"fatherly" poems
Step one, the first steps...
So Joyful was I of every single stride,
Impossible for me to hold back my teary eyed fatherly pride...
Not much more through the years could I have said with genuine adulation,
At times though a fathers words unspoken, will express volumes about his deepest hearts jubilation...
A balance of tenderness tempered with sympathy, things that have to take first place.
Discipline... must come in a way that will heal without any harmful trace.
To be a father is sincerely like nothing else,
To actually understand what our heavenly father feels and makes his heart melt...
Fatherhood, Fatherhood to me please be kind,
I beg you make the memories of my child's heart always desire to rewind...
J.I.F.
1 Corinthians 13:8a
8 Love never fails.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
Inches below the surface, I can feel the sun just ahead, threating my lost consciousness and tearing my body apart.
The incandescent light pierces the ground, the mountains scream fire upon the sky, crackles in the ground appear beneath my feet. What a pitiful anxiety made of sand!
My body stretches, incoming dehydration, thirst and isolation; motherly desert, fatherly wastelands...
Let me burn down to ashes and blow me to the wind.
Make me feel uncomfortable and let me disappear in peace.
I can feel the drought claiming my pain, gathering the dust that used to be my skin and remain in solitude, just like a snail then I find myself stuck in the nonchalant rage of the day.
There is nothing alive, there is just an infinite ruin of land, dead soil and dying lives turn into stone by act of time.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
I fathom fatherhood
His invincible feats
When that magnanimous shadow danced
Bowing his head lowly
And my cryptic looks
Staring that pugnacious shadow
To what he's been unearthing for
A little later in the twilight of dusk
My drooling curiosity burnt in persistence
As I observed a twinkling toddler
Following the lead of his father
With merry- go rounds and exciting swings
As docile as a lamb
He embraced his daddy
Cause that was his world's best swing
And then blew his index finger in air
Spinning around everywhere
The father introduced the whole world
Without shutting him up
The next half hour passed away
And there temple bells rang
And wind blew
Everything became grave
A reverberation echoed
Together with temple bells
Rung the devotional clap
Of a son
And his father...
Worshipping..
Never ever can I fathom
The unconditional fatherly love..
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
Meditations and French Fries
I sit watching you nibble on some Mickey D's fries,
And taking sips of your milkshake,
Your two hands grasping the cup as if to make sure
Nobody could take it while kicking your feet,
That barely touch the floor, and humming.
This makes me love you more than I already do.
Your eyes move up and stare at me and I look at you,
Searchingly, but you cross them,
Making those crazy eyes that make me smile
And then you let your lips curl into a smile matching mine
And show the small fragments of your teeth and you are beautiful.
You are so content with sitting here, with oily salty potato slivers,
With impersonations of milkshakes, and more importantly with me.
I love you, and your tiny teeth, your short legs, your belly.
Everyone says you resemble me, all your ticks, your mood swings
Your ****** expressions, your desire to learn, your sweet tooth.
You are a copy of me, a miniature me, but you are not really me.
You are my brother, my blood but not my copy.
I see the differences between us, the different upbringing, you know what
A childhood means, you know fatherly love, and for this I am thankful,.
I wish you more than me, more knowledge, love, confidence than me.
I wish Mickey D's is better too, and that the economy doesn't go bust
And that you could afford some fries and a milkshake for less than 10 bucks.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
My dad was the greatest of men
I wish I would of gotten more time with him
Time has sure done it's shading
I hate to say his face is fading
His voice has long ago slipped from my memory
The sadness of that is sheer agony
I miss you as much today
As that sorrowful day you where taken away
You left this world way to soon
I still remeber that hospital waiting room
I was to late, death had already greeted you
I was only fourteen I didn't know what to do
I stood there crying in my sisters arms
I knew I would forever miss your fatherly charms
As I stood beside your open coffin
Tears spilling onto my dress, I felt like an orphan
Knowing I would never again see you smiling face
Your death was so hard to embrace
It was a gray rainy day you where placed in the ground
Setting under the cemetery tent no comfort to be found
Thinking even the angels on high
Could do no more than cry
You had been my hero, I was a daddy's girl
And my life from this point would do nothing but unfurl
I was, and still am so lost without your presence
I missed you at so many of my lifes great events
At all of my children's births
I thought of you first
And how you would of beamed with pride
At the thought I just cried
But as my memory, with time harshly shades
My love for you will never fade
I carry you forever in my heart
Like I was in yours from the start
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
She raised me to be God fearing
And taught me right from wrong
Where have our lives gone wrong
After all the tender rearing
Now she needs my fatherly care
To cook for her and pay the bills
My giving is plain with no frills
It's hard for me to truly be there
She prays to her God in Heaven above
I work quietly with nothing to say
Unsure if she loves me to this day
She failed to teach me to say one word, "love"
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
It’s so late I could cut my lights
and drive the next fifty miles
of empty interstate
by starlight,
flying along in a dream,
countryside alive with shapes and shadows,
but exit ramps lined
with eighteen wheelers
and truckers sleeping in their cabs
make me consider pulling into a rest stop
and closing my eyes. I’ve done it before,
parking next to a family sleeping in a Chevy,
mom and dad up front, three kids in the back,
the windows slightly misted by the sleepers’ breath.
But instead of resting, I’d smoke a cigarette,
play the radio low, and keep watch over
the wayfarers in the car next to me,
a strange paternal concern
and compassion for their well being
rising up inside me.
This was before
I had children of my own,
and had felt the sharp edge of love
and anxiety whenever I tiptoed
into darkened rooms of sleep
to study the peaceful faces
of my beloved darlings. Now,
the fatherly feelings are so strong
the snoring truckers are lucky
I’m not standing on the running board,
tapping on the window,
asking, Is everything okay?
But it is. Everything’s fine.
The trucks are all together, sleeping
on the gravel shoulders of exit ramps,
and the crowded rest stop I’m driving by
is a perfect oasis in the moonlight.
The way I see it, I’ve got a second wind
and on the radio an all-night country station.
Nothing for me to do on this road
but drive and give thanks:
I’ll be home by dawn.
3.4k
Insects layered lilac pedals upon her skin
As if she was a nexus of nectar
As if her body were the chalice of youth
And all that dripped from her, made her a fountain
That flooded the halls of fatherly time
Leaving her ignorant of seconds, minutes, hours
So why do the insects dress her like the flowers?
Because to the ideal of a perfect plant, she is treason
For she never decays in any season
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
My Grandpa might not be a super hero, but he's my hero.
He's a soldier who's had to conquer many battles
He's a fighter and someone who loves with all
of his heart.
He's the "claw", and a best bud
Someone who may not function like everybody else but is able to bluntly tell it like it is.
I wanted him to be the one who walked me down the aisle on my big day.
God has made other arrangements for him.
It's hard loosing someone who's your fatherly figure, who stepped up when no one else would
I sit alone crying, thinking, hoping, praying.
My heart is so heavy and I don't know what to do or who to turn to.
I was 10 at my last funeral.
I'm now 21, I'm scared to face death, have it look me in the eyes like everything will be okay.
To sit in a crowd of black; I'm not ready for those things.
He's my best bud, my claw, the one who tells
me he wants to see me graduate.
My motivation for success.
I'm crying now, and I just need saved.
Please save me, hold me tight, tell me it's okay.
I really wish God would let him stay.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
I SIT HERE DRENCHED IN THE
BLOOD OF ONE OF THE NATIVES.
WE CAPTURED THE LAND AND
HIS MIND WITH OUR ALTERED
EDUCATION, IT WORKED LIKE
AN ANAESTHETIC, OR BETTER,
A SEDATIVE. HE PONDERED ON
WHETHER OR NOT HE IS HUMAN
WHILE WE BEGAN PLOUGHING
HIS SOIL. HE AWOKE FROM HIS
DAYDREAM, TO OUR AMAZEMENT,
WE THOUGHT WE HAD HIM FOILED.
HE RALLIED HIS MEN, THEY DID NOT
HESITATE. I WILL GIVE IT TO THEM,
THEY ARE ARMOURED WITH THE BRAVERY
AND THE STRENGTH OF A THOUSAND APES.
BUT IT WAS TOO LATE, WE SLAUGHTERED
THEM FROM A DISTANCE, AND TOOK CONTROL
OF THEIR CHILDREN, WIVES AND MAIDS.
SPEAKING OF CHILDREN, HOW GOES OUR
SWEET DAUGHTER ROSE? I MISS HER
DEARLY AND I LOOK FORWARD TO
EMBRACING HER WITH FATHERLY
LOVE WHEN THIS WAR COMES TO A CLOSE.
UNTIL WE MEET,
__________
- t.m
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
~for my father~
I.
My neighbor Dave
had a hose in his hand,
standard garden, green,
almost like a movie.
His driveway was bright black
the white rocks of our backyard
meant something, standing so close.
Always moving so fast toward another
direction. The memory of the flowers
at sunset, when I learned what the word
“bloom” meant. It wasn’t real.
We used the hose to freeze water
over the rocks in the winter.
This was our sliding,
our skitting into older.
That Christmas
all I wanted was a bicycle.
The house gave up no secrets.
Closer and closer to Christmas,
I found so many presents.
I never found the bicycle.
This was how to measure love
I went to bed so angry that year,
lost in thoughts of running
to a world of backyard ice and bicycles.
In the morning when I saw it,
they confessed Dave’s involvement
He had hidden the bicycle.
Dave’s smile became
something else after that.
I learned to ride slowly,
tumbled down a hill
in blood and tears.
My father carried me home
and our bikes. I’ve never known
how he did it.
II.
Years later and later still.
I don’t know what happened
to that bicycle. It was black
fading easily.
Even though I likely lost it
in the first eviction,
or maybe the second,
the third. I don’t think I left it
after the fire. Maybe I still dream of it.
Later still. I stopped speaking
to my father. It was both our faults.
We both blamed someone
else for three years.
When I saw him again
he was fatherly. Unusual.
He wanted to make sure I was okay.
He wanted to make sure I had everything
I needed. I told him I needed
food and a bicycle. We went out
to get these together. He smiled.
In the dreams,
People come with whips
in pickup trucks. They carry
My childhood away
like a so-frightened horse.
In the dreams,
this time, the bicycle was red.
I don’t think of him when I ride it.
I hardly think of him.
This is how you measure love.
Those were the dreams where we ride off
childhood friends and I.
We ride off to where it is red, blooming red.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:03 AM UTC
He looked in all His wisdom from the throne
Down on that humble boy who kept the sheep,
And sent a dove; the dove returned alone:
Youth liked the music, but soon fell asleep.
But He had planned such future for the youth:
Surely, His duty now was to compel.
For later he would come to love the truth,
And own his gratitude. His eagle fell.
It did not work. His conversation bored
The boy who yawned and whistled and made faces,
And wriggled free from fatherly embraces;
But with the eagle he was always willing
To go where it suggested, and adored
And learnt from it so many ways of killing.
2.7k
He was renowned for his humility
even to his friends, he was fatherly,
he walked through life limping,
and yet in some way, his limp was triumph.
he had been told he would never walk again from his early 20s
he walked until the day he died what felt late in his 60s
he never abandoned those he loved
a father like no other
even when he was unsure if he was enough
he boxed my ears occasionally
sometimes he chewed me out for doing foolish things
but never did i think he did not love me
he told me almost every day until my teens
and then his voice got quiet, and i saw him less often
but he didn't have to say it
by then i understood
his was a love that -though a bit tough
a bit rough around the edges
stood. would always stand
perhaps a bit broken
but always, always there.
Daddy, without you
i would not be me.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
I toiled then in Babylon
with a suit and black tie on
I forgot who it was that I called on
JAH the one true lord of love
Sits on HIS throne high up above
HE sent to me a holy dove
in its talons
Kush
I had not smoked since that night
The sight of it gave me a fright
but from the sky, a holy light!
A fatherly voice came down from a cloud
"Son this kush is hella loud
Smoke it well, and make me proud!"
so I packed a bowl
and smoked
The power of kush, it lifted me
This powerful plant HE gifted me
It mended that old rift in me
and I once again, was reggae.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.
Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.
Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard
of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.
The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.
Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here
and real. like it always is of course
but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.
Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information
into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.
We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant
plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.
So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards
granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.
What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.
What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.
What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
Leaving home is quite difficult
You're going to see
But I don't mean for you
No, this is all about me
I'm your father, your daddy
I raised you from nothing
And now somehow you think
You don't need me or something?
Who might you think that you are, young lady
To go and be "Miss Independent" already?
Leaving my protection
Thinking you know best
I guess my fatherly advice
You just couldn't need less
Well, don't think you'll get off that easy, my lady
You can run but not hide
From your daddy's words
And just maybe they'll come back to haunt you
Or at least make you smile
Especially when you realize
I was right by a mile
Not bragging, just saying
That will happen a lot
Because your daddy knows best
At least, more often than not
So when you get in a pinch
Chances are, I've covered it
And my words will come back to you
Quite clearly, I'm sure of it
But on the outside chance
There's something you lack
If some piece of advice
Happened to fall through the cracks
You'll be comforted to know
That I will stay close in touch
For your sake, of course
Because you need me so much
Don't think that you don't
O you know that it's true
You'll miss my advice
But I suppose I will, too
My advice, after all
Was just to hear myself talking
At least that's what you thought
All these years
Now stop mocking
And rolling your eyes
When I tell you sincerely
To stay out of dark allies
And carry pepper spray
Not merely to make me feel better
Because this is not about me
There's a reason I give such good advice
And for free
I confess to only the highest of motives
I love you, my daughter
So I just can't help it
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Dear daddy, you said not to give away my whole heart. But it's a little too late, I loved him right from the start, from that very first date. I know you're worried about your baby girl. And you think I'm too good for every boy in this world. He'll never be good enough in your fatherly eyes, even if he's just shy of perfect, in mine.
No matter who comes along, I know you loved me first. Yeah daddy don't worry, I'll always be your little girl.
You say when you held me in the hospital you cried "She's so beautiful!" And from that first moment, we've been inseparable. Dad. You've been here to hold me through the good and bad. When mother made cry, you dried my tears. When I got scared of the dark, you calmed my fears.
You said I was the Wingnut that held your life together. I don't think I could've asked for a much better father. To teach me about the world. No matter who comes along, I know you loved me first. Yeah, I'm still your little girl.
No boy will ever change that- yeah he'd fail if he tried. You've been the one who's always here by my side.
When one day he comes to the front porch to you and mom. I hope you remember what I said in this very song. When he asks for my hand, you tell him yes but to remember he's not the first man, to've lived, to love me. You were first yeah weren't you daddy? Tell him that even though he's come along to take your baby girl, no matter what happens, you can still say you loved me first. See I gave away all of my heart. There's a place for him, for mom and my brother, and especially for you, the first man to ever hold me in his arms. So don't worry, cuz dad he makes me happy, he swore he'll never hurt me- and I believe him completely. He's not come to take me away, he's come to join me from this to the end of my days. And when I inevitably come home I'll still say "I've found the love of my life and he's lovely, but I know you loved me first. Yeah daddy don't worry, I'll always be Your Little Girl."
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
silence
sweet silence
like none other
despite the library door
slamming everytime
someone leaves or arrives
it seems to slam louder
when they leave
i am not perturbed
or distracted, nor am i
expecting not to be
here, alone, surrounded by books,
i just am
lamenting this place not being
as busy
as it should be
who’s fault is that?
celebrating this place not being
as busy
as it should be
guilty as charged
all these faces i see
it’s like a small town here
sometimes abandoned
sometimes inhabited
once again,
i don’t care
how can i?
my head, full of
Aurelius and Bukowski
doesn’t have space to
well, deep down,
i guess i do care
but not as much as
i suppose society begs i
should
how can i?
i’m too busy figuring out
who i truly am
and the books help, Bukowski
was correct, these philosophers are
like brothers to me and i speculate
my deep “connection” to them
to men whom i never met
yet felt more fatherly care from
than my own
maybe that’s the root
sometimes, all this reading begs the question
do i like books
more than people?
or people more
than books?
i think i know the answer,
eureka!
i love books, and individuals alike
i don’t like people
especially when they group up
in congregations and crowds,
strangers in a
can of sardines
with no space to possibly
ever care
only to survive and barely breathe
or to escape such a reality
how could i?
when they don’t
even care for themselves
it’s disheartening, really
to witness such potential
in one soul
and watch it *******
melt away
around his or her friends
around their families’
incessant influence and needs
abusing providers
consumed by their personal troubles and struggles
and vices, infected by the amplification of
a hang out
girls night
boys night
the clubs, the bars
the gossips of nonsense and ****
that simply isn’t their business
sewage
their obvious and yet
radiantly painful,
like a sunburn that isn’t on you
but hurts to look at on someone else,
avoidance of themselves
begging the following:
could these souls spend
an hour, alone, with a book
and paper and pencil?
how could they?
they’d like to, i’m sure,
but hate themselves just enough
to not be able to.
-melancholicreator
Feb 27, 2024
Feb 27, 2024 at 4:30 PM UTC
It was the high water
brought her out.
Her and half the town,
standing, awed
by the rush and surge.
Though the rain had stopped,
the sky was heavy with it
Grey on grey
on swirling grey,
but she -
Caught unawares by the moment,
she had joined the crowd
in a dressing gown
the pink of parted lips.
A slight figure,
bare legs slender
to the dark wet ground.
She dazzled accidentally,
black hair careless
over slim shoulders,
arms wrapped round herself
against the cold
A vision
of such sudden vulnerability
it would lay a strong man low.
Across the street
I saw an old man gazing,
the flood forgotten
in the glare of her.
Flat cap
wax jacket
paused mid-step,
she with her back to him,
oblivious.
I averted my eyes,
not wishing to know
if his thoughts were fatherly
or something else.
The river rose
and gorged itself
and there was nothing
we could do.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
I want to smother your mother with the hands of her lover, in the time of your conception.
I want to feel what it is to be
Your fatherly figure
Lingering over her body
Post ******** dichotomy
Carefree
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
'' In Love With The Euphrates''. (Eng.: 'yufreytiiz ", Greek: Ευφράτης)
A Love-Eternal, as long as its waters flow, far before the 'Now'.
One tiny soul, yearning at the River’s banks, below the palms with their soft, feathery foliage, waving in a languid breeze.
Staring at his bright shining surface, the emerald translucency ,here underneath the azure sky and shining golden solar disk.
The curves of its lines, made of very fine, soft sparkling sand and swaying reeds ,the alluring splash of its waves.
The mighty Euphrates smiles, beckons with the spirit of its life-giving waters:
'' Come, ... come to me....''
"ONE CAN NOT BE IN LOVE WITH A RIVER!''
…a furious mass, roars, somewhere out in the gray, remote coldness.
But this glowing heart beats every earthly comprehension and that-is-what-common.
A body, unclad as when life first began.
Sliding into the silky warmth bringing waves of its waters, and floating, blissfully drowning and surrendering to Euphrates' tender caress.
Nothing so sincere and pure….
The rapture of this insignificant, transient creature ....
The mighty Euphrates beholds, with his empathetic, loving spirit., as with a fatherly smile ...
And both enter that fathomless centre far beyond matter, time and the sublunary.
Euphrates’ clear blue whisper mingling with the energy of that passionate violet light, which is softly about to explode in radiant scarlet and purple rays of light and energy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Please parent me from 3,000 miles away
on your ten minute break
text me questions
Make small talk
Remind me of every little mistake
It’s quite endearing.
That’s all the time you have for me
Unsettling how
In those 10 minutes you turn my world upside-down
Make me feel like a child again
Incapable, helpless, scolded
Certain words bolded
In your messages filled with regret and hate
For four years straight
It’s getting pretty old now
Your words getting colder now
Still don’t know how
You get away with it all
Make me fall
For your fatherly charm
It quickly turns into words of knives
Just as I disarm
And let you back in
You break me down again
Emails telling me just how horrible I am
My friends are left to pick up the pieces
Again and again and again
Each time I think
Maybe he’s changed
Maybe it’ll be different
Maybe he loves me, misses me
Maybe he’s the daddy I used to know
The danger of my maybes:
They never become his truth
As he sweet talks his way back in
Then takes a shot in the dark
With his military aim and malicious heart
“I love you
How’s school?
Congratulations!
I’m so proud!”
Then I blink.
“Grow up!
Stop blaming everyone else
I cried because you didn’t call
You’re selfish, you’re jealous
You don’t know how to love
You don’t understand
If I didn’t run away from you I would be dead”
This pattern is getting old
Tiring my heart and soul
Building up my wall
Blocking people out
Because of the way your text SHOUTS
I am the target of your regret
You are a fine shooter--
Always manage to get
A bull’s-eye
Straight to my heart,
Then the tears start
For days on end.
I am a crying criminal;
A walking zombie in someone else’s life.
I believe all that you say
You’re my father
Shouldn’t you tell me the truth?
So I really must be all those things
It’s all my fault
I’m a bad daughter
A selfish person
The me that I knew is all lies
My own father hates me
So everyone else should too
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
An idiot makes the same mistake twice.
That "fatherly advice" is trapped
within my head,
bouncing back and forth,
causing a headache,
but who's to say that
the mistake isn't the cause
of pulsating temples and closed eyes.
In one ear and out the other,
one could hope for.
But these days it's in
one nostril and down the throat.
Down "Shit's Creek" in a soluble boat.
But don't call home.
The heart left.
The telephone has been off the hook--
inanimate objects have it easy.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC