts
Before the abrupt jolt out of your reverie
keeps you yearning for the luxury and solitude of your room…
Times flies and it’s almost the close of business
Yet, your table is in such a mess
On it, lies a pile of work undone
Tons that require your expert attention with little time left to tidy up
You don’t plan to work overtime
'Cause if you gambled that, you won’t make it in time to catch the bus
So you pack your bags and hurry down the stairs in time to catch the bus
Thinking of how to make up for the time lost all through your journey home
You can’t help the thought that taunts as it lingers.
Blaming you for leaving a pile of work undone
Reminding you that if and if only you had concerted for just a minute longer
You could have only left behind papers the cleaners can trash with a toss.
-r3d-
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
twas a poor performance
on the cricket pitch
the fielding side let too many *****
go to the boundary ditch
those batsmen were fabulous
hitting run after run
they really had the fielders
well and truly under the gun
sixes and fours flew
in both sessions of play
the batsmen had a magnificent
selection of strokes to array
the gully fieldsmen
and those on the off side
were unable to contain
the brilliance of the batting side
the South African cricketers
were too sharp for the Australian team
in short order they put paid to
the Australian third test dream
had the boys from down under
done a better job on the cricket pitch
the South Africans wouldn't be crowing
like a rooster at early morn pitch
a concerted effort with fielding
would have handsomely paid
but the Australian side
couldn't withstand the batter's raid
before the next test series
the Aussies have much homework to do
if they wish to accomplish
a win over the other crew
it is a sad day for this
avid devotee of the cricket game
she has witnessed a poor performance
which was rather lame
one is hopeful of a turn around
in fortunes for one's cricket side
and should it come to pass
one will be heartily filled with pride
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:03 AM UTC
Due, the times
Arrival of a concerted friend
At the designated since, the basis of every crime
To be, a whole salvation of what ends
Keep, the times
Rue and divulgence to a rapid and just
Merit, the coping suggestion of what ides
Were, the note of atonement in fair, if not ought's must
Solemn, the times
Strange horizon's with a calling
Ably, the needs of another, shied
And true, sigh of curiosity, that has seen falling
Adage, the times
Sworn to better kind
Turns of repose, have the sense to shine
Well and could, the very order of what mind
Secret, the times
May to fore, the airing, a league with might
To know a callous sorts of claim, the history of why
We are that we are, the other side of what mercy might
Stars, the time
Worth neither whether willing nor would
Comparison needs the let, the better in a wishful lime
Tow and certainty to hold, a portrayal of hosts who could...
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 12:27 PM UTC
An absent father's failure with an inhaler in hand
Insecurity seething from his skin
Manifesting it's self as bulbous red abrasions on his forehead
A heavy breathing child who's eyes were often aimed low
His expectations for life even lower
A little over weight but not enough to concern his pediatrician
He cut gym class a lot because of the showers
Now fourteen he had seen a few ******
He knew he didn't match up
It was better that no one knew he thought
He went on living like this
A pale shadow hovering in the halls
A faceless nobody in the background of someone else's group photo
A ghost who was only noticed by those who tortured him
Bullies like sharks can smell blood in the water
And he was chum
I still vividly see the feeding frenzy
I still remember the day we were told he took his own life
NO shrieks, NO cries, NOT even a whimper was heard
Almost a concerted sigh of boredom
That night there was a party
Not to celebrate his death
But an apathetic gesture of his nonexistence
I attended as was socially expected of me
Even wore a smile
But my mind wrestled with his suicide
I thought of how much I hated him
I hated the smell of his weakness
I hated the 'poor me' attitude
I hated him for taking his own life
Leaving me to feel guilty
That I had done nothing to help him
As if I was responsible in some way
...
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
It has often been said
That true love doesn't exist
But that doesn't stop me from dreaming
After all, I am a romantic
And it's not like I believe in true love
Only because I've read about it in books
Or seen it happen in movies and TV shows
In fact, I've experienced it myself
Not once, but twice
On the first occasion, I was young and naive
Enjoying life to its fullest
And when the love bug bit me
It was one of my happiest moments
I looked forward to every single day
And for the first time in many years
I actually made a concerted effort
To excel in academics
However, to cut a long story short
I missed the bus by a mile
When it came to confessing my feelings
Right, let's come to the second occasion
Technically, it was an arranged marriage
But for me, it was as good as a love marriage
Because, after our engagement
I grew so deeply attached to the girl
That I was blind
To all the red flags thrown at me
Every now and then
Again, to cut a long story short
It eventually ended in a divorce
However, as I've mentioned before
I have not lost hope yet
After all, time is still on my side
However, I need to draw a line somewhere
Firstly, being open and honest
Is an absolute must
I will tell you everything
But I expect the same from you as well
Secondly, I am looking for someone
Who is loyal till the very end
I will be with you
Through thick and thin
But if you cheat on me
Then it's over, once and for all
And finally
You need to accept me as I am
With my pros as well as cons
That includes understanding my autism
And the limitations it places on me
Especially as far as social interaction is concerned
Of course, it works both ways
I am not looking for a perfect person either
After all, if it's perfect
Then it's not true love
And one of the major reasons I still believe in true love
Is that it's full of imperfections
That's what makes it so endearing
And so human
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 12:46 PM UTC
Constantly tripping, stumbling
The circus search for imperfect heels
I’ve offered so little effort to protect
My love for the empirically ideal
Concerted my focus on what never to expect
I’ve been wearing a chip upon my shoulder
With an Achillean charm
Been chopping at my shin to guard my pride
When I should have thought myself an Oddarm
And thereby learned to fly
And of all the endless grained aspects
Strewn on the gray beaches of time
I could not have wasted my ignorance
On one more voraciously sublime
To squander the virtues of such chance
And the glancing blows of life
Shape in me such strange affect.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure
Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines
Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind,
A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger
It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly
That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise
And the truth does differ from what words can now describe.
I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course
And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path
Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash
So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source
The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black
It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe
Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself
So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between
Progress and regression, what has been and has never been,
Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt
But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again
It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe.
I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes
It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades
So this shroud submerges light until definition fades,
Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides
When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass,
It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe.
Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last
If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion
If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion
Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast
So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose
At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive
So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
We minimilize,
See a world of greens,
Prefer concerted solitude
And simplicity.
We cut and draw;
Like weeding words,
And gaining more
With fewer strokes.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
You as a layman
May never experience this
And it is most likely
You won't
But
If you ever catch on fire
Remember the three rules I speak of now
1.stop
Don't panic, realize your situation, and that you can be okay though calm, concerted effort, don't run! Running only creates oxygen to fuel the flame
2.drop
Fall to the floor, even the very act of being on the floor smothers whatever part of you that is burning that hits the floor. And it is necessary to be on the floor to achieve the most important lesson being taught within my words
3.telephone
Now that you are on the floor, pull out your telephone. Strike a pose, and take a selfie. Because for gods sake you are on fire, and you know that it can go viral. And really, dying by burning to death is worth it if you are able to entertain someone in doing so. Instagram will go crazy over you
And I suppose step four would be after you have a picture you like, then roll to put the fire out. But most people never make it this far.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
there seems to be no end
of armed cowards killing peaceful civilians
about to do their jobs or visit friends and chat
at airports in the underground or in cafés
and then acknowleding full responsibility
for that grandiose achievement
of putting electric wires into some explosives
and sending innocent people to their death
these self-styled martyrs claim
their deeds are prompted by religious ends
and not the simply joy of killing those
who have no arms for their defense
and are quite unaware they have become the targets
of delirious murderers who seriously imagine
their heinous crimes could please their god
and if they blow themselves away together with their victims
would send them straight into a paradise
with many earthly and some heavenly rewards
or so they say
watching them over all these years
I have my doubts
that any god has business with those guys
or they with him
like other groups before them they abuse religion
to justify their greed and power games
god for them is simply a façade
to mask their inhumanity
it’s time the world says a concerted NO
and makes it clear to all barbarians of our century
that our tolerance
is not for them
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
Picture me suckling on her elbows, lips enveloping that round lump, teeth scraping up past the skins’ v-fold, you might even want to dress that elbow in dotted pale cerise cotton ******* picture me lapping at her neck, tongue thwapping, spit running down to the corners of the mouth, bright nose pressed firm into the temple, my salacious grin in the wee pit of her eyes,
Yes I am there.
Picture me pawing, growling, climbing up her thin skinny young legs, my junk clambering its way into her grove garden cemetery of Hearse boxes and heart suitcases, where by death nothing grows anymore. Picture heavy, weighty, fleshy flesh tearing to shreds those photos you’ve been keeping of changing diapers in the back of your mind, those pictures on the top of your Steinway, picture me in your picture frames. Picture me I am the perfect imbecilic interstices to incise your pristine sweethearts’ heart, picture me, for I am the beast trammeling your restful sleep. Picture me while I take what I please, picture me as I take and I cleave, fueled by rancor and grief, I am your concerted antithesis of pleas and no’s and pleadings. I am but her best friend till the end. Picture me, woof woof. Picture me.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
It takes on deaths horrible form thereunto,
Breaching the seas pensively askew;
Spun brutally from troubling winds of false accord,
Ignored by expression but surely explored.
O 'tis madness, voices beat savagely in my head,
Upon quiet of night as insanely they wilfully imbed.
Through mortal fear I am awakened,
There's nowhere pleasant to run 'tis my chastened.
Of life's despairs nor demons wrathful hold,
Hast thereof nightmares foretold.
In the chilling air, killing heedful wisdoms impaired,
Had I faltered, I'd been sadly unprepared.
Pressed onwards I could only dream,
With care it'd be a future supreme.
Deep in my bleeding thoughts I tried to grasp it,
Yet every brutal bound 'twas likely unfit.
Ah, let evil echo through my disrupting mind,
The faces, that blushed mostly unkind.
A hideous desire inexplicable, entombed from within,
Hastily it beckons thereunto an original sin.
The voices, whose horrid duty I deplore,
Of the old vast despairs it will implore.
But alone I am 'tis surely surpassing a realm of rage,
And all I seen, mattered naught offstage.
Regrettably in the valley of despair I have always lived,
Therefrom I am truly a weltered child deprived.
Onto the rough cobble stones bloodied and quite torn,
That tragic wind, caught in hells uproar forlorn.
A sea of red, kept in an eternal twinge,
Through to agonies I'd impinge.
Ah how they weep, the mystic fools they weep,
In fake smiles these too rustle forth and reap.
Though I'm stirred I cannot follow,
O'er endless toil I as wallow.
Unto violent passions, soaring in tempting extremes,
Of pastures buried, a life in poor redeems.
For nothing concerted I came thereafter seeking,
Every question asked it begged a haggard beseeching.
Thus in a dim labyrinth of lies I found some solace,
Here in the direst valley of despair it's my disgrace.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Something I've observed
and maybe you've noticed it too
that your dance is always the same
with steps well-tread, familiar;
a frown,
a concerted effort to hold that cigarette in place
before the resolution;
you sit back,
always one ankle resisting on the opposite knee,
contented.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
finding the golden nugget
by chance or concerted effort
you have to believe the golden nugget exists
and wants to be found
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
Striving towards a goal, seeking to be better today than yesterday. I push myself to achieve more. Looking to be a better person, through discipline and sacrifice, all of these lessons are applied in every aspect of my life. Being kinder to others, while improving my own state of existence. I seek to move to a new level with each concerted effort. If I can reach a new goal, if I can help another person, then I have moved beyond what I did before and I have gone beyond my own expectations and perhaps I will inspire others to do the same.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
Liberté, égalité, fraternité.
L’ homme est né libre,
Pourtant partout il est enchaîné.
An eternally torturous question,
Oozing out of our minds like an infection;
Are we all equal?
Perhaps not when it comes to skill;
Some can lead, some can thrill.
Some can cook, and therefore feed;
Some can run, some can read.
All of us can do something –
No standardised test,
No uniformly assigned competition
Could ever possibly measure
This unique treasure,
The human ability to set off on an endeavour
And achieve astounding feats.
So, then –
Are we born equally endowed?
Perhaps not; should differential talents
Be stimulated, encouraged,
Voiced aloud?
A resounding yes, a thousand times yes!
We should only accept being under duress
When of forced labour and working to exist
We start hearing less and less,
When that concerted effort is directed
Not at striving at surviving
But at truly living, not just slowly dying.
Truly living is about doing what you love,
Being able and free to do so,
Learning that which you don’t know
And expanding that which you do know.
This is not our reality –
We are all born exactly the same,
Yet the country you were born in
Hell, even your family’s name,
Are things that determine
Where you will be positioned
In this foul, ***** game.
This is where we aren’t born equal –
In our right and access
To freely engage in the pursuit of happiness.
There is a seedling of potential in all of us,
One that can be grown –
Let it be known
That all seedlings can become a mighty tree,
If given the following three:
A space in which a fertile mind can be cultivated,
A community in which love can be propagated,
And the freedom to exist without being incarcerated.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
Today the Sunday special brief
iCloud online worship session, I did attend
(via remote support)
found me feeling pampered,
when adept technical support
didst figuratively bend
over backwards, thus aye defend
glorious, righteous,
and zealous Gurus who did expend
their religious fervor, without proselytizing
and sanctified dedication they proffered
as if this secular chap hapt tubby
a long time Facebook friend
diligently persevered amidst
my woeful yelping alarm
where bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks,
required a secret char
which this netizen vaguely understood
as unfair be-tidings disallowing
thyself to purchase additional farm
ming out iCloud storage
in the deleterious harm
akin to buggy ah mush swarm
comprised documents
(painstakingly slaved over with zest)
plus sundry data necessitating mooch ***
legal tender (probably every
last red cent of mine) to in vest
concerted efforts of
at least one expert to test
her/his mettle in an attempt
(dim prospect) performing an in quest
to retrieve valuable data lost amidst a nest
of inaccessible "lost" information
(bantering with computer
jargon more so jest
with no intention to "FAKE"
trumpeting minimal knowledge
judiciously impressed
upon thine fifty plus
shades of gray matter, at my be hest
expressing scant cumulative
disc cussing duff frag
minted understanding lest,
a personal goal
to incapsulate in poetic best
not abandoning frustration
with this Macbook Pro
cuz, positive experience
wrought with Apostles eye attest,
so rather then vent
my spleen in vein
hie desisted
to rage against the machine,
and tack toward being urbane
thus, rejoicing with a cherry,
hearty, and mighty byte hooray,
asper driving,
exercising, and foisting
gentle circuitry vis a vis
neurotransmitters and neuromodulators
nudging pull-ups
within cerebral terrain.
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
It's a guitar
And its strings we are
Together they share their feelings
And concerted efforts all put in for sweet melodies
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
Doing my utmost to keep my word
is how I live as taught by my father
although he didn't always keep his
I make a concerted effort to be better
Now that I have a son, it is absolutely
essential 2 have his trust 4 my benefit
Never make PROMISES which cannot
be kept according to mother and as we
know... mom is always always correct
At the mercy of all who dictate my
inner circle, my blessings emanate from
from on high to shape my pathway
Oh PROMISES PROMISES, do I dare
break you, for the repercussions may
have lasting consequences on everyone
so I matriculate to refine my stance on
keeping PROMISES and all it entails.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
The mouse in the maze is very weary.
It’s way too much concerted effort
Just to earn a grain of corn.
The route is always changing
And someone turns off and on the lights.
The music plays the same song, over
The humming of the ventilators
And the shutter bangs incessantly.
The mouse is tired of stupid games.
No one cares which way it runs,
Or how much corn drops into the bowl.
The smell of *** in the far back corner
Makes the air unpleasant to inhale.
The will to win another piece of corn
Battles with the need to find
The exit that is at the other end.
Notes have to be written down
Measurements and timings
Fill the logbooks of the staff,
As bored and weary as the mouse.
Protocols must still be followed
Finally the time clock in the hall
Clicks over to the magic hour
And mouse and men can all go home.
ljm
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
Down here in the undergrowth
The ground steals the sky
In a concerted effort
To help us walk upon the clouds
And help us dance on cotton stars
We lie in stealth
Just waiting to lunge
At all the poor souls
Who voice their droning disapprovals
And slink back to the wilderness
Beyond the embankment
There's a crystal reservoir
Shimmering with lust and sympathy
A place to fritter and drown the world
A place to scour the stigmas and the stains
So now we await the arrival
Of full-scale war on our borders
Taking our slow, bittersweet time
Time to rethink and reflect
Time to plant envy, and watch it grow
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC
Right after my name,
There is a year there, the year of my birth, the year I have no memory of, the year that I was born,
Its there, signifying my entrance into this world
My spectacular entrance as a third child, born to a third child,
Destined to be without a destination,
That mighty bruiser who cries and whimpers, but will grow to be
No more afraid or chilled or concerted than the man
Who has little emotion, and can feel those things around him
As everyone does, but different in the way, that blue smells good
And bread blows yellow across the window,
To finding that the greatest salt earth driven thing
Is the love that one can feel, but not touch.
Tell me of this work, these years all past and past again,
Seeing those people around that aren't around anymore,
And figuring out that my life, when figured on a mathmatical basis
Is more than half way gone, no three quarters gone.
All this ****** work, and knowledge and love and hate,
And covering it up to be something, I know I am not,
All but the dash. Look, it is there, on this page of poetry,
On these words that so simply tell me or tell you what is,
And there is that despicable dash, that will show two centuries,
Two hundred years to choose from, this dash shall be in collection
Of those years.
Leave it blank.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
I'm just a little introverted,
Which is not to say perverted,
But I'm really quite concerted,
To retain my energy
Now I know you're extroverted,
And it’s clear that you've asserted,
That you wish I'd be converted,
But that isn't good for me
Our natural state is just inverted,
To great throngs I'm quite averted,
And I'd rather be diverted,
To a quiet place you see?
So please don’t think I've subverted,
If you think I'll be inserted,
Into crowds, you're controverted,
Now please kindly leave me be!
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
My heart holds no remorse for me, and the love that I have lost
No sympathy for heartache, no concept of the cost
The empty time that saw my heart be frozen by the frost
From bitter winds of loneliness
and the cold lines I have crossed
Somewhere along the way it seems I found myself deserted
The love that once had burned in me, so strangely now diverted
Perhaps the efforts of my hopeless days and nights, concerted
Have left me here alone again, all thoughts of love perverted
Many tears ago now, I had known loves warm embrace
Too many years ago now to remember saving grace
Though I recall your loving ways, the smiles there on your face
I say your name out loud at times,
conjecture, just in case
I know it does no good now, to impart these thoughts to you
These dreams of what once was, now lost in memorial review
It leaves me deep within myself, my thoughts slightly askew
My heart refuses all requests to mislay its love for you
A heart that once knew what it meant, to love and hold so dear
The feelings of another heart, to comfort and revere
To see what lies ahead in life, where thoughts are crystal clear
Only soon to witness all that sadness will reveal
Hearts are never meant you see, to grieve in lamentation
Our minds recalling memories in quiet meditation
Tears fall as the rain, and as you drown in desperation
You find that you are traveling to sorrows destination
And so I must submit to the things that hearts bestow
And somehow to endure the pain my heart must undergo
I wonder if your heart will thus allow the status quo
And I alone, to long for you...
I guess that's how it goes
I live with a remorseless heart, for love I can’t retain
Within the thoughts of heartache and these things I can’t explain
I wonder when will love repent, to circumvent the pain
And quiet my poor broken hearts sorrowful refrain....
Dean Evans
6-14-14
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC