Buckeyes vs Ducks live stream CFP Final 2015 game will take place on Monday January 12, 2015, and the Buckeyes vs Ducks live stream CFP Final game 2015 will feature a game between the Oregon and the Oregon . The big game has a start time of 8.30 p.m. ET and takes place from the AT&T; Stadium,Texas. The game will be shown on TV on.The College Football Buckeyes vs Ducks live stream CFP Final Playoff kicks off on January 1 with four teams battling in two games to determine what will happen on January 12 at AT&T;  Cowboys Stadium,Texas.  BCS Buckeyes vs Ducks live stream CFP Final 2015 2015 Live Stream | If that still feels like a long way away, there are at least discussion topics to make the wait easier.


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Forecasting the two teams that will play in the College Football national Playoff Championship Game has felt easy, though predicting game is usually a recipe for disaster. There appears to be a divide between Alabama and Oregon from everyone else in the country, including Florida State and Ohio State.
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Homeless child

Do you see the pain in his eyes ?
Hear the mourn in his cries ?
He is drained inside,
Hopeless and helpless

Can you feel his pain ?
His burden and hunger
And that tired body
Beaten by the unstoppable rain.

It was never his choice to be homeless
It was never his choice to be in the warzone
To lose his parents and his lovely home.

His choice was to be happy,
To build his home and his family,  
To serve the country and community

Now who cares for him ?
Do you understand his tears,
His story behind the newsletters ?
He was never a homeless child.

-Prakash

hi, i live a wonderful life
smiles all around me
but i could have died twice
hidden things under my eyelids
that nobody else sees,
grimy thoughts collect in wastebaskets
but i still move like the breeze
always smile at the old ladies
on my way out of church
even if smiling at a time like this
makes my effing stomach lurch
oh, i'm happy, sure
got lots of blessings in my pockets
took my meds this morning,
i'm feeling just fine;
still seems a little plastic to me
these bright smiles, even real ones
that i hand out like newsletters
saying "i'm so joyful, not depressed!"
even when people ask i say that:
lying through those pearly whites
maybe twisting the truth a bit
to fit the social standard.
i am so joyful, true enough
even if smiles feel like lies sometimes.

add my name to that inner circle thing
where newsletters about the most heartfelt go
the e-mails and spam about
worthy people nearly saints
singing praises in God's name hand
out bread loaves
and fish

keep my name off charities
that claim for twenty five cents a day
you can adopt: a child in Africa; an elephant;
send books to the Nile River flooded
refugees; the latest Syrian gassed.

I get my kicks, sunshine,
above the waist, (**** i stole
hell outta that line)
and I lied about that too,
some my best kicks, etc.....

well, giving seems to be a
rich someone ******* in America
in a mansion. Send me , count me in,
when charities help some
*******.

I've been down out, seen ten million others
the same desperate way, ain't seen or heard
one thank the United Way

I met Solomon today.

We met at Ecclesiastes.

And while having lunch with him,
I asked him to tell me how it feels to be dead.

And he said

"Death is a permanent sleep".

I know that already.

"It's all darkness," he further said,  

"Darkness, darkness all the way.
Silence, silence forevermore "

That sounds freaky.

"Yes, and even more in this case,

You'll not receive credit alert again".

"???"

"Yes, and even this your big phone-sef,
Some ******* will claim it,
and be pressing it anyhow.

No more emails too,
No Facebook nor WhatsApp messages.
No phone calls nor text messages.


And then, those pictures you took while eating
Ice-cream and fooling around at Shoprite and Coldstone,

You won't be able to post them again.

You will not know what comments you got,  
Nor what silly emojis were dropped on them.
No one will tell you how fat you look
Nor how much flesh you no longer have,
Your frown will be but nothing to see,
Your smile  too will have no meaning.

No birthday parties, and no more hangouts,
No teasing, no laughing, no funning about

No Christmas rice and chicken stew.
No clothes, no makeup, no shàkara.

You won't even hear when your friends laugh
Nor laugh at the cries of your so called foes.

No football match to watch or argue about
No Betnaija, no updates.


Your girlfriend too will find new love.
You'll no longer get her meechà-meechà
No love, no hugs, no kisses too.
No groaning, no moaning, no mènè-mènè

No sunlight nor moonlight play,
No Nepa light nor candle light

Darkness, darkness all the way
Silence, silence forevermore

You won't receive newsletters too,  
Nor read newspapers in your grave.

No need for hope from promises made
and no more pain from those letdowns

Like something that never existed,
You'll be gone forevermore.

Gone into the dark,
Dark, dark silence.

So live life more, as much as you can,
Eat well, sleep more, work out, dream.
Cause no trouble, curse no one.
Be your self and have more fun,
Take less work and live just right.
Let  good deeds be  your footprints"

She played, as I remember, quite well,
Her talent settling into some interval
Between “capable” and “professional,”
A knack which would have allowed her
To play coffeehouses at some middling state school,
Or accompany some infant’s lilting lullaby,
But she’d set up shop, as it were,
In rather unusual and commercially unpromising spots:
Less-traveled side streets, the odd dead-end and cul-de-sac,
Even the occasional unpaved byway
(I’d first encountered her, during my walking, brooding stage
On a hilly road just outside the village,
At a point where the tarmac took
An unplanned two-hundred-foot vacation.)
She’d set up as if she expected a crowd,
Case open like two upward palms to receive a cascade of change,
And she performed songs designed to please the masses:
Beatles hits, folk ditties our parents sang to us as little ‘uns
For which I rewarded her with a dime here, a quarter there,
And, once and once only,
A fiver I’d snuck out of my father’s wallet
(He took it out of my hide, and then some)

There had been no romance, per se;
I’d sat close to her, hand on a Levi-ed knee,
And there was the odd kiss, as much brotherly as anything else,
But there were understood limits, never spoken of,
As there was something in her bearing, her posture, her very essence
Which said This is what is, what shall be, and what only ever can be.
A reticence which exercised dominion over all things
(The whys and wherefores over her very presence an Exhibit A;
She said she lived over in Wilcox, but she had no car, no bike,
And that particular irritant in the highway
A good six miles off as the crow flies)
So there was little now, and even less could be,
As it was my final summer of a single, uncomplicated home address,
Being bound elsewhere for the first
In a series of institutions of higher education,
So there was no ever after, happily or otherwise.
I’d never heard what happened to her after that,
Where she may have gone, what may have become of her,
Unaware of any tragic event engendering heart-rendering fiction,
But midway through my freshman year, one of the town newsletters
(Mimoegraphed back-and-front missives
Which my mother sent religiously)
Noted that the last unpaved road in the township
Had  finally been blacktopped,
Which I celebrated, in a fashion,
With a ****** heroic in intent and scope
Ending, as such things often do,
In a near-compulsive fit of weeping,
And my fellow revelers asked Man, what the hell has gotten into you?
And I suspect it was being bereft of an answer
Which had set me off in the first place.