"creatively" poems
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
I want to be a little crazy.
I want to be crazy beautiful.
I want to be beautifully creative.
I want to be creatively inspiring.
I want to inspire those who want to be a little crazy.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
(To my sisters and brother)
I will always miss …
Our sunset ending quarrels
Our never-ending teases
Christmas’ shared carols
Warm hugs
Through sweet gazes
The sarcastic smiling faces
The growing-up races
Revenge taking chases
Greed over goodies to be hidden
In unpredictable places
And I will always miss …
Competitions and crazy bets
Singing hilarious duets
Of made-up songs in the shower
This innocence
Of our childish humor
Screamed from a room to another
That art of tricking eachother
To cleverly stay in control
Or wrestling over the remote control
And I will always miss …
Decades of shared history
Amplified joy and divided misery
Bursts of laughter on old tapes
Creatively imagined games
Of whirlpools in drapes
And goalkeeper leaps
Random costume parties
Daily role-play stories
Sega sagas from dusk to dawn
Alliances and conspiracies
Sisters, my lovely sisters
Wise, you have become
Loving wives, caring mothers
Soon, you will become
Make sure your kids relive
What we used to live
Their uncle will make you proud
Just like you fill him with pride
Brother, dear brother
I secretly looked up to you
As I grew older
I kept resembling you
It doesn’t matter
If you’re a little far
Brotherhood’s a matter
Of unbreakable bond
And I will always admire, respect, love and cherish …
Every single one of you
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Her skin looks pale,
White shedding brown,
like a golden brown velvet
strewn across a skeleton
made from Cleopatra’s frame.
There is nothing to it,
her sway is flawless
in her stilettos,
O’ God those stilettos.
She pave the roads with
blossoms of Primrose
and Calla Lilies, as the tip
of her heels stab the earth.
Her body melts cotton candies
in winter,
her curve bakes pastries
in snowy mountains,
It was an unbelievable sight,
like a sunrise, she climbs the edges
of the highest of peaks,
like the wind, she enters a heart by
the creaks; like a creep.
Perhaps nothing shall stop her,
Her footsteps continue to pierce
the soil, making a sound close to the
cracking of my knuckles.
She made people snivel and weep
when she enters the room
with her slender black dress.
She makes heads turn almost
to their full circle,
it would be death to steal a
peek, or glance, a peep.
She is the sun on earth:
hot and highly radiated
but too tempting to be left alone.
She is like the still waters:
calm, clean and serene
but too quiet to know the depth;
and still willingly jump in.
It is like believing again.
She is like believing again.
She is tiny as is her name,
It shall rhyme as the bell shines,
Her hair, her coiled twisted hair,
is much like herself: curled, twisted
bended.
Yet she is, perhaps, the twist in life,
the curl of wind on her bosoms, or
the bend of spines when eyes turn
to gaze at her splendor.
It is uncertain what she is,
but I know, vaguely.
She, like a Zinnia, shall be the
decoration of this planet.
She shall be, though exaggerated,
the reason for our existence.
She, corrupted and dangerous,
shall reclaim her spot in divinity
and shall forever more be
my source of inspiration.
Like a stream of clear water,
gushing down the torrent
ovately,
ornately,
creatively,
purposefully…
She shall see herself,
breathe herself and know that
only she is the one she could
deliberately fall…
…or fail.
The black sand shall be her dress,
the grey rocks shall be her stilettos,
that clear water be her conscience
as she takes on the world.
With her cursive eye shadows
she will see the funny side of
life; she will see it thoroughly.
She, regardless, will persist
and resist the failure
of herself, with the moist
creek on her seductive lips.
She is seduction.
She is temptation.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these words mold me into someone you could never be/
©2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
My mind is expanding,
But these grades are demanding.
Though my ways stand out
My GPA is not outstanding.
What good is knowledge,
If you can’t prove it on paper?
I WANT TO SEE THE WORLD!!!
But getting good grades is safer.
So I must be productive,
My right to dream has been abducted,
I once considered reflective struggles constructive,
But marginal quotas interrupt it
I’m feeling inspired,
My drive is now fired!
Oh but I can’t attend to that now..
Because I can’t study when I’m tired.
So I put it off,
Dreams are lost,
Robot mode on,
in a society of full of
scholarly knock-offs.
"Serendipity does not exist,"
"You’re choosing to fail if you’re choosing to live,"
"Why live creatively if you can puff, click or sip?"
I’m in an abusive relationship with my To-Do list
Don’t lose track,
Don’t look back,
Because time is money
And honey,
society will tell you how you spend it.
If you just let it.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Mother Earth
May this skin I'm in always remind me of the air and what's underneath my feet. I am one with the soil and wind that blows the blades of grass on the ground and branches on the trees.
Keep me planted, with wisdom and understanding I pray that I can always speak creatively of my experiences in life, from the he(art) of poetry.
Always learning from the trials of what my actions in this universe brings, and never ever forgetting to express my love organically.
Father sky
Renew my heart,
cleanse my spirit and keep open my eyes.
Lead me more to thee, as I fall at your feet I pray that you free me from all lies.
Break these chains of doubt so that I may gain my wings and fly,
rising to a higher vibration, continuing to expand my mind.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
~
Creatively I died inside a butterfly’s wing
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
Elevation
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Twisted, converted
Underneath a pyramid
Midriff monsoon
Against the red noon of the Moon’s
Lunar tunes
Nightmares growing from daydreams
Like weeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Broken seeds
The eyes of the Owl see
As wisdom he reads
Turn green with greed
No longer wise as pride
Glides and rides
Across the deceit of his landslide
Crashing like a crystal avalanche
Crushing lives and habitats
See one choice can lead back to the beginning
Of the first inning of a sliver lining
That has become dull
Losing its shine and luster
Like a haunted hall
In a old mansion cobwebbed with fluster
Skeletons and ghost threaded in walls
Shredded inside papery calls
Peeling from the owners fall
I’ve died inside the butterfly’s wing
The wing carved on a wedding ring
Its circle symbolizes my cycle
A tilted infinity inside the curve of clarity
Of my fall
That became a papery call
While threaded in a skeleton wall
Cobwebbed with fluster
Like a haunted hall
That has lost its shine and luster
Which became dull
Like the first inning of the silver lining
This choice has led back to the beginning
Crushing lives and habitats
Like a crystal avalanche
Crashing across the deceit of this landslide
Which glides and rides
No longer wise as pride
Turns green with greed
As wisdom he reads
The eyes of the Owl see
Broken seeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Like nightmare and weeds
Growing from daydreams
Lunar tunes of the Moon
Glowing against red noon midriff monsoon
Underneath a pyramid
Twisted, converted
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Elevation
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
For I’ve creatively died inside the ink of a butterfly’s wing
Dripping from an alien’s pen-well
Melting like clear gel
Faded and blurred
Secretly grew in between each verb
Hid myself in sentences
Like parables in genesis
With glee…
I impregnated the meaning inside me
Then birthed surrealism
In a chaotic schism
Between the fifth and second chord
Of a poetic discord
~
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
The question,
within its very core nature ..
almost solely hinges around
our own deeply hidden,
internal self-betrayal:
In the creatively-covered up alliances
we make..
In order to prop up, the parts of us
that refuse to respond in any growing,
self-sacrificing way, that would lead
to the true growth of change.
And so.. within our own,
internally/externally-manufactured,
form of consent, comes
a smile-washed, deep contempt
for anything, and everything
that would (or could) expose
Just how deeply we have
sold ourselves out
through the ultra-fine art,
of alliance.
And like a lamb to the slaughter
are those who choose to unknowingly
(or with agenda-based blinders)
Love, defend, and support
those who use such an alliance
to prop themselves up,
from falling over.
But the Universe..
within its deep ache for us--
It never stops asking of us
the Primal question
We can respond through
the suffering of the self
(leading to true growth and change)
Or make alliance with Death
as a way of short-cutting the answer.
#
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 1:22 PM UTC
Yesterday was the day you were born,
some 30 years ago, right?
And today was the day we celebrated!
I am tightly wound into my own life;
that I even had to mention it in YOUR poem.
That aside I'm sorry to say I didn't know yesterday was your day.
Maybe this would of made it your way one day earlier,
or maybe I would of shrugged it off like my older self.
But to be honest that's not what I want to do.
I want to let you know that I know that you deserved to be noticed.
That the day and you did not go by like the wind.
That when the words floated by my ear that yesterday was your day.
I decided I must do something!
And I'm sorry to say, but like a homeless man all I have is a little sign and some words to display.
I'll creatively explain and show that you are an important part in the world, my world.
Doing this will hopefully let you know the significance of yourself to me.
I may be the person you have always fought with.
I may be the person you have screamed the most at.
I may be the person you are the most upset with.
You may be the person that I feel awkward around.
You may be the person I don't know what to say to.
You may be the person that I under-appreciate.
but mom I love you.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
My horoscope told me that I should think creatively today. It told me that I should write and so here I am, attempting to write a poem.
Little does my horoscope know that my mind is unable to function.
"Write something clever! You will create something great!" My horoscope instructs me but unfortunately that task is easier said than done, but I try because I want to fit in. All the cool kids are doing it.
However, nothing but loud noises come out and the writing police come to get things under control.
My brain has been arrested for causing a public disturbance.
Writers block has taken over. It is a cell block in my mind where all of my creative ideas have been cuffed, thrown into a corner, and forced to *** with rusted metal bars offering no privacy.
It's humiliating.
As I sit in my little jail cell I think about what I've done and how I could never come back here again.
"Next time," my brain tells me, "Don't listen to your horoscope."
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
***Creatively enticing,
profoundly sensual
boundlessly experienced,
cryptically presumptive
inordinately exclusive
effusively lavished,
anesthetized or blatant
allusive beyond ethereal,
metaphorically inferred
criminal insanity
disquiet midst agitation,
peaceably surrendered
illustriously polished
or indubitably raw
fruitful to a fault - -
in reciprocity's glory be
quenches thirst,
satiates a hunger
flourished midst ink's
designed grandeur,
poetry never fails to thrive,
tripping the light fantastic
in its exuberant offering***
Seize the power
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
Creatively wit, artistically gifted -
politically inclined to design any archetype of freedom and how a woman should hold her head up high, like the almighty God she is.
Able to disfigure the illusions and misconception that the media and other forms of capitalistic control, teach her fellow sisters and Queen.
Prove to them that not only are they more than this 'sex symbol',
And being blind to this facts, just helps perpetuate the conditioning of self-hate,
that you're not light enough or too dark - you're just something that helps the sun shine on their fare skin.
And you're ****** is worth nothing more than it was compensated fo' 450 years ago,
to birth being that yet again go through the cycle of supremacy.
But you say,
**** ALL THAT -
I'm a Queen, GOD IS SHE.
So kiss my fat *** and my appletree.
Because me and my sisters sill no longer accept your misogynistic disrespect and immoral, emotional neglect.
Your referendums for ****** favors in exchange what is due me, ****** freedom and freedom to do whatever the **** I please.
And ever since I saw those defining characteristics in thee,
Since, I've always respected you as my Queen.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
I periodically Perpetuate
hurricanes all around me
manifesting my illusions
filled with anomalies
commonly I’m far from Common
as these evil forces
completely surround me
crashing down to rock-bottom
longing to no longer be lonesome
but my loneliness is caused
by my compulsions
such impulsive behavior
needs to get out of me, expulsion
creatively i creep
to seem casual and sane
To a world that’s corrupt
and crippled needing a cane
****** and staring
into the eyes of the truth
but with all this proof
we can’t find who is to blame
to some mentally
my mind it is unglued
broken into bits
from so much abuse
daily I’m terrified of torture
I feel like I’ve got nothing to lose
I’m black and blue
Just one giant bruise
Beaten and brought down to my knees
Reluctant to beg. I scream out please
No more
In my tears I’m drowning
A moment of silence as
You Playfully tease
But the kid with the magnifier
Doesn’t hear the ants screams
Only burns and burns
Until their is nothing left
But the shell of a man
Who’s life is a mess
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
Please
Attend
To
Inquiries
Eagerly,
Noticeably,
Creatively,
Effortlessly.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
The time of magic and fun
A time when there’s a chill in the air
Apples abound along with scents of cinnamon
Carved jack o lanterns
Faces etched creatively
Candles lit
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
The beginning of the holiday season
When cookies are baked
Pies made
Children dress up in costumes
Seeking a reward of candy and other goodies
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
A time of celebration
A time of remembering
Good friends
Families
And traditions
Where turkeys are roasted
Sweet potatoes baked
Cranberries served
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
A time of holiday cheer
Hot chocolate
Apple cider
Herbal tea
And peppermint
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
A time of snow falls
Sledding
Snowball fights
Laughter and glee
Trees decorated
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 11:31 AM UTC
What is originality anymore?
The pop songs we listen to day in day out,
That are only updated remixes of
Songs that our parents
Already know every lyric to.
Is it the pranks we play on each other at school,
Poking holes in the top of water bottles,
So we don’t get caught when we try to catch our class mates.
Drowning them
In carbonated energy drinks.
Don’t think you’ll get away with it.
The teachers already know,
About flicking elastic bands at the backs of girls knees,
So they scream a little louder
And turn around to see
Boys smirking faces,
Because they have been there before.
Define originality.
Originality
. /əˌrɪdʒɪˈnalɪti/
noun
1. the ability to think independently and creatively.
•the quality of being novel or unusual
synonyms: inventiveness, creativeness, creativity, innovativeness, innovation, novelty, freshness, newness, imagination, break with tradition, resourcefulness, cleverness, daring, individuality, unusualness, unprecedentedness, uniqueness, distinctiveness
.
Is it smuggling ***** in water bottles,
Or sneaking down to the back garden
To have one last cigarette with your friends,
At 1am
On New Years
When you have had more to drink than your parents
Yet you are only 15.
Watering down whiskey from your parents liqueur cabinet
With apple juice.
Getting caught drunk
After being out with friends, Stumbling in at 2am
On Sunday morning.
Storming up to your room
After having a row with your parents.
Slamming the door,
Screaming at the floor,
Calling a friend,
And ******** about the people who brought you into this world.
Maybe
I’m not as good with words
Than I thought I was
O r i g i n a l i t y I s D e a d
Your parents Grandparents
Aunties and uncles
Have seen it all before
It’s a fact of growing up
And one day
You will too know
Exactly how it is
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
*blood stains her canvas
congealed crusts, fresh streaks
frayed corners and edges
the tattered toll of pain, loss
how best to depict my love on her
overlay her with beauty
to develop a patina of care over time
reduce her suffering to pentimento
her landscape shifts constantly
with the quality of her light
I must blend to the shade of her mood
her want...her need
work from the palette of my heart
in the spectrum of my love
paint her in courted color
every tone of every hue
brush her being with my caress
creatively styled to her moment
pastel tenderness...primary strength
bold strokes of passion...bright splashes of spontaneity
to portray for her a frameless existence
of unlimited intimacy and peace
but she does not rest on my easel
and I am merely dreaming of the art of love*
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
An encouragement from across the sea
Inspires my mind creatively
(C) Pixievic 2016
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
Taken a hiatus
Unhappy with the latest
Words
Put onto pages
They've not been the greatest
Need a vacation
Find that part that
CAN
Be
Creative
Frustratingly
Average
Make them look
Pretty
Hide they're not
Witty
Ignore they're not
Gritty
Hello Poetry
When you hold a committee
To judge me
Take pity
Before you
Unleash
Your
Critique
Remember I'm only running at
Fifty-three
Percent
Capacity
Creatively
I think I'm due an upgrade
To iron out these kinks.
Plug
Me
In
To
Sleep.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
It’s simply amazing what phrases pop into one’s head and stick - and as they stay there they develop, and as they develop the inner life takes over and what started out a superficial bit of twaddle turns into poetry of some substance, proving anything can become anything with a little bit of reflection.
I Am A Housewife
I am a housewife.
Organize and deputize,
Buy and cook,
See that everything’s delicious,
Making dishes at my best,
Matching wish of man and guest.
Preserving and conserving, I economize,
Hunting down the clever buys
So there’s savings at year’s end.
Mix and blend creatively,
And when I shop
I stop and hesitate; contemplate
And seldom buy on impulse.
That said, I occasionally fall and do.
But mostly, shopping for our food’s
A yoga. So’s the
Washing, cooking, dusting…more;
The most and best health giving chore:
Hands cleaner in the water,
Waistline smaller, reaching up and for…
No breadwinner,
But a winner baking bread.
Cakes and cookies all included.
For, of course, the friends and husband
Whom I feed,
Try to supply each need
Not because it is ‘the done thing’
But because it is the fun thing.
Then there’s me. Filled with creativity.
Actually, a private soul
With my own needs to feel whole.
I do not underplay the housewife role
As many in society
Who downplay tractability and duty.
For to me it stands for beauty,
Not for slavery.
I am a being who serves house,
Deserves the house, My house! Our house!
No mouse by any means
But combination heroine
And superstar,
Dishing out the wonder
Of existence
With insistence and persistence
For a comfy coexistence
Dishing out the dishes
And a family’s wishes.
I Am A Housewife 12.23.2018 Circling Around Woman II; Arlene over Woman II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
An Explanation
More lines written in my face than an old women.
More lyrical notes than an instrument of your choice,
I'm dancing inside to the sound of your voice .
Each word and phrase creatively counted,
Carefully picked up and placed,
Lights shining between each elegant phrase.
These words flowing from head to mouth,
Much harder than to paper.
Thoughts are lost in revisions and vapor.
I lose my heart and my voice,
With silly fears I've lost my choice.
Now I've come here with these words to say,
But all my metaphors got in the way.
So I'll say the words that will woo,
a small phrase that I can say,
I love you.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
I’m creatively uninspired
and I’m socially deprived
I barely exist beyond my thoughts
and if I don’t exist within society
It is as if I’m already dead
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
Art is good
medication so you'll
deal with this creatively.
You've careened into this so
make the wreck,
the chaos
bloom on a page.
It might even help.
You're going to be a comic book artist
because in the face of such things
words fail and lips
falter, and you
want to knock your head comedically.
You want
to conjure silly star-loops for
smashing into this
feeling.
Knocked-out.
Reeling.
Draw, draw out
and ink in your malady.
Crash!
The worst is when
your heart is the caricature.
A full-page feature,
a splash,
of high-strung colours
begging to be neatened.
Splash!
Your
cartoon heart. An
image of a fat, crimson
apple
like a clip-art pic, got
a little worm poking through
it.
Eating, eating away
to leave a love
or loss-sized hole.
Fat white bubbles announcing
hurt!
so graphically.
Go on and
draw it more lurid. If
the feeling is here, you might as well
feel it.
Let the slops of gaudy red
and green
bleed and
bleed
out of the panel.
Stain it, stain
the gutter
where time happens.
At least it gives the comic
a heartbreaking!
twist.
And then you turn the page.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
She gazes down on a daily sea,
Of expectant lesson hungry faces,
The teacher uses a carrot not a stick,
To prove these cast-off kids stomachs,
Will love them when they cook creatively.
Vogue-like poet on the catwalk of life,
She sees life in little things each day.
Weekend dates in the big smoke,
Will blue suit and red shoes work,
With him again, again tonight?
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC