The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.
And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.
PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”
Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.
Copyright © Ginna Wilkerson | Year Posted 2006
Where are you, oh Harmony,
Daughter of Mars and daughter of
Where shall I look for you?
In the enclosure of a serene
Or in the open tempestuous
Under the bright sun of a Spring’s
Or beneath the dark sky of a stormy
The tormenting echo of your parents’
In my divided heart I constantly
Fearing the one, loving the
Save me, oh divine Harmony, from
Come, beloved one, I beg
Come, my bewildered soul to
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 August 2012
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2012
I remember all the nights we use to play,
but now I can't play anymore because your not here today.
Your here in my heart and that will never fade away.
Sometimes I would be a hard-headed child,
but in your eyes you saw an angle smile.
I love you like God love the family, unconditionally.
I remember your brown eyes, gray hair, for you were wise.
I also remember when you had to leave, so your soul could be free.
See, I'm older; more mature, and understand what's going
on, but back then I was only four.
I still remember that day like it was yesterday.
Well, you were buried that day and everyone had a sad face.
I remember that day very well indeed, as I looked at you
and pleaded that you wouldn't leave me.
Now you’re gone and I have to be strong for both
of us, so our love can live through people who love us.
Copyright © Diona Finley | Year Posted 2005
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters
departed from me, within years
of each other, to sadden my living;
I spend my days weeping...
reminiscing in my sorrow:
how we laughed together,
and faced another serene tomorrow,
knowing that sharing kindness
would bond our destinies
in ways so devoted and immense!
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters...
I let the unconsumed joy of memories
take me to those yesterdays
to thank God for our existence,
when we enjoyed the gifts He offered;
yes, even the smallest of them
were so lovely and precious!
And by watching how you faced death,
I admired how you became the bravest...
slowly letting go of what you possessed!
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters...
do you want me to continue crying,
or smile and console you with a future promise:
that soon we'll embrace one another
under the joyful eyes of our Creator?
Nothing foolish I will do to harm myself;
and wait I will 'till my end comes,
but until then my solemn prayers I'll recite
amid tombstones guarded by triumphant angels...
and bound for Heaven, I'll be smiling!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
Her eyes were never dry
Since she was born she would always cry…
No matter what kind of lie I would tell
She would see right through me , a smile she didn't sell…
I don’t blame her when her lips fell…
She knew the world was aware of our pain…
She knew nobody cared about evils reign
She knew nobody cared about every body that laid lifeless on the city streets…
So I understand…
In her still so young heart
Knowledge of the world there was that no man had…
Even though she knew it could get her killed she just couldn't stand
When justice wasn't served
When her mothers killers were free
And we get something no human deserves…
So I ask her please smile…
The pain will last just for a little while…
Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2013
I see her pale white flowing gown,
her imagery, her frown,
her silver thinning hair,
her paper like wrinkled skin.
Feeling quite frightful,
but no overtaking fear,
of this vision floating through the air,
and not going in to despair.
Trying to awaken my consciousness,
for I must be comatosed,
surely I am not in the living world,
my head must be in the cloud's.
I wake up in a sweat,
not knowing what has just happened,
it all seems so surreal,
do I stand in judgement or appeal.
Piecing together my thought processes,
was it a dream or a reality,
wishing, thinking of my grandmother looking ocer me,
sending me a sense of peace and calm.
I will stay with that thought,
that beautiful vision,
of my grandmothers mission,
to deliver peace and harmony to a muddled head.
Copyright © Amanda Sullivan | Year Posted 2012
After so many countries, now in Syria,
Increasing is the western bacteria,
The bacteria of hypocrisy and lies,
Which is in a dangerous disguise,
Under the banner of help and peace,
They seems like a white fleece,
They do things very secretly,
Pursuing interests very actively,
What they want is just conflicts?
In the entire world's districts,
They like when people kill each other,
Its how indirectly they do smother,
Try to understand that what is a war?
Because it opens up the profits door,
For the imperialists and dictators,
And of course their very own creators,
When imperialists start a war,
They make sure that its paid for,
So they pose to help by selling arms,
As if they are selling them charms,
In return of arms they make money,
So much that its not even funny,
On the other hand people also die,
In the region where they don't comply,
They want the entire world to obey,
Their orders and want them to say okay!
As long as one stays this way,
A nice attitude they will display,
But for instance if one says "NO" to them,
At first they get angry and hem,
And then come bans and sanctions,
Penalties all kinds of aggressions,
And still if they are not successful,
They wage a war to make stressful,
So that's what they did in Syria,
It was their anger and hysteria,
Because they couldn't do anything,
And through a war they wanted to sting,
But they forgot that who they are facing,
And what kind of a enemy they are racing?
They already are, their army, replacing,
And because of defeats they are reducing,
The Takfiri terrorists they brought in,
Are ruthless and not even human,
They are ripping chests of people,
And eating their hearts like animal,
So west and its cruel tactics,
Has nothing to do with the ethics,
So once and for all everyone,
Let's finish savagery which has begun.
All rights are reserved. Syed Imon Rizvi
Copyright © Syed Imon Rizvi | Year Posted 2013
How is our mad world going to end?
With a deadly bang or a whimper?
Most people rarely stop to think of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki these days.
When they do, they usually think
that the Japanese fully deserved it:
“Didn't they attack Pearl Harbor?
We vaporized their women and kids
only because Tojo killed our men!
We incinerated their two cities to
save the lives of our fighting men
who were about to invade Japan.”
That's how the world keeps going....
A pompous, loud-mouthed general—
his testosterone level running high—
wants to teach Moscow a lesson
never to defy our global Empire....
A proud and imperious admiral—
aircraft carriers on his sword belt—
wants to show the Chinese who's
the boss in the South China Sea....
Bellicose diplomats want to lynch Assad,
like they did Libya's Muammar Gaddafi,
and open a dangerous nuclear game of
chicken with the Russians in Syria....
As the French say, the more things
change, the more they stay the same.
People (not just the Bourbons) have
learned nothing and forgotten nothing.
This is how our world will end.
This is how our world will end.
This is how our world will end.
Our crazy world will end with a
roaring, fiery, annihilating bang
and then a ghastly final whimper!
Copyright © Ross Vassilev | Year Posted 2016
The agony of the forty fourth fallen martyrs
Of our noble and bravest men
The sound of testimonial heartaches of nowhere scenes
Guns of distraught
Guns of unaware feelings
Guns of twenty one heroic means
We salute the inevitable tied up courage of our kins
Now the tragedy happened of unprepared masks
Now it was a cold blasts
Like an ice to dust
It seems so gigantic beginnings
Of yes to peace
Mournful days of no one could ever ceases
How it felt to broke in the end by a doleful mess
The agony of the forty fourth fallen martyrs
Now it became a history
Of the world's largest tragedy
Of war and technology
Beyond time, beyond what we see
Or beyond what we never expected to be
Like were struggling in the unfathomable sea.
Copyright © Amor Otong | Year Posted 2015
At the darkest time
On the darkest day,
You took my hand,
You took me to play.
I thought it strange,
I thought it wise
That there in the wood
The secret lies.
But then I saw it
The flicker of light,
The sound of birds
As they took to their flight.
The ray of sunshine
Filled your eyes,
Around us filled
With silent lies.
My smile was met
From cheek to cheek,
Your hand around mine
As your eyes grew weak.
I see your face
Amongst the light,
The day that soon
Transformed to night.
I’m alone now
And alone I’ll stay
Till the moon flips over
And the sky turns grey.
But the hand that took,
Took me to play,
Is there by my heart
And there it will stay.
Copyright © Jessica Howell | Year Posted 2011
Peace In The Light
I live in a drywall box
Sitting alone staring at my clocks
With landscape art hanging all around me
Its no wonder inspiration has finally found me
One day my mind forced my hand to start writing
About my parents in Heaven still fighting
Knowing their bodies lie beneath the ground
But believing that is not where there to be found
One night I dreamt of a beautiful house
It was on a sunny hill where I saw cats playing cards with a mouse
There was a young woman sitting on a porch rail
She turned to me and asked why I looked so pale
She told me she did not die
She told me I no longer have to cry
Then all of a sudden I awoke
Asking myself... “Was Mom's death some kind of horrible joke”
The Wake…The Funeral…
The Burial Mass…The Grave
Mom's dream message proved to me
She had risen from her Coffin in the Cave
Sometimes I wonder if Mom and Dad are really dead
Or are they living in my head
Can our parents be more alive than we think
Could they be some kind of Supernatural Link
Some say this life is a trial
With certain emotions recorded in our Spiritual File
We all experience wonder, joy, sorrow and pain
Some days… it’s a challenge just to stay sane
I pray our parents watch over us from afar
I swear sometimes… Their sitting in my car
Maybe when we experience life’s emotions
Our Parents are there recording the commotion
I bet Mom sews all day
She probably still has no time to play
I bet Dad writes all day
Will my sons ever find their way
Someday I will tell everyone
That Heaven maybe closer than the Sun
And even though our parents may not be here
When we take our last breath there is nothing to fear
Because what seems like a very dark day
Is really a small price to pay
So the next time you hear a familiar voice in your head
It could be your parents telling you they are not really dead
And I thank… GOD… I no longer have to write
Because my parents have finally found Peace in the Light
And some day when it’s my turn to go home
I will show my parents this poem
Joseph Adam Elward
Copyright © Joseph Elward | Year Posted 2010
I fear death, not quite death but yours, and not yours but mine
I guess I fear my death in being your survivor, but not quite
I fear grief, that it might consume me once more, but not mine
I guess it is your sorrow and despair at death that is drowning my life
I've been here before; I don't know how I survived or what inside me died
I had so many questions that she never answered; they never left, never died
So your gasping breath brings back my sorrow from that walled in stasis
I teeter on the rim of a well that reaches grief's bottom blackness, I lied
It is not your pain I fear, it's mine. I did not survive her deathbed
I never again lived. I died with her though peace I never found
I don't know if it was her death, my loss, hers, or the death cycle
But the air has stayed musty from graves while I pretended not to care
I don't know if I was there for her, or how she felt that last morning.
My memory lapses with that of the child I was then into dreams of gray
I don't know the pain of death, if it is worse to leave or know you are leaving
I don't know if she found peace or her heart broke for me or because of me.
Sorrow swells as the memories fade in, filling that well with blackness
I know that if I don't fall, it will rise up to suffocate me again
If I jump I will lose myself and never find you to say goodbye
My memory lapses, I think I jumped, did I tell her goodbye?
I fear my grief. Grief is all, nothing before or after exists.
I fear that grief will over shadow my mind and I won't be there
I fear that this sorrow will rob me of the words to say I love you
I fear despair will take my soul and this time I'll have nothing left of home.
How do I ask you to share this life with me when I don't know if I'll survive your death?
How do I ask you to live each day and don't let me run when I ran from her?
How do I ask you to believe in me and don't fear when I fear myself?
How do I ask you to comfort me when I'm too afraid to comfort you?
I never asked her to hold me again, to comfort, because she was the one dying.
What right do I have to ask the sick to comfort the healthy, the dead the living?
And how could I, being the first spirit to die, ask the ones who speak of life still
to comfort the shell I left behind while theirs decays before my eyes?
There are no comforts to sooth the guilt of living, but forgiveness will birth new life.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2010
Introduction: At some point of our lives, someone close to us departs off to the next
phase. We think of the good times and try not to think the bad; but sometimes it haunts us
back to how we responded in a naive way for our juvenile wishes. And sometimes we see them
in our dreams at the utmost optimism and glory. But the fact that we get to realize what
we did back then may have cherished and broken their souls in some ways, we always wonder
if we could alter the deeds that wounded their affection in our times of immaturity…And
pray that we get a second chance to do so for our next life. *the first two lines have some inspiration from another piece*
Even if our hearts were as strong as a storm, we’d still feel a little bit sad
Knowing that we’ve lost our grandfather, our friend, our dad.
For so many years, we’ve felt their presence
In so many ways, we’ve felt complete,
But truly, even if we deny – We sometimes skip a heartbeat.
Our lives are nothing but their memories and their art,
Orbiting us each day, reminding us of who we are
Where we stand and to whom we belong,
We pray and cry up oceans for them night after night
Praying to be together just one more time, in the worlds of light.
But yes you are so fortunate, that you got to leave,
You’ve made it to the greater step, I pray for us to meet.
May your soul be blessed and may it shine brighter than the sun, Again and again
‘I love you’ it’s not a lie, I may not have said it that much
But I hope you knew inside, even if I may have been unkind as such
Nothing is left for us to do but feel the tears stream down our eyes
For we, once in a while have broken their hearts with one or two lies,
Their face glows and vividly fades away from our dreams those nights
That’s when we fall, fall down to our knees, pray for we could have changed
The ways we reacted back in those days.
Thoughts of those moments, thoughts of their sorrow smile
Now makes us realize how we never cared,
For that to overcome, we treasure the good times we’ve shared,
The times we’ve heard them say “You’ve made me proud”
The times we’ve felt them lay their hands, oh so be crowned.
Their tender touch, their forgiveness
Their blessings for us and their happiness,
We pray to feel it all again
Bring it all again,
To the eternal life, after this time.
Copyright © Aqeb Be-Nazir Ibn Minar | Year Posted 2011
Nobody needs an elegy,
we want release;
grief that comes
through words and
the grit of teeth
to teach ourselves
to love the dead,
only holy deeds.
Rest in Peace.
Copyright © Ph.d Volo Von Wolfenstein | Year Posted 2012
—Memorial Day Elegy—
The grave site
where the men and women of patriotic spirit fought bravely
in the battlefield and fell for glory of the nation,
abandoned everything that they have, buried
at an age that is too young to die lie as headstones.
No matter with how many brilliantly shining medals
to decorate these warriors
and to honor them with all kinds of eulogies,
alas! sad as ever, they just stand there without a word
as the tombstones identical in size and shape.
The warriors were, though, not that strict
that evil must be paid with evil and good must treat with good,
held arms because the nation was attacked by the enemy,
and security was at stake;
to them, it doesn’t matter whether it is good or evil,
they have to restore this national emergency
with whatever means available.
The warriors, therefore, without the slightest hesitation,
dashed in the middle of the gun smoke and bullets,
into the battlefield where the cannonade tears the ears,
and blasting fires pierce the eyes.
who fought with every means to protect nation,
even traded their lives for nation’s security,
now stand there as the tombstones
with relief and great pride,
looking proudly at the fluttering nation’s flag,
that they protected with all that they have;
during the day
beckoning the passing clouds,
at the night
calling twinkling stars,
telling the stories of how gruesome was the battle
and how hard it was to fight.
Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015
My boy, a young lad, died fighting the Iraq war.
It could be any war, could be my son,
Your son or anyone's son, what does it matter?
All wars are same, all sons are same.
A lot of decorum, a lot many bravery medals
His name was in the newspapers-
Stop! Why can't everyone stop this superfluity?
I didn't ask for it! When did he ask for martyrdom?
Or for posthumous limelight?
Or a monument in the heart of the city?
Why build it? For your fame? Or his memory?
Nations, why can't your red hot coal hearts
Promote peace? My boy won't come on holidays-
He is on a perennial holiday!
He lies deep down in the earth to be smothered
By the cruel, cold stone erected above his uniform
And he, my son, in his uniform,
Fought to save some adamant men.
I lost my boy! Do you have memories
Of him laughing with his tilted head?
No one to feel my pain!
No one to see the pillow of my heart
Soaking in bloody tears when his bullet rid body
Was honoured and saluted!
Your war is over and my arms are empty.
I live in this empty house full of his photographs.
My bonnie gave your vengeance peace.
Your ego is fluttering in your triumphant flag.
You have won the war and I have lost the war!
October 25, 2015
Contest: Any Sad Poem
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Third-Promote peace not war
Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015
I know your pain
Although I don't know what's happening,
I can still feel the vain.
Seems like the beginning is the ending
One moment there's bliss
It feels much like a wet kiss.
But out of nowhere you see a mirror,
"It felt so real," as you stand there alone.
You try to make sense of it all;
Yet everything begins to fall.
"AHHHH!" you scream to the top of your lungs.
Your blue eyes are running waterfalls.
It hurts me to see a single tear,
You're not the only one to hide in the room.
Swallow your tears, don't let it drop,
A splash will only cause more bitter props.
But like I say,
Tomorrow will always bring another day.
So Faith, throw away your thorns,
anticipating a happy God-given next day.
Copyright © phillip chong | Year Posted 2008
Paris, Syria, the World at Large
Said the people punished by war,
"Boom! Boom! Boom!
The resounding tremors amplify the echo,
contribute to the constancy and duress.
Glued to the news,
what more can we do?
The good die.
The bad sometimes eradicated.
Every heart lights up with hate or compassion.
Extremism burns from both ends of the rope.
The ideology of faiths sing many tunes.
I am right, no!
No, I am right!
No one is ever wrong.
Corpses of both innocent and guilty
rot in the rubble of war.
We humans pursue the inner demons of anger,
to knowingly destroy the order of life.
A demented set of people we all are."
(Open our Hearts, Hug someone and say peace)
11/17/2013 © A. Juman The "said" Poet
Type In (A. Juman) For A relaxing and astonishing moment with all my POEMS
Copyright © A. Juman | Year Posted 2015
Do not grieve for my passing, for it was my time
For life is but the Lord's property, and now he has reclaimed mine
I regret leaving you here, though I've indeed been set free
But I could no longer ignore God's call for me
Though I went with Him, I made sure to take you along
And I left with you memories of times past but definitely not gone
I go home to my father in a place of peace
To be reunited with sisters and brothers, a whole line of family
Cry if you must, mourn if you may
But not over things you failed to say
Death is not eternity, it was a short bridge I had to cross
And though I have departed from this world, my life is not lost
I say farewell to you now, for it is a temporary goodbye
For one day you too will go where I now arrive
Someday in the future we will cross paths again
And together we will travel that long road, and there speak of the end
Copyright © Lakisha Williams | Year Posted 2008
We plant soldiers in the ground
To grow peace
Or so that’s what we’re told
Only the seeds of peace
That’s what i know
The lies and rhetoric of our politicians
Choke the roots of the truth
And over-water the brains of the politicians
Until they become soft blooming idiots
They say to die for one’s country is right
The only right is to live for peace
That’s what i know
Copyright © RUDOLPH RINALDI | Year Posted 2011
The shape I am
Whom you reflect upon me
And where we actually belong
In times of prejudice
In times of conflict
You exacerbate the lives we live
In demolition, you retrograde all
And in conclusion
You eradicate many.
You made me a Misanthrope
And everybody else
Where we hate
And distrust mankind
Of our own humanity
Sad, isn't it?
Copyright © Am Lee | Year Posted 2006
My masters never slight me,
They cared for me with glee,
For when they opened up their doors,
I was their appointee
Running through the grey-eyed dawn,
They watched me with their tea,
As dew bestrew the blades of grass,
And nestled by the trees
In times of bother, worry, or fret,
The swipe of my tongue easily offset
The anguish they held and meld it to joy;
“Pure-undefiled with base alloy”
Our bond eventually came to end,
As all must do, now and then
They sent me away where I am free-
For now I am, their absentee
This poem is written in a genre invented by Francois Caradec for the OULIPO. It was invented after Francois Le Lionnais, a founder of the group, wondered if it were possible to write poetry that has meaning for both humans and animals. Absentee is what Caradec called a 'Poem for a dog.' That is, in this poem the name of a dog will be audible - to the listener or dog - if the poem is said aloud, though the name is not legible. In Absentee, the poem was written for my grandmother's dog, Dobe, who passed away. Between the words 'dew' and 'bestrew', the name Dobe will be heard. (Pronounced 'Dew-BE').
The quote in stanza 3 is reference to Charlotte Bronte's piece, "The Wife's Will".
Copyright © Kurtis Collins | Year Posted 2017
Waiting on inspiration and wasting time.
Yet the search continues until I'm out of my mind.
Then there's the other side of the story that nobody wants to hear.
And faced with reality,I realize my greatest fear.
With my bloodline destroyed,there's nothing left.
I embrace the day when I'll take my finale breathe.
For the end to come,now I welcome the day.
Then take to the grave,all the things I never got to say.
On my way to a place,where I'll finally find peace.
Copyright © Clifton BEO | Year Posted 2008
My spirit walks the graveyard,
The music sickly sweet,
My tomb is coated with my shroud,
Folded so neat.
The flower of the mourners,
Left in the wind,
One stays dry and cold,
The Orchid , the flower of sin.
The sobering touch of autumn,
Sweeping my soul away,
The rain will soon pass,
All I pray is to stay.
Copyright © brandon molton | Year Posted 2005
The tomb is democratic,
humility in plenty it has,
hospitality is assured.
All types of people enter
and dwell with no visas,
no deportation is done
no tribalism in service
the noble last kingdom
It is best refugee camp,
best tourist destination,
the best for investment,
where taxes are not paid
corruption is unknown,
hurricanes cannot reach.
It’s a democracy built on
mutual trust of those
who were both teachable
Copyright © Solomon Ochwo-Oburu | Year Posted 2017
Many will ask the question why?
Many will weep for you have gone.
Many will try to hide the sorrow in side.
Many will share their thoughts and memories of you.
Many will come to see you one last time.
Trying to decipher why some one such as you must leave so soon.
So in our time of sorrow and grief let us cling to our faith.
For it is our faith in God that will carry us forward.
Also let us find joy in the knowledge that you now rest in haven.
Copyright © caroline mackey | Year Posted 2006
If from Up high, you feel, you're
falling like a leaf
Because of undue haste, that has
turned to grief
Or, a loved one's passing was much
Being that DEATH, in the night, came
like a thief
And, it does you, No justice, to buy a
Remember how, in time of TROUBLE,
Peace Is Our Relief
Copyright © Karin Edwards | Year Posted 2010
Wake up from your deep slumber,
my sleeping beauty.
How peaceful you look
with roses in your hands,
no longer suffering
no longer in pain,
laying there in your stillness.
Into the bright light of the tunnel,
to meet with your loved ones.
You shall travel beyond the stars,
to the highest power of your being.
I will think of you always,
you will never leave my mind.
The warmth of your love
will guide me to carry on,
in your memory.
Wake up from your deep slumber
my sleeping beauty,
no longer suffering
no longer in pain
laying in your stillness,
Copyright © Shelly Wiseberg | Year Posted 2007
Ashes in the faces of Africans
some blowing from hands
Lent is here with us as sure deal
Food is playing hide and seek
water lives underground
dustbins are empty
nocturnal animals share the fast
This is Lent without priests
no holy mass to be celebrated
no church-goers to be active
but all are in Lent times
Keep your fingers crossed
someone is to die on Holy Friday
he may not be Son of God
Messiah he may not be
A Jew he is not to be
but a man born among us
not the prince of peace
anointed by popular acclamation
blessed by the underworld
rejected by the skies
He will die on Cross of Gold
and will not rise on the third day
So the waiting continues
Copyright © Solomon Ochwo-Oburu | Year Posted 2017
Portugal in September.
Perfect translucent day and I can see the peculiar nature again,
as it is no longer a blur of glaring sunlight. It is like meeting
an old friend, one who was rumored to have died, in a country
I will not see again. Evergreens, carob and olive trees lost in
the mist of time, forever alone in the transience of seasons.
I also see glimpses of the sea it doesn’t interest me, not today
anyway, but I do notice it is deep blue and has white sails on.
On my scooter I drive across a narrow bridge they have been
working on so it can take heavy lorries, a road is being built
somewhere out of sight. Wish I were a painter, fair clouds on
azure sky, could be smoke signals sent by an Indian tribe yet
to be discovered, I see the past and future at the same time.
Bewildering, do I drive in a landscape of ancient dreams?
I better stop find at a café, drink a “Bica” (coffee) before I fade
into the mystery of nature and can’t find my way back home.
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2011