"noggin" poems
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise
Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses
Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag
Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care
Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears
Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks
I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light
Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient
Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly
I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart
You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence
I see you, monster...
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Jackal in his church pants,
Bad kid with punk jams,
Cramming nonsense in his conscience,
Skateboarding prophets,
Dividing light into chambers,
Bag of **** for his neighbors,
Turned into a living demon bleeding thru the paper,
Applesauce in the inside,
A coconut shell for the front,
Pineapple knives for the slaughtering,
Right into a strawberry's gut,
He was not a normal scorned, occulting youth,
But the lore of a regretful teen plaguing the afternoons,
Till that strawberry gut cracked his coconut noggin,
And shall he rest in bygones and Hanna-Babara monsters,
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
A monster came out from under my bed,
all hairy and ugly and oh so red.
He ran to my closet and ate all my clothes
then back to my bed he was tickling my toes.
I was so afraid he might suddenly eat me,
There was nowhere to go where he couldn’t see.
He threw all my toys in a great big sack
And told me meanly they’d never be back.
Then he looked at my desk and suddenly smiled
And seemed to be happy or maybe beguiled.
He looked in my eyes and pointed at me,
“give me your laptop and I will let you be”
I loved my laptop a gift from my mom
I stared in his eyes feeling so dumb.
I was no longer scared now I was mad,
Monsters aren’t fun when they behave so bad.
So I took out my bat and put on my new shoes
and said to the monster, “guess what you lose”.
One swat on the noggin and he was out cold
I keep my toys because I was bold.
It pays to be brave and never have fear
But be careful at night when a monster is near.
HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN
to my Grandaughters
Copyright Jan/2014
WHC
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
#
*The Muse of Whimsy has arrived.
I really feel the need
To take a break from poignant
and my impish humor feed.
A silly prank's in order
so I'll leave some noggin bear
By filling up their shampoo bottle
with a cup of hair removal "Nair".
I'll put a rubber hot dog
in some hungry knot head's bun.
Watching his expression
should be worth a lot of fun.
Humiliation is a blast
when dignity is lost.
If someone's feelings are the price.
well then it's worth the cost.
Somebody always loses
if your heart is made of stone
Laughter is contagious
but leave well enough alone.
Compassion is the brakes you use
when things get out of hand.
Laugh, but pass the laughter on
then most people will understand.*
#
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
It goes( as it
always goes, to )
: ! PENALTIES !
A chorus of "Oh Noooos'!"
rises from the fans like
winter breath from cattle
Hamlet, places it:
...steps back to take it
&. . .
"Do it England!"
the fanatic fans chant
"Dooooo....Itttt...Angle...la...and!"
Hamlet thinks
( No...nOOOO Hamlet don't
. . .think! )
But it is alas -too late
he has
already thunked!
"If it be now, 'tis not
to come; if it be not to come
it will be now!"
"Duh!" the fans think
"Agggghh...just
do it!"
The thoughts sprout
from his great big noggin like
a cartoon speech bubble.
"...if it be now now
yet
it will come!"
"The readiness is all!"
Hamlet runs up to
the waiting ball.
Hamlet hushes his
thought process
strikes the ball with his right foot &. . .
"To be or, aggggghhhh noooooo!"
After that comma that
negative sentence.
'NOT TO BE!"
jeer the rival fans
'GIT THEEEE...TOA...NONE...ER...EEE!"
Hamlet ends it all
with a bare bodkin.
"O, O, O, O." Dies
"Football is not...."
as Shankly so succinctly
put it
"...a matter of life and death.
It's. . .
much much more important than that!"
The rest.
Is.
silence.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
HAMLET AT THE WORLD CUP
It goes( as it
always goes, to )
: ! PENALTIES !
A chorus of "Oh Noooos'!"
rises from the fans like
winter breath from cattle
Hamlet, places it:
...steps back to take it
&. . .
"Do it England!"
the fanatic fans chant
"Dooooo....Itttt...Angle...la...and!"
Hamlet thinks
( No...nOOOO Hamlet don't
. . .think! )
But it is alas -too late
he has
already thunked!
"If it be now, 'tis not
to come; if it be not to come
it will be now!"
"Duh!" the fans think
"Agggghh...just
do it!"
The thoughts sprout
from his great big noggin like
a cartoon speech bubble.
"...if it be not now
yet
it will come!"
"The readiness is all!"
Hamlet runs up to
the waiting ball.
Hamlet hushes his
thought process
strikes the ball with his right foot &. . .
"To be or, aggggghhhh noooooo!"
After that comma that
negative sentence.
'NOT TO BE!"
jeer the rival fans
'GIT THEEEE...TOA...NONE...ER...EEE!"
Hamlet ends it all
with a bare bodkin.
"O, O, O, O." Dies
"Football is not...."
as Shankly so succinctly
put it
"...a matter of life and death.
It's. . .
much much more important than that!"
The rest.
Is.
silence.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
the world hasn't changed
but blow out the candles anyway
i suggest,
you leave the wishes
tucked somewhere in your noggin
because expectations
are disappointments
in a short and sweet disguise
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
Our consciousness is often conjured in the noggin the way
pompously-starved college kids microwave Ramen: phenomen-
ally over-heated and eaten up unbelievably quick, wow, you’re a
genius, now you can hurry back to completing your awesome thesis!
Neatness!
But having burned your tongue, you vilely cursed inside
with words rougher than *** not knowing where they were from,
and flustered, said you were done; plus, **** it, this work is dumb.
Oh, freshman, if only you had savored dem noodles!
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
Not since the days
of shooting ******
into the artery in my armpit
(too many blown out veins
in my arms and feet),
have I spent multiple nights
pacing and sweating…..
**** you simple carbohydrates. –
In the first months
of being a non-cigarette smoker
I would see folks light up
and near instantly collect
a chilled film on my back
and fingernails…
forget about it;
but the other day I drove
by a pizzeria
and had thoughts of ski masks
and 45 caliber pistols…
**** you simple carbohydrates. –
Once upon a time
I drank near 200 ounces of
Mountain Dew
each and every day.
If I missed a day,
I would have massive headaches
combined with serious irritation;
while it has been more than 5 years
since this body ingested caffeine,
last night I could not fall asleep for anything
and no amount of cannabis oil
or ibuprofen
had the ability to curb
my aching noggin….
**** you simple carbohydrates –
change is the only constant
and humanity has evolved
amazing adaptability
while I know I will be fine
at this moment only one thing
really runs through my head:
**** you simple carbohydrates! –
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
Every employee's name was listed in the address field
Except for one
The one I never noticed
That we never noticed
We all marched into the meeting room as ordered
Found the CEO on an extra tall stage
To tell us
"Today is Emma McGurk's last day
But she says it's the first day
Of her tenure
As Director of Forecasting of Unintended Consequences
She's not going
So I need all of you, all 300 of you,
To help me terminator."
(Or was that terminate her?)
So we gave each other Brady Bunch nods
I had to look up to make eye contact (or is that I contact?) with superiors
Then we marched to
The cubicle of Emma McGurk
Me remembering what Santa Ana had said:
"With a few hundred more men like the San
Patricios, Mexico would have won the battle."
And the battle wasn't to be won by us
It was to be won by Emma McGurk
The CEO tried to move her
Ten of us tried to move her
Then one hundred
And then all three hundred
Even I made an effort
But she wouldn't budge
So we had to move...
To another building
Hearing that Emma McGurk was still ensconced
In the position existing only in her noggin
Until finally the old building had to be imploded
A fifth-grader winning the honor of triggering
That dusty downfall of Emma McGurk's cubicle
And the building that sheltered it
It wasn't until Signing Day Eve
That I saw her again
Pouring ink at a haiku-con
"The pay wouldn't be that bad," she told me.
"If it was by the snicker instead of the word."
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
*yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve*
1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here
pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' bitch-mouth
here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
ain't no party here for fools no more
2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in
*ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue*
yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)
S T, 21 augury 2013
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Will an eligible bloke happier be if he
Marries a ranking *ele like Miss Universe
With all her glory and graces, and 'cause
Of marriage mirth? Will a sheila pretty
An unbroken regalement have for a dream
Prince Charming--the fairy man of her whim?
Will the soul be jolly for the sophomore
More than for the frosh rapture of success
Had in the Ivy League of cosmic business,
When the heart cut a caper and an encore
Of hilarity requests of narrowed life--
To have constant binge in lieu of strive?
What man is wholly from trouble free, whose
Being be to sadness inured? Within, the
Spokes do sometimes snap at the rotary
Wheels of serenity, and chaos is let loose.
What thus can stay the pillars of pleasure in
A plagued world is above this little noggin.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Let the beat meditate your noggin' joggin'/
ya memory til ya get Tired never gone Retire/
from this Game like **** **** James/
from Goodtimes i remember the Good Times/
when the world was Alive now everythings Concealed/
reality is nothin' but Joke children gettin' bad Yoke/
from generation to generation gets worse to worse/
weak pulse im seeing visions of the Hearse/
mind gone i need of a Resurrection but my Heat is my Only Protection/
cuz ****** be trippin' sherm dippin' tippin'/
in my Hood swangin' on 4 w/ vogues cool i Suppose?/
but don't know that blow ya Slang hurtin' the Nose/
of victims Cocaina is the Product from the Devil Intellectual levels are Doomed/
dumbin' us down with Indoctrination seems like our Destination is bein' in Incarceration/
but im gone continue to fight with my fullest might-
Endeavor too Clever ridin' through Stormy Weather can't Sever/
me from this **** i Spit/
too too real o so fine Lookin' for a fine Dime i can wife Mine/
but too many Single Mother lookin' too much Off a Brother because of another Brother/
who told them that he loved them just wanted To **** them/
and Impregnate them/
baby girl stuck at Home all Alone/
strugglin' to feed her baby but the Father ain't in the Presence/
so she Becomes hesitant/
sell her *** for Cash cuz Bills bout to take Clash/
hittin' Roof Top i Pause & Stop/
take a Quick Glance/
shakin' my head in Disgrace still wishin' for Amazing grace/
but it's Hard to knock the Grin off a Demons Face/Paper Chase is our Am Ambition/caged animal Subliminal Messages so ya Can't Comprehend/
no Boyz to Men but im steadily In Philly? rollin' a Phillie/
Blunt Hunt ***** pullin' Stunts/with two hands tied behind my Back Hocus Pocus/
Nigguh back to Reality im just Playin' G this is the Philosophy/
of Yosef don't Lose Focus/
pay attention cuz they waitin' for us to Fall & Gall/
and keep us confined in a Circle that me and you Can't See but im goin' to Remain Vigilant ya See...
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 2:53 AM UTC
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the ****** snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
I used to hear the word
"Holy..."
And immediately, Ratman or
Bobbin would lamely
Limp into my mind.
1960s Shtick
Shtuck in my
Noggin, until...
I met a Holy Man
Whose name means
Either
"Asleep" or
"Wild Man"
Anyhoo,
He was/is/
From just past
Detroit
Cross the Border,
Bordering Cross.
He spoke of the
HOLY SPIRIT
That part of God Who
Which
Communicates with us
And us, HIM...
Of an unquenchable
FIRE that yearned,
Burned
Churned in the hearts of
His Children.
His smile was wide,
His eyes, shining, but...
But his words soon after
(Were not his own)
Not natural, but
SUPERNATURAL
From the Great
I AM.
The Lord Jesus Christ
Spoke inside this man's
Heart, Soul,
Mind, Body-
Spirit Holy.
his
(HIS)
words
(WORD)
Were written in
Indelible ink
Upon the surface
Of my
(sinful)
Human heart.
We
Had never met before
Our paths
(Crossed)
But he knew, He
Had a VISION.
He shared it with me.
Now when I hear
"Holy..."
I no longer think of
That common Red-
Breasted avian creature, but
The man whose
Breast and
Heart were on
Holy Cleansing Fire,
That burns brightly
Still
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
This morning, I stepped on a landmine.
I tried using a twig to clean each line,
I spent a while, a very very long time,
Using a twig to depoop the very bottom
Of my shoe, & my dog thought, (Got'em.)
So as he's laughing at my bad situation
I used my noggin and vented frustration.
Found his brush & he stopped rollin'
As I scraped away what was holdin'
Fast to my left shoe. The moment; golden.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
The myriad of possibilities
enliven my ******** semantics
somewhere to go when
my slippers tell me not to
The words that i exhale
are the engine that fuels imagination
something to sustain when
my noggin is void
The vibrancies that rattle me
attribute to the found experience
somehow they strum
when my heartstrings are mute
The mountains that topple me
serve demise to my slippery friends
someways i have adapted
now i listen to blue boots
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:54 PM UTC
You say you're having problems
With both family and friends
Let's see if we can boil this down
Now where do we begin
No sense in pussyfooting
If we're to get right to the truth
By my calculations
The common denominator is you
If it's you that is the problem
Then the solution is the same
So let's start working in that noggin
And come up with a plan
Perhaps a whole new attitude
A softening of heart
A loosening of the chains of blame
Would be the place to start
If you feel they're out to get you
Before you draw weapons to defend
Search first for the problem
Because it might come from within
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
I got this idea I'd write you a poem,
One you could read sitting safely at home,
Or keep with you, out and about while you roam.
Some kind of impassioned ballad,
Celebrating all the things I held sacred,
A mirror to illuminate this sky that I’ve painted.
So I laced up my heart, and I shrugged on my soul,
I popped open my noggin, and I went for a stroll,
Right down Memory Lane, and left at the Rabbit Hole.
I kept on 'til I hit a velvet rope with posts of brass,
But I musta gotten too close to the bulletproof glass,
'Cause a big grumpy guard threw me out on my...
I realized, still rolling, it's all one massive museum,
Motionless memories mummified so I can keep 'em,
Lined up and locked away, as if they could be stolen.
Arduously ordered—organized for instant access,
A mental palace fit to make Sherlock get jealous,
That Dewey Decimal dude's got nothin' on this.
The slides replay every minute on the minute,
Time-compressed, Tetrised-in, so each moment fits,
Laser light shows engraving insignias inside my eyelids.
Tear-rusty gears grinding waterlogged cogs in reverse,
This melancholy machine, made to reflect you in verse,
Portrays a planetarium, perpetually projecting my universe.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC
I have gone under; I’m drowning
The whirlpools of your eyes
Russet and Sepia so
Overwhelming
Striking me hard
On the noggin
In the heart
Till I am
Gone
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
With my friends, I goose-stepped down a dingy street, us all chomping down on pigs’ feet meat
My wet ears, inexperience glistening, opened up to the city eagerly listening
Heard orders for ****** and boy toys which, essentially, created walls of white noise
Found my way onto a queen-sized lump of trash and determined it a quality place to crash
Woke up suddenly to find the third eye of my mind permanently blind
Watched my body plunge into the absolute abysmal solely due to a habit of feeling terribly dismal
Started painting an accurate portrait of daily life using the ornate hues of continuous strife
Made a recipe for misery with some sassafras and a dab of the other side’s greener grass
It wasn’t until I chomped down on a half-finished Baby Ruth that my noggin’ tuned into the truth
Turns out, birds of a feather are held together by the absolute weakest of tethers
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
Impulsive drones, these machos you have flimflammed,
Wolfing your proportionality like a **** brewed nectar of grapes,
When flimsy limb frills no more interweave, expertise reprogrammed,
Are you the lone from infinite frames murmuring, “once more, he escapes”?
Indignation ******* broadcasted, ferocity wrought into the fiber,
Prior, where narcissistic pathway architecture once lodged aloft,
Calloused acknowledgement of her duffel, abrupt pang, necessity for a prescriber,
My mettle is feeble of the soap opera, hanging one’s topper in my breath, I coughed,
The cauldron perpetually gurgling with spume, mingling itself,
Gyrating with giddiness as if my noggin was a top trinket,
No dust crumbs in any bustle ever jubilated atop my pit-a-patting instrument’s
Masses are anticipating for my enveloping blanket,
I perhaps beam till the cattle wham the timepiece, though seldom do I chuckle,
Shall journey with the ensuing waft, no comma for a buckle.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
We can sense it.
Something deplorable
is about to happen--
we can no longer stop the ranks
of housebroken infidels
from migrating into the wild
they have never encountered
beyond photo and film.
It's coming out! The stampede
of hairy-legged pheromones
we could once browbeat
into prepubescent shame
with the speed of a smack
upon the tender noggin!
It takes courage to enjoy
the canned campfire stories
we passed off as ageless doctrine.
How they once recoiled, squirming
like slugs thrown in a salt mine!
Now the writhing is self-inflicted,
the sweat off their brows no longer
cold, damp beads but now welcome
lubrication that slithers down
their lecherous masses of flesh!
Despite our most dogmatic toiling,
the iron shroud has revealed itself
as a featherweight curtain within a few tugs.
Anyone else feel the walls shake to and fro?
Why does the water in that glass ripple so?
Has it arrived already? The end of our reign
as dictators of the prevailing value system?
Fetch thee the community smelling salts!
Too late! The young and vulnerable
have already begun to trample!
Push the powder out of your wigs
to blind yourself from the carnage!
*The Age of Inhibition has screeched
and skidded into its evil twin's Renaissance.
Big time sensuality has straddled the saddle,
too busy racing avenues to declare victory.*
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC