"enriching" poems
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS
*The tears flows in an endless way
Bemoaning the days of yore
Watching with eyes that sparks red,
Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore
Helpless and wishing for a relentless call
As tragedy hits her most sensitive part,
Bemoaning the tides,
All her days of glory,
Now a shadowy story*
*She had been ***** by her very own,
The children she yearned and bled for,
The men she fed and trained,
Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts
Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights,
Her nights of terror and horrors
Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness*
*It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to,
It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark,
But when they grew and flew,
She waited still
Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore*
*Then the dark hour rolled away,
And when morning came, it was harrowing.
It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected,
As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky,
Trampling her down,
Relegating and belittling her
Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore,
Where she laid all her virtues down,
Giving it all to see her children smile,*
*It is this dejection that has brought her to tears,
It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly
It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory,
As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony,
Forgetting her,
It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon*
*What is worse than a child abandoning his mother?
It is this penchant, that drives them
It is the love of greed,
It is the seed of corruption,
It is not an inherited trait,
It is a despicable decision
Like a monstrous shadow,
Twirling the back of the night.
It is the fire that burns within their heart,
The fire to **** steal and destroy
To take what she can never give again
To live,
To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony
It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch
And now tragedy looms,
It booms and blooms,*
A society written in flames
Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA?
Ovi Odiete© 2016, Oct. 31
All rights reserved
Note
Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
OLD HOUSE
They retain precious memories,
intimate feelings of inhabitants
passing through its sagging doors.
Romantic are seekers of forgotten times
memories encased in hard wood floors;
as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a
history while we; when inclined listen.
We don't go very often, to abandon houses,
perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween.
Are we passed enjoying extremes into this
another world, musty energy a curious child.
That was the yesterday
which now waits behind
musty, dusty, derelict halls.
I stand I stand at paint chipped banister,
a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet,
children playing before they sleep. The
broken coat tree on the floor.
From the third floor murmuring,
a wind storm jars
loose fears, of time
once lost to dreams.
Echos billow from
each room, curtains hanging
yellowed by a sun where
dancing light through holes in damask lace.
Mice gremlin's artful droppings,
tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor.
Broken shards from window
panes, confetti after New Years day.
Branches scratched
etched paths, tracks like graffiti
on sill its unread words, a glif
eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past.
Jagged memories protrude from every corner
mixing with new, enriching our fantasies
bringing us closer renewed;
these musty memories long forgotten.
Like waves rushing back;
flooding a mind like broken
dikes they crash into our world,
Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading.
Silent footsteps outside a door,
we hear laughter from bedroom walls;
a smell a whiff of hot butter *** silent
conversation coming our way.
Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as
I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories
or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or
Othello; all masters in the past.
A Grandfather clock
stands silent, keeping time,
lost its tick yet still striking,
it stands tall, upon a clueless floor.
Knowledge lost to a past
in a house so worn,
births, deaths, wars, wrapped
forgotten, encased by neglect,
I visited a house besotted,
neglected waiting to be
remodeled into another century
moving it to present times.
Ajerry
Archival Jan 5, 2011
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Failure is not only a concern, but also a part of life
Ignore it,
deny the same,
defy it, however, facts never change.
Like the odds when they come along the way,
which need to be tackled,
they prove to be of use, of great benefit in enriching prior experience,
similarly,
in the same way,
failure is the first step towards success.
Never get disappointed, don’t give up,
since prevention has always remained better than cure
One wrong step never meant it's end of the world
One wrong step never meant to be a full stop
One wrong step, however, definitely means not to repeat the same mistake again.
Definitely failure is not only a concern, but also a part of life,
best when agreed upon and accepted,
so as to make sure that the same thing never happens again, all over again.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
In a Skype chat room
Topic : I Like Haiku's
**************
Me--- (LadyBird)
Haiku's I do like
for they are so easily
written in three worded lines
Friend--(TonyS)
Writing in Haiku
forces me to think about,
what is important
Me--- (LadyBird)
indeed you are right
writing them is important
and can be therapeutic
would you mind if I
add your words in my Haiku
giving you credit ?
this conversation
we are in is very fun
what are you thinking?
Friend--(TonyS)
I find great solace
in the idea that my words
are that important!
I have no problem
with allowing you to use
my simple verses!
Pining for someone
who I love very dearly
takes most of my time.
Me--- (LadyBird)
awesome Thank you so
much; I really enjoy this
writing is a passion
as you can see I
enjoy the flow of my words
and all that inspire
you are so kind I
will for sure keep an eye on
your wonderful wods
thank you very much
hoping I was no bother
to you my dear friend
I try to keep my
pen with me jotting down all
my thoughts from within
it is so nice to
meet someone that shares the same
passion for writing
please do keep in touch
I will for sure stay in touch
with you my dear friend
Friend--(TonyS)
The pleasure is mine!
To meet a friend is always
an enriching thing.
My name is Tony!
It is always nice to meet
new internet friends!
Me--- (LadyBird)
your name is so cool
it is indeed very nice
to make a new friend
it is so funny
I knew your name was Tony
from your user name
this is the most fun
I have had in three long days
I do enjoy it
Haiku-ing is like
text-ing with out a cell phone
it is fun indeed
Friend--(TonyS)
The pleasure is mine!
To meet a friend is always
an enriching thing.
Me--- (LadyBird)
I find great solace
to know that you share the same
interest as I do
Friend--(TonyS)
Names are only words,
I am nice because I am
who I want to be.
I am Tony Stark,
at least in my heart and mind.
Money? Not so much.
It was a pleasure,
this banter being quite fun,
maybe again soon?
Me--- (LadyBird)
Wow that sounds so cool
Tony Stark is so good looking
very good actor
names are only words
they don't describe who we are
inside is what count
thank you for talking
to me my friend it was fun
indeed again soon
gonna end convo
nice chatting with you my friend
now I say goodbye
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
This day needs tomorrow
As much as
Tomorrow needs today.
Throw a stone,
Watch ripples lick the shore,
Then turn around
And ripple more;
Like magician's rings,
Smoke rings,
Wedding rings,
Entangling,
Enriching,
Intertwining,
Becoming Olympian.
At the epicentre
It's calm.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
Feeling good is:
Greeting a stranger with a smile,
Chatting with your elderly neighbor's,
And treating them with care and compassion.
Soothing another's pain,
Feeding hungry stomachs,
Standing with the oppressed,
Rendering service to others for no return.
Exploring a new idea,
Enriching your knowledge,
Reflecting and pondering,
Planting the seeds of positive change.
Listening to the whispers of love,
Inspiring the next generation,
Being around intelligent people,
Enjoying the company of soft-hearted friends.
Restoring people's shattered dreams,
Be their candle and their lifeboat,
Listening to the cries of innocent souls,
And showing them the way to a new dawn.
Lifting the spirit of the broken-hearted,
Delivering them through a helping hand,
Dressing your soul in a garment of giving.
Lifting your voice to be the champion of the forgotten.
Counting your blessings,
Reciting your prayers,
Contemplating the universe,
Listening to nature’s songs with muted words.
Hussein Dekmak
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 1:05 PM UTC
Housing waning
Where do you expect me to go?
Stop selling me Harrow
(Not even if you talking Road).
Imma Grove gyal…!
I got my vibe spots and chill spots, my food stalls and book haunts.
We - SJC are not just a Safer Neighbours blight
Given half the obstacles - gentle gentry
maybe more of us would be standing free
I’ll take myself outta Grove when I’mmmm ready.
RBKC done turned up that pressure though.
Knocking down to wipe out
The enriching colour and spice that grew out of adversity
Permission to “celebrate” over the August bank holiday,
No amount of stop and searches g’on make me forget.
We belong here too.
So get to know and stop putting up my rent.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
A circuit land,
Overshadowed by late, orange, blooms.
Tough powers tower high,
Mirroring fear to passersby.
Forest rich with opportunity,
Potential plots for growth,
Short showers bear us fruits,
Of evermore enriching schemes.
Spikes of hopes, dreams and wonders,
Base levels of lost sympathies,
Crying wounds of hungry symphonies,
Howls of jeer, malice, and thunder.
A shattered system holds us together,
A web void of its structure, and spider,
Leadership is not without its tethers,
Binding back what was once deep.
Inside those who not heed,
Of the instincts that lead to their greed
We need you dreamers, to help us gaze
And see the stars again, through that lamp lit haze.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
Bending the benevolence
Into a lucid sky of white,
An indulgence of an
Evocatively colourful odyssey.
My dearest mother
Of the muse,
A whispering sea
Of beckoning delicacy.
Divulging enriching
Secrets of the tides.
Majestic sands of salty
Caramel delight,
Unravelling the enigmatic
Solitude of time.
Grains of meandering
Contemplation;
Emancipating the mind
From the burden
Of the distortive rhythm,
And into the truest dream
Of night,
Where the spirit chimes solely
In awakened starlight.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 7:28 PM UTC
In the bowl where beauty lies
enriching its in its glow
remains an enigma that drives
deep shadows to the surface
we don't see everything we want
to see or show , analyse, own or disown
we may fail to seek all the answers
a torrid past, a broken heart
a blistered and bruised ego
something fragile, festering fuming underneath
the facade , creating a silhouette skin,
cosmetic exterior, mannequin interior
a patchwork quilt of emotions
restless, unready, growing.
we take what we see
in complete trust, faith beatified
drawn into the magnetic depths
seeking the pole star
sailing unkempt oceans
raging against the silhouette
that clearly conquered
the magnificence of the moment.
Love has no shadows
just a glowing light.
Author Notes
The journey to love.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
What are the truly indispensable things of Life?
Those meaningful, forever things,
Those enriching, soul sustaining,
can’t live without, nonmaterial things?
Those can’t reach out and touch them things?
The one’s that keep one breath following another?
Those things that foster the founding of religions,
Those that cause poets and writers to put pen to paper?
Of which most songs and music celebrate?
Those things that have forever inspired questions,
Without clear answers.
Those all so elusive concepts that only we humans pursue,
As essential to us as sunshine, air, water and food.
Those things that all humans spend
a life time in search of?
And far too many never find.
Those things that cannot be bought,
with worldly riches at any price?
These “things” I refer to center on matters
of the heart, and one's own brain,
These are the powerful, abiding gifts of self love,
And the bestowing of true love unto others,
And being the recipient of their love in return.
For without these indispensable precious things,
Though we possess everything else there is,
We remain a mere, empty vessel for want of filling.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Blue infinity
Beautiful serenity
Breaking enmity
~
Food hopes crumbling
Stomach empty, grumbling
Taco bound stumbling
~
Smart
Polite, Educated
Enlightening, Enriching, Enthralling
Teachers, Students, Idiots, Parasites
Disgusting, Debilitating, Degrading
Disrespectful, Obnoxious
Stupid
~
Rap
Poetic, Spoken
Rhyming, Entertaining, Battling
Real rap takes skill
Hip Hop
~
Cinquain
Unskilled, Foolish
Annoying, Boring, Defaming
Cinquains wish they were poetry
Joke
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 2:59 PM UTC
nothing
wrong
with
Africans
worshiping
the sun
and
the
Native Americans
worshiping
the
Great Grand Father Sky
and
respecting
Mother Earth
unfortunately
the
Europeans
conquered
the
new world
through
violence
deception
savagery
lies
deceit
****
******
colonization
Christianity
slavery
apartheid
genocide
while
the
Europeans
took land
and
resources from
other nations
enriching themselves
and
building
their nations
considered
themselves
superior
to People of Color
and
Indigenous People
throughout
the world
and
the world
would not be
civilized
without
their
intervention
and
the
benevolent actions of
europeans
but
we know
that
it's
all about
power and wealth
that
be
the
guiding light of
good and evil
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Desire and dreams,
lofty clouds casting distant shadows.
Momentary shades of calm,
convert to blinding flame.
-
Torpid question marks rearrange
exclamation points.
Hues of commas and periods,
vibrant adjectives and adverbs.
Grunts and growls of wildered existence.
Perpetual noise.
Such picturesque nonsense.
-
Belief of charging knights
and moonwalks
decay to disappointed waistlines
shaky hands,
confused with living.
What beautiful strangeness,
the prospect of becoming.
-
Do we chase the shadows or create our own;
flourish roots
with ardent fingers?
Imagine with ferocity
enriching curiosity?
-
Dig deep, my child, and know you're real.
Or don't
We are substance and shadow,
words of florescence.
Or won't
Disheartened by cruelty
unfamiliar reflections,
resigned to naked truth.
Or can't
Do we accept,
or will we refuse?
Inhaling why,
exhaling when.
-
Blooming breaths
Horizons anew
Warmth of sun,
serenity of shade.
Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 12:19 PM UTC
The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be?
My God, no hymn for Thee?
My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feeds
Of thoughts, and words, and deeds.
The pasture is Thy word: the streams, Thy grace
Enriching all the place.
Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers
Outsing the daylight hours.
Then will we chide the sun for letting night
Take up his place and right:
We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should
Himself the candle hold.
I will go searching, till I find a sun
Shall stay, till we have done;
A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly,
As frost-nipped suns look sadly.
Then will we sing, and shine all our own day,
And one another pay:
His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,
Till ev’n His beams sing, and my music shine.
2.2k
Always and forever you change just like the wind
Lost in your world with feelings I have sinned
Whispers of your love tease through the night
Awake in the morning you live in my daylight
Yearning to find the place where you might be
Solitude in this world I live, forever empty
Agonising emotions are with me all day
No tablet for relieve never going away
Drained emotionally my life on my own
Freezing winter winds chill to the bone
Only you can fulfil my true love’s destiny
Rekindle my soul’s love for an eternity
Enriching my heart with love to be filled
Visions in the past my hearts blood you spilled
Endless games with the feelings I have sinned
Realizing always you are invisible just like the wind
Title of the poem spelt down the spine of the verse.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
Violence in our hearts
Ignorant vice of our plans
Praising
What we read
What we see
What we hear
Acquiring knowledge we seek
Enriching others' minds
You can't always enlist
Minds are being allocated
Oppressive struggle nurtures servitude
What is your brain being allocated for?
What kind of freedom are you looking for?
Can't be one of us
If you're another capitalist appropriation
Poster child, a temporary venture
Falling in line to become another
Worker or bourgeois hypocrite slave
Isn't that why you study for?
What kind of life are you looking for?
There's no saving your soul
When your freedom depends
On chains of other men's hopes
Fighting to keep yourself, your family
Future generations being born out of you
Out of the venom of oppression and pain
Living life without concern or consciousness
Just the same as living in a prison cell
America, how many inmates do you host?
Security, don't you want a guarantee?
Your family may now have peace
But when you're no longer here, there's no guarantee
Can't be one of us
If you don't join in the struggles of our brethren
Because our security is not guaranteed until they're all free
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
for better or for worst
once i was blessed to know the wonder of love, acceptance and complete trust. the trio loosened, watered and nurtured my fertile soil and the future harvest took root and grew strong and wild always reaching to the skies. the farmer never got to see the harvest only the green carpet slowly hinting to change.
who is willing to take over the farmers work and tend to the lush green carpet bulging with potential? many has come forward but with hidden agendas bend on enriching the self camouflaged in the "greater good". these over time do and did and will do more damage than nature ever can inflict. despite all this the land is still present, still fertile, still growing and still hoping for a good farmer. imagining that the true owner has just gotten lost and took a few wrong turns but faith will be the morning star and lead wandering feet home. to the land in time to rejuvenate life and bring in a golden brown ripe harvest that will leave eyes wet and breathless with disbelieve at the abundance and riches despite all the hardship and pain
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
1
Late afternoon
leaving the city
the bus route intersects
the terraced houses,
row upon row:
right to the valley floor,
left to wooded heights.
In a bay-windowed room
a child sits at a table
beachcombing the net.
Tea is past
and there is gentle talk of
volcanoes , the Verungas,
and gorillas in the midst.
Outside, and a floor below,
a garden nestles into the dusk,
a blackbird settles itself with song.
Later, at the same table.
there is a silent grace.
A shy five year old
in scary pyjamas
comes to say goodnight.
For supper: a goat’s cheese flan,
a simple salad,
pink wine,
strong coffee.
On the mantelpiece:
the familiar jumble of cards and photos,
a collage of family faces distant shores.
On the walls:
grandmother’s woven rug,
her grand-daughter’s textiled strata,
an embroidered geology.
2
The next day,
so bright and clear,
the garden bench is warm by ten.
We sit surrounded
by the evidence
of this growing season:
emergent plants, the possibility of fruit,
even declarations of vegetables.
As ideas flow
across cake and coffee
so the shadows move,
shaping depths, enriching tones
on greys, within greens.
In the midday sun,
the garden becomes
a wild tracery of lines
as perspectives
distort, corrupt, thicken . . .
and space opens everywhere:
foliage as yet transparent
no shelter to stalk and stem.
Their very arteries revealed,
plants bask in the fragile heat
of ‘just’ Spring.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
I was born into a nation of corruption,
were civilization has no implementation,
leaders come with their formation with
no reputation ,
Only in the aim of enriching their pockets to
satisfaction,
How would there be transition in our nation,
We are all creations from different locations,
Even if we aren't of same complexion
We are all born into one nation,
All we need's collaboration,
There should not be concentration & centralization
on our resources,
Or there would be desperation & contradiction ,
Which will lead to questions & implications
When I was little,
my mama told me not to live with assumptions,
But to chase perfection with my innovation,
When I feel there's desperation in my nation,
I take vacation,
I don't seat in front of my television,
Waiting for an audition,
To accomplish my ambition,
All i need's vision to attain my destination ,
Within the limitation,
Through my concentration.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Missing; nope you’re not missing
In; but you’re still in my life
Action; you’re the action in life
With each tump of my heart you course through my veins
Your love is the marrow of life and it drips from my lips with every formulation of “I love you”
Nervous butterflies fly in my belly because they can’t find their nectar
You’re not missing; my heart disagrees
You’re clearly in; but in is a mater of perspective
You’re full of enriching action; but my anxious mind struggles to keep up
You’re not MIA; My pesky friend named “Mr. Self Love” took the bullet this time
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
I prefer things this way.
You- six hours ahead,
late night Skype calls,
makeshift air mattress bed,
videogame ******
dashing looks
and a passion to match.
Me- six hours behind,
sleepless nights,
early mornings,
multivitamin lunches,
lovely words
and escaping dreams.
Us- six hours apart,
four-thousand plus miles
separating our bodies,
yet enriching our relationship
one new discovery at a time.
Fighting for the fleeting
moments we can share
until the long-term sets in.
Some say we’re bound to fail.
Some say we’re setting ourselves up
for a collectively shattered heart.
I say we’re here to prove them wrong.
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
Morphine & Cola, Mrs. I can't believe I told you this is, so exacerbating I Can't sleep; even this weather riles inside me as we weep. There wasn't Anything that'd have shown you. There hasn't been a single sprout of Showmanship, or the erstwhile philanthropy that needers' raise their Eyebrows to and to. This is the degree we know it. The subtle afterglow With everything that you've known, and while the snow settles on your Window sill. While winter rime binds its ice to the wheat, and every soft Little seedling sewn, whispers its final sentences before autumn while it Drifts itself to sleep. There were the cards and the faces of Jacks among Aces, places uplifted by China dishes of porcelain overflowing, like Tencel in socks, woven into the pockets of trousers. Where does the Mischief go while it certainly isn't ours, and the dandy light across your Temple bares a gleam.
Some things are enriching, but yet too sordid to stare at. While the game Is enriching, the pain is too much to bear, and whether in vain or ********** the likes of you, make these lips of mine much softer against Your finger tips. Tips of fingers, petals of flowers, baskets of fresh bread Baked with wheat flour- follow the noon bird, fancy a sit by a brook, and Listen for the whistle-less, whistling of a rook.
Grey is quite golden too. Like the same tencel that I've used, or the silken Web treated to a loom, like lightning bugs out for an early dance on the Afternoon. Seldom as moss on sidewalk path or the pangs of laughing Heart at mass. What does the new bird bring? The bride of this coming Spring? For every sugarcube we taste, we save ourselves from second Base. Dr. Narrod with a gentle touch, the inspection you love so much. The gentle morsels smoothed upon the hand. The girl-like woman with Her ewe-like lamb. "For all of you who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. For all of those who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. I like the way you move."
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings
My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings
My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring
Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
It's a common trope,
the Danse Macabre that troops us
toward hushed tombs.
Blame its plague on Wolgemut
or Bruegel (Pieter the Elder),
and certainly Bergman
What with his iconic black-clad Death
and the parade of captive players taken
hand-in-hand on a joyless march.
But Life has her own fleet moments to lead,
and these flip-flop pageants though ragtag
are not the less enriching to behold
Or so I'm told in passing by
the delicate bluebell peaking its buds through
a monochrome rubble.
May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 3:34 PM UTC