"hoi" poems
Went to my ancestor's home on a Spring season that year..
On a Holi day in the land of Chanchadari
A peaceful morning in Hoshiarpur, the doors to Himalaya
Happy Holli day!! The kids shout with cheer
Holi Hai! Holi Hai! Lets play Holi!!!
He woke up early morning that day..
With a bucket of colored water waiting for me
I stepped outside my grandpa's door
In a split second I was soaked in a coloured water…
From head to toes… red, orange, yellow, purple… the colors of Holi…
Ohh It's a Hoi Hai day alright…
Lets play Holi … Lets play Holi..
Hails spring with ecstasy and joy!
The trees smile with their sprout
of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
The land of beauty and greatness,
India, witnessing color of happiness and peace.
Nation come alive to enjoy the spirit
A celebration of color- Holi!
An experience of content, harmony and delight.
Holi colors of red, green, yellow and countless.
A day's canvas - a riot of colors.
Lively crowd running, dancing, playing
Rainbow of colors, Lets play Holi and splish and splash!!
Lets play with the frenzy colors .. play on Holi Hai day….
I am dreaming of playing with colors with you
It is the Holi celebration after all.
I can't play inside my home, the carpets will get tainted,
I cant' play it in the yard, the grass and outer walls will get painted.
I thought I would go to the secret garden of ours,
and play with you Holi hai day …
It's a colourful day just you and me..
In love on Holi Hai day…. Lets play Holi..
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
Kabhe pucha hay apnay app say kay tumnay kitnay waday torhay hein?
kabhe pucha hay apnay app say kay kitnay logouin ka dill tora hay?
kabhe pucha hay apnay app say kay tumnay apne eik nazar say kis kis ko apne he
nazrouin mein gerayya hay?
- nae pucha nah? kese din pucho gay nah tou mrnay ka dill chahy ga, zindage kay
naam say chirnay lago gay.
Kabhe pucha hay kay tum Zindage kay naam per eik beyqaar zindage jee rahay
hou? aur phir kehthy hou ''yaar kya krien zindage he esse hay''. Kabhe Zindagi
ke kitaab ko khol kr tou dekho kya kya rakha hay uiss mein. Zindage bahot he
haseen hay sirf hum masroof hein apne duniya mein wou duniya jis mein kuch
nahe sawaye humaray. Ajj loug dusrouin ke mintein krtay hein kay ''ruk jau''
''na jau'' jb kay mery khayaal mein ye loug bhul chukay hein kay '' jis ko jana hay
uis ko jana hay chahy tum apne jaan kyun na deh dou''. Ajj tou logouin ke
zindage andhere hojaate heh jab koe uinka ''dost'' ya ''yaar'' chor jaye aur wo uis
khuda ko bhool jaatay hein jis nay uis ko usse ''dost'' ya ''yaar'' say milaya tha.
Hum loug tou apnay Khuda ko bhe bhul chukay hein. Wo Khuda jis kay pass
humnay waapis jana hay wo Khuda jis kay bagheir humare koe ukaat nae.
Barhay Unchay gharouin mein reh reh kr apnay app ko Khudha samjhna shuru krdeya hay humnay.
Ess zamaanay mein koe kese ka Dost nae hota barha Dost Dost krtay hou na jab doob rahay hou gay
kudhe dekhna kay sab DOST tamasha dekh rahay hogein aur tum zindage ke tarf aanay ke bher-poor
koshishein kr rahay hou gay, tab apnay app say puchna kay ye wo DOST thay jin kay leye tum apnay
maa-baap say laray? uin kay samnay uncha bolay? sharmindage hoi? Ajj hum itnay ''self-obssessd''
hein kay dusrouin ko dekh kay lagta hay chunte jitni ukaat hay uiss ke. Hum apne he Duniya mein
bahot dur nikal aayein hein, asal duniya say bekhabar, asal dostouin say hum la-taluq ** chukay hein.
Hum ajj apnay app mein he kho chukay hein. Apnay rab ko humnay kho deya. Rab ko kho deya matlab
Sub kuch kho deya ! tou abb hamaray pass koe raasta hay?
-Haan wou rab 5 martaba bulaata hay tumhein apne taraf, jau uiss ke taraf aur apne ASAL ZINDAGE
ke taraf waapse aou.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
what cheek, the audacity to sheer his name from his faceless appearance, well, I know something of names, and mysteriously common and vague,
said as often as ****
does not satisfy this certified member
of the hoi polloi of humens
grace,
with a small g,
not to be confused with those courtiers in human courts
who so address their temporal superiors,
who more often than not,
chop off with their head,
just god
downy not longer
for being insufficiently lying
in their obsequiousness
grace is a virtue par excellence,
multi~facetedly faced,
reflecting well and goodness
on both the speaker and the hearing,
if grace you know not the meaning of,
then research it and let it
reflect back upon your countenance
replace god with grace,
and forgive me this too obvious rhyme,
it will only be better days
for the human race
><><
my name?
hah!
sinner man
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 1:38 PM UTC
Ik gal kaha.
Menu 2016 to hi yakeen ja ** gea c
Ki thuhade lai menu bhulna bada easy c
Bcz us time jado thuhade viah di gal chali c
Tuci menu ik war bi nai c dasea
Nd us bhenchod nu pyar kar bethe c tuci
Yaar me kade kisi hor nu pyar nai kita, na hi kade kar paya. Beshak me hor bada kuj kita.
Bhawe oh kudi baji c ya nasha.
Par kisi hor nu kade pyar nai kr sakea.
Menu sala ehi samj nai a reha
Ki me thuhanu yaad karna band kr dawa
Ya ewe hi yaad krda raha
Me badi try kr reha ki yaad na kara.
Par is baar gal kuj hor he
2016 wich me bhul gea c u nu
But etki, gaand fati hoi a meri
Bus ik mar nai sakda
Baki bahro kush rehna penda
Kini war dekh chukea me thuhanu lal rang de choore wich
Sali iko dua nikdi ki maut a jawe menu
Bcz me khud mar nai sakda
*** bi ro reha
Yaad a ik wari, jado apa park wicho di ja rahe c
Te ik munda park wich ro reha c
Te me us time
Keha c ki sala
Kinna pagal he
Munda ewe kiwe ro sakda
Aj oh munde di yaad andi menu
Te meri kahi gal
Aj samj anda ki sala rona ki hunda
Bhen di lun hoi bi meri life di
Sala kite bi dil nI lagda mera
I know u nu mazak hi lag reha hona
Ha me kita bi mazak hi c thuhade naal
Te aj usdi saza bhugat reha ha
Ena jyada tadap reha ha
Pata ik ta banda ro ke mann halka kr lenda
Ik banda andro ronda
Jeda sala andro rona, te usda mann bi halka nai hunda
Bada ikha hunda
Fat jandi he
Rooh kamb jandi he
Sala jad bi kade wife nu patiala chad ke anda
Ta sad song laganda. Badi myshkil naal sad song sunan nu milde
Te bus sara rasta ronda anda me
Sach kaha ohi ik time hunda jad me ro sakda ha te apna mann halka karda ha
Cheeka marda ha, chest te mukke marda ha
Thapad tak marda ha apne aap nu
Sala sochda ki isi bahane kuch dil halka ** jawe
Par kithe.
Nai hunda.
Heena jj, menu pata ki mera *** koi hak nai reha.
Par metho ik haq na khona
Oh thuhanu dekhan da.
Me kade life wich interfair nai krda
Bus menu dekhan to na rokna kade.
Me tadfna chanda ha
Rona chanda ha
Apni galtia krke
Ameen
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
They were not interested in the forests.
Or how many Asians died?
Nam Viet was a restaurant
Open from 8am-11pm each day.
And summertime in Hue,
means cheap ***** and handmade suits.
All around the girls in golden tight dresses,
who can hardly walk in their six inch heels.
Sell cheap cigarettes from table to table.
Always with a smile and a look at their *******
On trips to Hanoi and Hoi An,
the code to Vietnam's literary treasure.
They asked thin questions with no light
“What about the Women Andrew”
“What about the nightlife and the girls”
“Do you think they’re ****
"How expensive are they?"
Someone in ** Chi Minh City asked me
"Why do people think like this?"
I guess it is easy, if ugly is all you know
Calling to nothing, and the fall of the future.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
hey donald trump, why are you thinking people w2ho get wounded in battle aren’t heroes
cause if you think your a hero, your a hero of nothing
because **** fanning battled a shark, mate, and he deserves a reward
but you donald trump deserve nothing, nothing nothing
i have fought tooth and nail to prove that poor people have rights
and i ain’t into the army, but i know they are brave now here is we’re not going to take crap from trump anymore
ya know, when i first heard of him, i8 thought of professor plum or professor plunket
and you will never win my vote, if i was an American, no way hoi zei
i think i might spew, i think i might spew, i think i might spew on you trump, yeah
i disagree with your comment trump, nothing against you, just your comment
you sound so right wing, only allowing rich people honours
i ain’t into john mcCain either, but that is his views, and i hate your views even more
it makes people think you are crazy, a real crazy ************
people fight for the good of the nation , what do you do
i am designing homeless shelters, would you do that trumpet
i will party with all the poor people while rich snobs like trump wrecks the world with his selfish opinions
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
*Glitzy gowns, crisp suits
Dainty personalities, well-groomed gentlemen
The crème de la crème of society
Poised reveling in an aura of importance
Flex their financial muscle
In the name of philanthropy.
Handing out gifts to hoi polloi
Their hands gloved
Smiling from ear to ear
Their noses twitching
Apparently un-accustomed to the “smell” of poverty
Has poverty…a smell?
Self-aggrandizement overwhelming their souls
Having warmed the hearts of the downtrodden
It’s a deal…sealed
Effortlessly*
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
WHAT can we say of the night?
The fog night, the moon night, the fog moon night last night?
There swept out of the sea a song.
There swept out of the sea-torn white plungers.
There came on the coast wind drive
In the spit of a driven spray,
On the boom of foam and rollers,
The cry of midnight to morning:
Hoi-a-loa.
Hoi-a-loa.
Hoi-a-loa.
Who has loved the night more than I have?
Who has loved the fog moon night last night more than I have?
Out of the sea that song
-can I ever forget it?
Out of the sea those plungers
-can I remember anything else?
Out of the midnight morning cry: Hoi-a-loa:
-how can I hunt any other songs now?
2k
Can you solve me?
unfold me expose my problems.maybe not. a simple bow slowly becoming a masterpiece of interwoven components. pick up sticks. twister. limbo. on the brink of collapse. One. two. three strikes your out. those are the rules, are you ready? go! drugs. depression. disability.drinking. abuse. blasting any sound to keep out the shouts. deceit. lies. regret. curses spewed out. careful you might trip. Or maybe you already are. like I said a bow, so easy to undo, so simplistic, internally it becomes equivalent to rocket science. Where's the key to success? the missing puzzle piece? buried in as-seen-on-tv purchases and old moldy mattresses children's toys and croc pots. smothering the pain of a loved one passed. is he dead or alive?who knows. Is she going to make it to 50?unlikely. suicide just in time for a birthday. unfair exchange. continuing pattern. someone has to make up the hoi palloi no one can or will solve it. you can take that to the bank...just wait a couple weeks.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
You matter to me,
You art the ghost in coffee
Clouds whistle around you
Too much energy scares
Hoi Poilloi but we rule these streets
Call us out by righteous name
Love is all you have in the Swamp
I imagine it in the hot night
Running from New Orlins
Tide tryin to eat you
Water mixed with kerosene
There is suddenly no god
My three year old daughter
Left in that miserable
Water, and nobody did a thing
9/11 was a kind of blackened day
But when the Levees Break
Nobody gets out alive
Without money to roll
It’s time to yell truth of my city
Marie Laveau in all her forms
She cried with me
She held my hands and said:
Do not lament forever
Sorrow has its place & tyme
Marie Laveau comes to me now:
Saying Rise Up and Save This City
Something so still, so solemn
Guards the city of the yellow moon
I feel it
Almost reaching it
Hands touch my eyes and
I know them
I dream of Big Chief
Who flew from Heaven
Bringing the saving of the 9th ward
Nothing can save the 9th
But Marie Laveau, both a dem Ave Maria’s
No god no Saints came marching
Saving my role on freeway overpasses
Left there to be displayed, to die of thirst
Where were you, oh God?
We loved you even as we died of thirst
In a country that could pf delivered rations to Iraq
In less than six hours.
We have been sacrificed to low cause
No happiness shall come from this
True badlands, had Saints, and Faith
Nature took but once
Government took it all &
Left us standing
Or dying in attics
Screaming
Save Our Souls
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
**Out and about
Amidst the hustle and bustle
Of ultra-modern cities
Is a phenomenon that escapes my mind’s grasp
Penniless famished hoi polloi huddled together almost in unison
Arms outstretched eking out a living from begging
Pitiful downcast eyes that tell stories untold
A sad sight to behold
Begging the question
Haven’t humankind a shred of tenderness?**
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
"We shoot the sick, the young, the lame,
We do our best to maim,
Because the kills all count the same,
****** sticks to kids.
Chorus: ****** sticks to kids,
****** sticks to kids.
Flying low across the trees,
Pilots doing what they please,
Dropping frags on refugees,
****** sticks to kids.
Goods in the open, making hay,
But I can hear the gunships say,
"There'll be no Chieu Hoi today,"
****** sticks to kids.
See those farmers over there,
Watch me get them with a pair,
Blood and guts just everywhere,
****** sticks to kids.
I've only seen it happen twice,
But both times it was mighty nice,
Shooting peasants planting rice,
****** sticks to kids.
****** son, is lots of fun,
Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun,
It gets the ***** when on the run,
****** sticks to kids."
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
There was a day,
When,
Water is flowing across hills to the valley
With the water, wave of sound is scrolling
melody of song and dance
Sprawl from hills to plains
everything glint up
‘Hoi la lia.... hoi la lai ..... ‘!
Rivers said to its people
In the hills “Barat’ is going on
Their women are determined to safe their nature and children!
Winds are blowing
From valley to the hills
In the wintery evening
Everything drenched by the aroma of new rice
The winds also carry the hum of ‘Mai Pathala’
Hills said to its people
Their young men are processing harvested paddy!
Now?
“Only sterile hills are there
Only sluggish waters are there”
People?
They are weeping around
for land, water and food.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
can you solve me?
unfold me expose my problems.maybe not. a simple bow slowly becoming a masterpiece of interwoven components. pick up sticks. twister. limbo. on the brink of collapse. one. two. three strikes you're out. those are the rules, are you ready? go! drugs. depression. disability. drinking. dementia. blasting any sound to keep out the shouts. deceit. lies. regret. abuse. curses spilled out. carful you might trip. Or maybe you already are. like I said, a bow, so easy to undo, so simplistic, internally it becomes equivalent to rocket science. Where's the key to success? the missing puzzle piece? buried in as-seen-on-tv purchases and old moldy mattresses, children's toys and croc pots. smothering the pain of a loved one passed. is he dead or alive? who knows. Is she going to make it to 50?unlikely. suicide just in time for a birthday. unfair exchange.continuing pattern. someone has to make up the hoi palloi no one can or will solve it.you can take that to the bank...just wait a couple weeks
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
The mother of invention lies asleep
and sated yet again beside the fire
It’s no surprise she should so quickly tire
Restrained by offspring turning us to sheep
Our need to overcome, explained, expires
And we , too tired to weep, feign boundless joy
For what we’ve lost and gained - each wretched toy
We keep can strangle resource in its wires
And rendered gutless, idle hoi polloi
we stagger dumbly higher, grinning, keep
believing we could buoy her from her sleep
Ignite her brain, and our minds re-deploy.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 8:29 AM UTC
-For Kerry-
Gone are the days
Where we can talk about
How heavy the weight
Of the world is.
No longer can we insult
The mannerisms of the
Hoi-poloi
And how weird it'd sound
Escaping falsetto tones.
Gone are the days
Of violence and wrath
Behind crystal displays
Sharp as the culprit's dagger.
Or our remarks on how dumb
The teenagers are in the film,
With their over-sized *******
And miniscule minds.
I've heard about how you'd cry.
My heart can't ever bear to see it.
But it relishes every opportunity
To smoke cigarettes with you.
Good medicine always
Goes down bitter.
If we are ever to meet once more,
May the links of the world be
Loosened-- at least just a little.
-Juan Carlos Gomez
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
I haven't felt this in a long while
That same old, beautiful teenage rebellion coursing through my twenty year old veins
Remember the grass we'd tread on during days of
Extracurricular activities all hungover and dread locked
Or the Saturday night in late September
When three girls first inched their way toward a mirror
In the thrift store and the coffee shop
Gourds and games and locking ourselves in the car to listen to that rust colored song
Amid the high school hoi Polloi
Three girls, still, getting closer to that mirror
There were books about the body in a Goodwill
About the diseases that afflict our tiny bones
And science hung from a rack while she put on an old mans sweater and fantasized about the death that could have taken place in each stitch
Catholic school boy bonfire
Doing donuts in the field because, well, life is a highway
And can you believe it? She hit her head again
Oh our blonde believer, knocking her brain out of her skull and onto the highway
While our other friends smoked secrets in the woods out past the driveway
When we parted from our dear doe eyed psychopath
And found ourselves a trifecta for the first time in months,
There was only one thing to do -
Admit there were robots among us, chug a beer, and say goodnight
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
*** tak ta tuci pregnant bi ** gaye hone
thuhanu kuj ni pata ehna thoughts naal kini fatdi he
dil daily karda he ki thuhdae office de samne aawa
te ake dekha u nu
but control kr lenda ha kisi na kisi tarah
daily raat nu 2 mint kharar bus stand te ruk ke janda ha,
ki thuhade ghar wal nu jawa ya na jawa.
dil ena krda ki shyad chatt te tuci khade howe te me dekh lawa
but fer dimag kenda chad rehn de dilla.
kyu tang krna us nu
oh kushi kushi apni life spend kr rahi he
ta usdi life kyu spoil krni
Yaar I want to see you.
fati hoi a meri
thuhanu bilkul bi fikar ni andi?
ki kiwe reh reha hona me?
daily ronda ha
daily yaad andi he thuhadi.
But serioulsy u r stone heart
kash me bi ban jawa dubara ewe da
pehla changa bhalwa ban gea c
jado jalandhar to bad breakup hoea c
*** sala pata nai ki ** gea
us time bi 6-8 months lagge c recovery lai
but is time sala ** hi nai reha
menu bi dasdo ewe da ki kara me
ki bhul jawa u nu
jiwe tuci bhul gaye
@@
! !
! !
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
There are bumble bees around the corner,
Waiting to land on the tip of your nose.
Thick, flower nectar, dripping from above them,
Fated, to catch you in your, "Hello."
When the beaming sun beams,
We say lovely things,
And spread them about,
For those near,
To feel it within,
To take part in -
To share it with those
Who will hear.
When the sun disappears,
The moon's light rears,
Sprinkling taboo gems about,
For us to tiptoe and choose,
To place in a ruse,
Of words to enjoy during, Lights Out.
Neither a shortage of daisies,
To pluck from this field,
Nor, unwelcoming nuances met,
Only waves of inspiration,
Covered in chosen sensation,
An oasis for the itching poet.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
ok, we believe in so many things
that can always be true
i have been so many people
but, brian allan is the present oh yeah
but i remember when i get the story out
i can write so much out of me
i can say that saturn has life, ya know
even if NASA hasn’t found it yet
the reason is, it’s invisible to them
cause murdered children are blocking then path
and each of the children’s earth bodies
are suffering in more ways than one
ya see, me, i prefer to rid the itch
as well as rid my toothless old hag
and slowly get rid of my varicose veins
ya know, i am fucken tired right now
but you guys need to see
i am in the psych ward on earth ya see
i ain’t enjoying it, despite writing so many things
but i want to change the name one day to the buddhist place for mental health breakdowns
where people can go when they are sick of life
it’s a sure way to get rid of the traumas of heaven
yeah, it keeps me alive ya see
i can drink methane milk shakes
every day and night
and i don’t want to fight
cause that takes my reputation away from me
i remember when those young dudes said
hey, man, your the the love shack dude
i wanted this to go on forever, but it became a distant voice
enough is enough, i want it to stop
i was glad they were my friends but i don’t want their pity
but being called the love shack dude
boosted my mojo, oh yeah mate yeah
i felt so cool, but enough is enough
i actually felt like a cool young dude
enough is enough i am not a shy young dude no more
ya see, there is no POWER in being a young dude, no
if the parents leave you money in their will
you should look at their money as their last gift to you
and not for them to be a target for a bullet from a gun
to get her inheritance, no way hoi zei
no, the love shack dude doesn’t do that
no no never, never never no way
but we shouldn’t force the inheritance out of them
enough is enough, no inheritance fraud for me
no i am the love shack dude, forever and ever a people
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
In darkness of early morning
I write
I cannot think of the inspiration I had before
I have no muse today
Neither in man nor daughter as I usually do
Nor mother father sisters or brothers
And wretched is the thought of writing
A prophetic surging poem based upon
The crazed and lazy cat
So I turn to the morning coffee
And the sleeping world
About to wake
I do not want to fight today
I do not want to hear complaints
Or admonishments
I want to scream
GOD **** IT SHUT UP!
Today is the day before Christmas Eve you fools
Could you for once and for all stop bickering
Could we have peace?
If not on earth in this house
Could we just be excellent to each other
Without having to party on
Dude!
I think I see snow or frost on the roof tops
No such luck on the ground
And the weather guy didn’t sound too hopeful
Dawn is breaking
Soon both brother and lover will emerge
Resulting in a new day
Of grim territorial battle
I tire of this
So glad today I will be with my mother
And the hoi polloi at the swarming mall
Or some such unbearable place
Defined by the teaming masses of morons
Some daft young girl sizing me up
As head of the fashion police
And former captain of the cheerleaders
She and my mother will decide for me
What I would like for Christmas
And so I write
Hoping for the best
Longing for Christmas to be over
Yet still anticipating and anxiously awaiting
With an unwavering hope
That Christmas will bring peace
And joy
And all that Christmas promises Year upon year
I hope , Merry Christmas
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 8:23 AM UTC
_Hire purchase, Hewlett-Packard, hand phones and - just maybe - Harry Potter have got nothing on Hello Poetry. A house party of honey pies, head pixies, and horizontal plotters hot piping their harmonic power from Hyde Park to Hunter’s Point, the High Plains to Himachel Pradesh. Household profilers, home porters, health practitioners and - it may be said - the odd human particulate here to engage in high-priority human performance.
P.S. Heart points and historic preservation aside, what the hoi polloi is up with those hit-by-pitch holding patterns, Eliot?_
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 2:33 AM UTC