Please pick me up!
Never mind I'm gonna fall, anyways
Please show me how to tie my shoes and sing a song!
Don't worry mommy, I'll walk barefoot and teach myself one day
Please daddy show me how to ride my bike!
Never mind It takes up too much of your time
Mommy, please do not hit me again!
It's okay, I need to be taught a lesson
Cousin please do not touch!
Go ahead, they won't believe me anyway
Teacher, please defend me in school!
Never mind, my body is used to the abuse
Please don't tell me sleeping with you is the only way!
Okay, I need to be loved even if it's for one night
Please teach me how to raise a baby!
It's okay, I can't blame others for my mistake
Please don't get violent when you drink tonight!'
If it makes you feel better hit me,
I'll hide the bruise with makeup & tears
Please tell me that I'm beautiful!
Wait! Your right I'll never look like her!
Please someone call 911!
Never mind, it's only a broken bone
Officer, please don't take my husband?
Don't you know it was my fault, he loves me and won't hit me again
Please don't ask what happen to my face!
That's what I get for standing up and defending myself
Please God don't take my baby!
Go ahead and take her I don't deserve her
Please don't tell me your not in love with me!
I understand I'll never be worthy of your heart
Please don't walk away and break my heart!
It's okay, I never made progress or was good enough
Please someone help, I'm hurting inside!
Never mind my feelings don't count
Please God, can you hear me!
Please God, can you rescue me!
Please God, can you walk with me!
Please God, can you show me the way!
God- I was a baby, I was weak, and did not talk
God- you didn't protect me on my first fall
God- I was abandoned and neglected before I learned to crawl!
God- even you rejected all my prayers and call
I understand now I don't need nothing!
I don't need no one at ALL
So PLEASE, PLEASE leave me alone, behind these walls
Please! If you read this teach me how to smile
WAIT! Smiles don't come with self blame & guilt
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011
My favorite cousin named Marge
is almost as big as a barge.
So one would assume,
not knowing the groom,
the guy would most likely be large.
But he was a small man named Tim
“As thin as a broom” describes him.
While Marge would guffaw,
Tim would watch her with awe
and just smile for he was so prim!
When the preacher addressed him and said,
“You may now kiss the bride,” Tim turned red,
for their lips could not meet.
With high heels on her feet,
Marge stood towering over his head.
She leaned down while Tim stood on his toes,
but for being in such a strange pose,
Marge then came toppling down
crushing Tim neath her gown
while the whole church erupted in “Ohhhhh’s.”
All was well, and thereafter, we ate;
then we planned next to dance until late.
But none could foresee
the small tragedy
that had us all leaving by eight!
Marge had tossed off her heels for a glide
on the dance floor, but when they both tried
to dance, Tim got snagged
by that dang gown and dragged
as his bride was beginning to slide. . .
Now shoeless, poor Marge could not stop.
Toward a table with candles on top,
they slid, and the groom
then set fire to the room
by landing with a belly flop.
Poor Tim by the candles got lit,
and we were all having a fit,
for the fire got spread fast
till the Best Man at last
got us all wet extinguishing it!
Inspired by the title of the movie: My Big Fat Greek Wedding
& : Joann Grisetti's "My Cousin's Wedding" Poetry contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
The year 1890
Wounded Knee, South Dakota
My tribe lost their lives
The USS 7th
On their orders so
To round up the Sioux
Railroad herd them and go
Us Lakota were next
To disarm their request
But my cousin Black Coyote
At best he was deaf
Not hearing the orders
To lay down our guns
A chain reaction
Ensued on my tribal ones
Chaos and mayhem
Distressed our grounds
This proud nation
Men, women and children
For the white mans gain
To disrespect the fallen
Slows our souls to our gods
We were left in a blizzard
Hardened like logs
In three days we rose
Civilians did lift
And dumped us unceremoniously
In a hole in the drift
My corpse and my peoples
Stripped and robbed
As flakes of snow
Confirm our spirits have sobbed
As i am reborn again
In another country
It gives me the freedom
To look back and see
That December day in 1890
Gunning down innocent ones
Not so mighty
The Medal of Honor
In their distinguished past
The record still stands
On their chests they flash
But attitudes change
As two centuries pass
The Medal Of Honor
Has won back its class
No longer the weak
Gunned down by the strong
Its man against man
Sometimes they do wrong
So as i sit back in my adopted nation
Will i live again past this lives station
Writing the wrongs of modern man
This Lakota warrior who never ran
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
"Mi primo" means my cousin in Spanish.
He calls me his "primita"- little cousin.
This is the story of how mi primo
Taught me about the meaning of bread;
Of the meaning of tortillas...
He and I are exchanging languages
Over Dairy Queen chicken strips;
I repeat the words he teaches me
Back to him in my all-american
White girl accent,
Trying to learn how to Salsa
With a tongue that only knows
How to stumble over the trills
And rapid-fire hot-sauce syllables-
He makes me say them again and
Again until I sound like a distorted
Calle 13 track on repeat...
Mi primo offers me the bread
That came with his meal;
I ask him why he doesn't want it.
He says he doesn't eat bread;
He is Hispanic; he eats tortillas-
Do I know tortillas?-
He gestures, indicates the
Flat, full moon-shaped
Circle of a torilla with his hands.
Si, I know tortillas.
What I want to know is-
What the heck do tortillas have to do
With whether you eat bread or not?
So mi primo tells me una historia
About a guy he knows,
20-something and something else...
All his family came from Guatemala;
He was brought up going to a church
With a pastor that preached sermons
That trilled like heavenly trumpets;
He has skin that was colored warm
As if he had grown up kissed by
The sun of his family's homeland;
He knew how to speak English but
His mother tongue was always Spanish-
His cousins were his best friends
Because being "un Guate" means
Knowing the meaning of "la familia"...
He learned at age 21
That he was born in America.
Eagerly, he shed his Hispanicness like
A snake skin that had grown too tight,
Clutching at the revelation of his birthplace
Like a get-out-of-jail free card,
Hides the color of his face behind
The red, white, and blue of his
He doesn't go to church anymore,
Because American guys don't
Have time for God;
He buys big, fancy cars he doesn't have
A prayer of paying off because
American girls are supposed to like
That kind of thing;
He tries not to remember
The meaning of la familia...
And he always eats bread-
His tongue has suddenly turned
Too American to abide the taste,
The flatness, of las tortillas...
He is the reason that mi primo cannot
Abide the taste of bread, too thick
With the flavor of betrayed heritage
To sit easy in his stomach...
Mi primo offers me,
His little blonde all-American cousin,
The bread he doesn't want.
I wonder if one day he'll
Mean the word "primita" enough
To offer me a tortilla.
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014
My cousin shared her wishes and dreams,
On our star gazing night, she whispered them so sweet
As a shooting star glided down from the sky,
She said, I wish ….. I wish…. all I wish are these tonight
Someday, I will marry a smart, rich and handsome guy
And have a grandiose banquet on my nuptial rite
We’ll be dancing like a lovely prince and princess ,
With all my wedding sponsors on their best suits and dresses
All in pink ,that’s the motif I will surely request.
She kept into her dreams as several years passed by,
Still searching for her prince charming who’s hard to find
Unconsciously going beyond the age to give birth to a child,
In a hurry at age of seventy, she took a rich ninety years old guy.
The wedding was held after a day or two,
The guy seated on his wheelchair with rheumatism on his toe
She headed slowly at the alter to accept his shaking hands,
Two nurses followed, so with sponsors dressed up in printed brown.
The highlight of the wedding rite started at once,
They held tightly with a nebulizers on the other hands,
But the words of oath, they took time to pronounce
False teeth were both misplaced and nowhere to be found.
Reception followed grandiosely in the guy’s mansion,
I saw many old men and women still eager to dance on the floor,
With hunched back, shaking knees, they twisted rock and roll
Then, sweet music played and my cousin danced with her groom.
But, we all wondered how did he stand alone?
He’s so heavy , I knew my cousin couldn’t help him at all,
With our great surprise, his nurse was at his side like his crutch
Everyone thought , he’s really a smart guy! Was he not?
Then, everyone followed them so happily on the spacious hall,
And in trio, they held each other so tight and moved like a fool.
Written: Sept. 15, 2012
Contest: My Cousin's Wedding (funny poem)
Contest Judged: 9/30/2012
Poet Sponsor: Joann Grisetti
Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2012
When I was just a little girl
With mind as always, in a whirl
Me and my cousin, we would roam
Far, far away from my sweet home
We'd make our way to some rocks we knew
All covered by green moss, we two
Oh it was such a magic place
And left huge smiles upon my face
To us it was a fairyland
With imagination vast and grand
We both saw fairies, little elves too
Dancing daintily as they do
When that time came, we had to leave
Both our little hearts would grieve
We'd leave that haven, her and me
Our minds brim filled with memories
So we went back to normalcy
And though it made us both unhappy
We knew that soon we'd go back there
And see those we folk everywhere
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014
Listen to poem:
So happy is a home where cousins meet;
their smiles and laughter make us feel upbeat,
while aunts and uncles know that life's complete
to watch their children share their love so sweet.
Like brothers, sisters, cousins are so neat;
they play for hours and later they retreat
to their own homes, but know they will repeat
that special time again when cousins meet.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Personal Memories Monorhyme II
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Photo #2, My Niece, and Nephews
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
If I ruled the world,
I'd round up all the men.
Send them to Afghanistan,
...And nuke the place again,
I'd collect and burn,
All the world's monies
And make sex slaves,
Of all the honeys
I would kill all the ugly ones
Well save one or two
So when I'm drunk I'll say
'Shit you look good to scr3w'
I suppose you wanted everyone,
To live in peace on the earth?
But believe me, if I ruled
That would be all a myth
But I'm sure after fifty years
Of all that sex slaving
Everyone will be related
And there would be no misbehaving
Because I will make sure
Brother does not kill brother
And to women, the children
Will call all of them mother
To me, you guessed it
They will call me father
So I don't need riches or power
Or greed, just lust
I don't need gold or diamonds
Only women with a 42DD bust.......
**Requested by my Cousin Michelle**
Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Year Posted 2010
It was really a simple thing
Four chains holding a large plank
Suspended from the ceiling
A big blue swing
Summer at its peak
Heat touching 45 degrees
Cousins all crammed up
On a large blue swing
Listening to granny’s stories
The distant fan slowly whirring
Laughing and giggling at nothing
On a large blue swing
Plate in hand my brother would sit at its end
Pretending to drive an airplane
Never knew planes did not have steering
On the large blue swing
Sometimes when no one was around
I’d sit on it with outstretched hands
Barely touching both its ends yet feeling like a queen
On a large blue swing
With my favourite cousin sometimes I’d sit
Munching hot salted peanuts
Pouring out our deepest secrets
On a large blue swing
At noon in granny’s lap I’d lie
And listen to her lullaby
Soon asleep, without a worry in life
On a large blue swing
Like the swing her hopes never ran high
She spoke to me of days gone by
Looking beautiful, despite a toothless smile
On a large blue swing.
Today it is no more there
With grandma it slowly passed away
But memories still remain
On the large blue swing.
Copyright © Afroze Ali | Year Posted 2011
War is such an awful thing,
insanity can sometimes bring,
like my cousin the zippo man,
who burnt the huts the squealing and,
came home and shot himself...
poor John was damned...by Vietnam.
sad and true and tears the heart,
war is deadly, the aching part,
they go away, do not return,
just leave living heartache burns,
no delight...Don Johnson
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
Today I did stab,
an eraser so white, pure,
it did bleed blue ink.
Copyright © Jackson LaBaugh | Year Posted 2016
It's used as an afterthought, fattening festive
arrangements for Mother's Day, Easter,
someone's birthday. An underrated vine,
enhancing center-stage flowers whose star-power
doesn't wear well. It's the "coming attraction"
that's there after the clapping dies down,
replanted by doorstep or gravestone. "Grow,"
I say, "Change my life with your traveling beauty,
your common denominator, your scrawling
signature seldom sought for autographs.
Snaking around graves at our family plot,
it's an ongoing gift, out-giving the giver
with its "overwhelming darkness", reminding us
where there is life, there is also death. Surviving,
thriving in hanging pots the less hardy exit,
it surprises and delights, reaching down from limbs
of trees for soil, unchallenged there in pine straw
until tender tendrils insinuate their way
to daylight through tapestries of needles
When the ivy becomes dense, I will know
you are there: ivy of my heart, ivy of essence,
the graceful way it swings and sways, how
it takes to new habitat in the way you, Julie,
cut a swath through New York City after lifetimes
in the easy South. We are old souls, older
than the hedera, cousin to ginseng, reminder
of the movement of the heavens, the ability
to bring things together. You were shelter,
the poets' headpiece, bringing peace
to my household. Resurrection and rebirth,
Julie, in this Easter of ivy.
Copyright © Nola Perez | Year Posted 2009
Her face may be different
But her feelings the same
She laughs and she cries
And takes pride in her gains
She was sent here among us to teach us to love
As God in the heavens looks down from above
To him she's no different
His love knows no bounds
It's those here among us in cities and towns
That judge her by standard that man has imparted
But this family she's chosen will help her get started
For she's one of the children so special and few
That came here to learn the same lessons as you
That love is acceptance it must come from the heart
We all have the same purpose though not the same start
The Lord gave her life to live and embrace
And she'll do it as we do but at her own pace.
Copyright © Mackenzi Jones | Year Posted 2015
In 98 I was free again,
Thanks to wife stealing cousin Wayne.
At work the boss was an older chick,
Who moved on me, so very quick.
Though I had found other ladies great,
And was a dating several called mate,
Two ladies were there at work,
One married chick, who called me jerk.
It was hard to concentrate.
The Cougar kept me back one night,
Seduced me once, and it was nice.
Until I spoke of other girls,
Venom surfaced, plates were hurled,
What would be your advice.
Woman scorned, she did her best,
To move me on, till I had left,
No longer even Cougar blest.
Moved on to new horizons.
A History Of One Day Poetry Contest
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
R.I.P to the big cuz drew… Never did I think I would ever loose you…. Not this early in life…. I would do anything
to have you in my sight…. Them guys that did that stuff just aint right…. I mean they had me up crying…. They
had to be lying…. Its too soon for you to be up in the sky flying… I look to clouds up above… Wishing I can give
you one more hug… Push and shove… Never let you go… Cause I love you cousin just had to let you no….
Copyright © Eleanor Sweet | Year Posted 2010
A cousin called the other day saying "Another cousin has passed away".
Well my husband said "How old was she.""
A stalwart woman who had served family and community well. Producing one child that
became a missionary serving in a foreign land..
While talking the cousin asked "Did you know ______"?
My husband answered, "Well, I don't think that I knew them".
The cousin proceeded to tale this story.
"The man had been down with cancer for a while and passed recently..The funeral had been
conducted and the hearse had gone on to the cemetary..The family car with the family was
not to far behind..But when it pulled up, the wife of the deceased did not get out and the
funeral home staff was gathering around..The funeral home director decided to go see what
was going on ...."
The cousin said, " That this funeral home director told him". "That he had been in this
business for thirty-five years and faced something that he had never had happen to him or
any other funeral home director that he knew."
The funeral home director said, "When I got to the family car, I found the wife of the
deceased had passed from a massive corornary."
She had said, "I don't know how I will live without him." She didn't have to learn. God called
The roosters crow, the crows craw and are answered by the gobble of the turkey across the
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
I wrote a letter to Lisa
And sent it above.
It starts out "Dear Lisa"
and ends with "All my love"
I asked dear Lisa, are you happy
and where did you go?
Do you know how your missed
and if yes, how so?
I told dear Lisa that I look for her
in any mystical way.
I asked to see her pretty face
at night when I pause to pray.
I asked dear Lisa, is it you who talks
to me in my dreams at night?
And when looking above on a dark sky,
is it your star that so bright?
I told dear Lisa of how her mother
still cries with such grief.
And how on a sad day the pennies
she leaves gives comforting relief.
I reminded dear Lisa our last words
will lay heavy on my mind.
And how when younger we had a cousin
relationship like no other kind.
I told dear Lisa my memories of her
are happy and so very gay.
As children we would laugh, sing
and for hours we did play.
As we grew older
our lives did drift apart.
But my dear Lisa
you never left my heart.
I had one last question for dear Lisa,
Do you sing with angels?
Did Jesus take you by the hand?
Did he lead you to heaven
to be with him in the holy land?
When folding my letter
the tears sting my face with pain.
It was then I heard a slight whisper
Tammy, we will be together again.
Copyright © Tammy McCown | Year Posted 2016
Staring, vapor locked, at my Hammond B-3 console organ, which dominates my
kitchen. Surely a symbol of my madness. I can't help, but think, if the keys were
the days of my life, and the black ones represented the bad days, are there
enough black keys?? Fighting petulance, self-pity...losing...
Wondering if I can stand another minute alone. Atop my organ, music books,
and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, another mad poet.
Plagued by physical agonies that merely complete a perfect circle of anguish
and distress. Even to worrying of misspelling a word again. Pure lunacy.
Remembrance of my 1863 death at Missionary Ridge, something I became
aware of as a young child before I'd ever heard of reincarnation. Or just an early
sign of the madness to come??
I am lost in a befouling miasma of deep despair. My life's hopes down to 2
desires; one last music band, and taking my son to Disneyworld. Money is
meaningless to me.
I am well aware that death is as natural as life. And I would venture to guess
that the loss of my father, my young cousin Billy, my dear friend Mark Trotiner, and
too many others, are "Business As Usual" in this universe. But not for me.
Being terminally ill myself is something I have long since come to terms with.
And what a reunion it will be!! But I must continue to go on surviving as though I
cherish this long and barren life.
My writing, especially my poetry, my poet friends, my music, my musician
friends, and a few relatives and others; these are the meds that work for me; not
the 30 or so pills I must deal with everyday. So thank you all.
And now an addendum, one which brightened my day:
Mark Trotiner long maintained that he gave Mark Knoffler (Dire Straights) the
idea for his hit song "Money For Nothing", when Mark Knoffler came into the
appliance chain store he worked in way back then, where he bought, and drove
off with several T.V.s, singing the prototype words he'd gotten from Mark Trotiner.
Over the years, I tested him repeatedly, looking for the tale-tell deviation in the
story one finds in a false tale. He never faltered, he never failed.
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
My grapefruit tanned
the five-day flattened
in an olive shag carpet
tracing grandpa Leo's
with one encapsulated
this is the femur, this is
this is the fist, the ring
finger, the soul.
I search for any blunt
white quivering slivers
of Caroline's purported
Huddling behind the
of an old hospital bed,
a framed photo
smoke browned and
wearing my toddler face,
his children choke
this will be yours, my
plate, separate the
an enigmatic language
that hovers in
smoke stretched rings
upon the hallway
I am left
the ceramic cygnet,
and an ivory carved
from his porcelain
that I decipher
through dust fingerprints
one small inheritance of
to his bibelots,
the olive shag carpet,
even cousin Amy's
who was accidentally
left to pasture on an
A silver plated glass cage
image of her past,
she says she will whittle
all of him,
Copyright © Jennifer Brooks | Year Posted 2006
A long, loving hug from a cousin
Is worth more than hours of hired therapy.
Copyright © Anita Harris | Year Posted 2017
She is very special
I had never had such a great cousin before
Oh this cousin I know is special to me
I love you Brandy
Copyright © Mellissa Brady | Year Posted 2013
Behind these gates lay quite the scene
So very surreal, yet not a dream
Beautiful headstones, manicured lawns
My God the memories this place spawns
The winding road, first turn to the right
Back to the beginning of my plight
Stopping next to the second trail
My heart and head pound like hell
On the left eleven headstones away
Like a movie my memory starts to play
People gathered from all around
My mother knew everyone in town
At the time I was still unable to speak
My shattered psyche was far too weak
I stood there broken and full of fear
Ashamed I could shed not a single tear
Ashamed I could speak not a single word
Inside my head so many voices heard
What did those voices have too say
That’s another story for another day
Those gates now hold so many I love
Everyone I once held above
Last time I entered them I was 32
Even though those gates hold all of you
Next month I’ll go back and explain why
Tell my mother the reason I couldn’t cry
Apologize to her for being broken
Leave flowers, a poem, and my N.A. token
That way she will know without any doubt
What her little boy ended up being all about
That her little boy is not broken anymore
Overcoming adversity is what adversity is for
And one day when I’ve completed my fate
I’ll be looking for her, “Beyond the Gate”
The Shafter, California cemetery holds my mother, Grandparents, my cousin James and many
close friends. The last time I visited them was approx. 18 years ago. It’s very strange
that I received, “Beyond the Gates” as my topic, because; I’ve been planning this trip for
months now. If not for that fact I would have most likely written this poem about prison
gates. I reckon all things happen for a reason. Thank you Constance writing this poem has
given me strength to help me do what I plan to do. Go make amends to the person who gave
me life and taught me the things, which stuck with me through it all. My Grandparents
never lost hope in me and always said, "One day Mikey will remember the things we taught
him and return to the Lord." I think they will be proud of the man who comes to visit them
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010
my awesome cousin
she is always kind to me
she likes ghost
and i do to
my awesome cousin
she is happy to me
she lets me know
that i'm OK
she lets me have fun
my awesome cousin
Copyright © Mellissa Brady | Year Posted 2013
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Tibetan monks share colorful lore
Taking wide-eyed listeners from a valley floor
To peaks in the sentinel Himalayas
So how could such holy men’s tales betray us
A dark, furry creature’s outline has been seen
Startling climbers on mountains so serene
Leaving bipedal footprints on pristine snow
Stumping searchers who try to learn where they go
Yeti, the not-so-abominable snowman
Much maligned being of God’s creative plan
Never attacks, just appears and quickly flees
Allowing sighters to suspect what they please
Howling in the pain of loss from lofty peaks
Perhaps for a missing cousin Yeti seeks
One who traversed a lost land bridge from Asia
Then made his way south from the Arctic Tundra
To explore lush forests now U.S. Northwest
Where for centuries Bigfoot has done his best
To elude capture by settlers and hunters
And scoff at ever-hopeful photographers
Publicized encounters still boggle the brain
But only footprints, blurry photos remain
Of man’s intriguing, unevolved ancestors
Scientists think they’re human predecessors
Far smarter than we, they blend in with nature
Appearing now and then in the newspaper
But their imprints on Earth have been minimal
Never chopping trees or scarring a pinnacle
They’ve reason to hide from one who pollutes
One who doesn’t reason, but only shoots
Perhaps these “beasts” we should emulate
Learn from our ancestors before it’s too late
*Entry for Joyce's "The Rhyming Game" contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2012