"ably" poems
Sly, shy shadow,
capturing attention,
photons fail,
within delicious
dimension.
Indicating ably,
though quite indirectly,
amply, firmly, softly,
lovely, young fecundity
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Eyes chanced upon a brown object
Nestled on a crowd of multi-colored subjects
A bunch of dried and fresh leaves,
Small, thin and soft spikes of twigs
And I wondered.....how on earth
Did fibers and strips of polyester sack
Get included in this mix?
One would think it might fall, and be slung
But it stayed put, steady, where it hang
I was trying to figure it out:
A cylnder, at first thought...but I had my doubts
I realized, it was a crooked oblong
And, from its opening on one side, came the soft songs
A small part of which, was attached
To the thorny Bougainvillea branch.
Strange.....for it was small...yet steep
A human hand could never go deep
You wouldn't think it could contain anything
And yet...inside it, were resting
Three tiny eggs...warming
And eventually, would be hatching.
Soon, the Red Palm and Sweetsop trees
Buzzed with activities
Birds of many kinds, watched, upon the bay window eave,
High on the electric cables...they perched and wouldn't leave
To and fro.......high and low, they flew
The air was filled with bird sounds i never knew
Soon, too, soft tweeting was heard
Along with the louder chirping of the older birds
Then came that morning, when, a birdling,
Eagerly, tested its wings,
Then fell off its nest
Down to the roots of the Red Palm tree
Where it almost met its final rest...
Suddenly, came to the rescue, two big palms
That put the birdling back inside its home
And reinforced the nearly displaced nest...
Both birdling and nest, were put to a test....
Today, other birds fly around this once busy space
Where life's significant phases
Inevitably took place,
Lonely and deserted now,
For the birdlings are fully grown
They're now flying on their own...
From my rocking chair, I could see
Among those entangled twigs
Hidden among a crowd of sprigs
Still ably rests
An abandoned strange nest
That once told the story
Of an Olive-backed sunbird....and its glory...
Sally
Copyright February 18, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
^^^^^^^^^^
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
I was tripping, tripping
Over to Vietnam
Their hands were ripping, slipping
In hot blood
While I asked how many people they've shot
How many kids?
How many villages burnt with a fire so hot
So cold, the beers cracked open
Sweating like the citizens trying to stay alive
Rage trapped in their heart-like pig pens
I was told to take pictures
Told to record every explanation
Every lieutenant major gave a lecture
As calves were sewn to thighs
Thighs sewn, stitched
The thighs piled high
In buckets of ****** ice
I might have a son
I visited a madam
Down in la Drang Valley
Should've kept it in my pants
Now my sons running naked
Through streets paved in fresh blood
Pros ably pushing drugs or kidnapping women
Selling women
Because his mother was sold to me
In Vietnam
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
*why do people always pain themselves to write as if they could ever be understood, when so few read them, and even a fewer number care to understand? and why do so many ably bodied ******* themselves with writing? why have they lost the taste for fresh air and instead chose a wheelchair that writing is?*
in legal terms - are you implying a play on synonyms or
just simply stating: d'uh, i don't know what
that means? ah, a limitation on the vocabulary,
an atypical symptom of lawyers - when socrates attacked
eloquence per se, he also defeated himself
by ensuring law abided by the law of highest eloquence,
and the rabble got diddly-squat, his attack on rhetoricians
lost the prowess of attracting debased educators
with himself the most debased educator:
and instead attracted lawyers... thus the law of the eloquent,
rather than the rubric of the least eloquent...
lost an eye for an eye, lost a mouth with it too...
i rather be fed eloquence and education
and coarseness to equally educate
than be fed a justice fed by eloquence alone,
because if this is to be the equilibrating case,
then serving justice will just be a case of speaking
in a satin tongue of readied rhetoric
as justice so called,
and when speaking in a coarse tongue
no justice will be made applicable...
i rather be educated by someone in a coarse tongue
than be brought to justice by someone in an eloquent tongue,
i rather not be educated by someone in an eloquent tongue /
i rather be brought to justice by someone in a coarse tongue
(the mob),
at least the coarse tongue is well equipped to
address the many who require educating,
unlike the eloquent tongue equipped to
address itself and itself alone, rather than addressing
the jury who blindly pass judgement, because
the lawyer's tongue is not in the mouth of the defendant
but in the lawyer's mirror of social strata of respectability
appearing so guiding, kindly tying a bow-tie of applause.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
cha-ris-ma
/kəˈrizmə/
Compelling charm that can inspire devotion in others
Can you imagine?
Being so fluent with your words, so ably presentable that you could encourage and influence people to take action?
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
ᚠ Φ
F
Θ ᚦ
no explanations
exist within a geometry outside
the circle, only architecture, sole,
yet the sole geometry of architecture
is an encircling, a lifting,
and had i wrote my poetry
in the comfort of rising beyond Marx
is socio-political schematic i would,
but i rather talk to scaffolders than to poets,
i'd rip my heart through enough thin
veil to prove it so that i shared an entombing of lips
wholly bodied with one! i rather!
care for this ******* Parisian princess
in your divorce as best you can...
i kept a cat for seven years before my neighbour
decided it was time to ***** affection
to an animal neither tilling for ably feeding
to instead choose his daughter as my wife:
i rejected feeling no compass of conversation...
the cat died, i went into the graveyard and dug
a gravestone out and buried my cat in
the moonlight: don't ever come across me and my pet!
you killed half the intelligence that was me!
**** you! humanity engaging with humanity
it plagiarises as itself an ownership to suit puppet
strings like it might tailoring,
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POST COLONIAL NATIONS SEEK NEW *******
TO CRAFT THE LOST COTTON BUDS INTO
GRANULE CEMENT SET! POLAND ******
EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
MAMA RUSSIA! PAPA PRUSSIA! HOSANNA! HOSANNA!
LAUREL LEAFS AS I SAT ON THEM! THE CROWN
OF KING TU-154...
ROMANIA DONKEY DON QUIXOTE!
WHOOP WHOOP! WHOOP WHOOP GREK IZLAND
CORFU! then the postman comes with my jealousy
as within reach of hope to attain old age...
(snigger)... i hope i don't... i want million
dollar baby's truth to wake me.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
*children the happy idiots, secondary children doubly idiotic thinking of love idealising via Darwinism, must be a toast... well surrender you and i, i'd too be ably nimble, but i got Mandela on my back quacking: you?! what the **** yeah, they said till the field and laugh and pretend. brain dead you ***** BRAIN... DEAD! they didn't hear you, they're english, try Celtic.. Brie anomaly of Normandy... nothing... what about egyptian? sha shoo shisha collar coo coo? hey... that works, lets give the flapping owl a cuneiform signature worth a sunset!*
love it,
slightly drunk,
got a bottle of whiskey ready,
cried listening to a horror film
soundtrack, got over 200 reads on a poem
of mine,
got hooked on a pope song
from the early millennials,
when i was a teen hammering leftover
refrigerators on the sly with a tourist
as a party was taking place,
and the un-lived the happily ever after
with the suicide of the Grimm brothers
for subsequent pressures that demanded
attentive dissatisfaction marginalised
into concrete paragraphs sentenced for a grade
for a furthering from schooled to schooling.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:57 PM UTC
Due, the times
Arrival of a concerted friend
At the designated since, the basis of every crime
To be, a whole salvation of what ends
Keep, the times
Rue and divulgence to a rapid and just
Merit, the coping suggestion of what ides
Were, the note of atonement in fair, if not ought's must
Solemn, the times
Strange horizon's with a calling
Ably, the needs of another, shied
And true, sigh of curiosity, that has seen falling
Adage, the times
Sworn to better kind
Turns of repose, have the sense to shine
Well and could, the very order of what mind
Secret, the times
May to fore, the airing, a league with might
To know a callous sorts of claim, the history of why
We are that we are, the other side of what mercy might
Stars, the time
Worth neither whether willing nor would
Comparison needs the let, the better in a wishful lime
Tow and certainty to hold, a portrayal of hosts who could...
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 12:27 PM UTC
the heart
cannot repair
the heart
in much despair
the heart
missing these pair
the heart
feels the unfair
exiled from the venue
our writing brothers
their words expelled
by unseen smothers
swift the extradition
of a movement quick
the removal done
with a rapidness of click
no more seeing the
works they did ably create
our kinsmen vanishing
off the forum's slate
the heart languishing
without our kindred
being around
the heart so dispirited
their expression fell
silent of sound
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
.
War. Famine.
Pestilence. Death.
Enjoy a game of poker.
It relieves the boredom.
They only have one Big project
booked into the work diary.
The horses are stabled,
so why not have down time?
The day-to-day business
takes care of itself.
Ably supervised by the humans
in a race to the Big day.
The stillness is penetrated by sound.
Death cleaning his teeth
with his reaping scythe or
Death sharpening his reaping scythe
on his teeth.
Either way, it shattered vertebrae.
His nerves were getting twitchy.
Three Kings, the Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Royals were dropping like flies.
It was going to be a busy night.
He met Wars eyes and her bet,
**** She looks beautiful sweating),
paid an advance and called.
Uncharacteristically delicate,
he lay down his souls.
Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Kings of Diamonds, Spades and Hearts.
War smiled sweetly.
Her dirk-like eyelashes
fluttering an assassins dance.
Letting her cards fall soft,
triumphant with winners ecstasy,
she declares her hand...
… “SNAP!” she says.
© Pagan Paul (14/03/17)
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
I'm not like you
I think outside the box
Just a little different
I'm not lost
Outsider,--
Looking in, has its cost
Has its benefits
In my opinion
I would have my store open on Sunday
I'm sorry I just like to profit
Don't look down on me
You're not any better using Downy
I think Tide does a hell of a job
We'll all soon get swept by the ocean currents prob--
--ably
So don't dimiss your ideas because they're different
But embrace it because it's brilliant
And magnificent
All those haters are insignificant
Don't let them steal your shine
Rise above and realize
How much better you are without them ..
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
Thieves, thieves.
Christ are we petty.
Could not have imagined
such a death
Such a short-sited
venomous slip of the mind
such a death-toll...
so unpredicted-ably sad to see
A mighty species
Die.
That's the fate of the fate-less, I guess
Our gods were a faceless
Mass
of derangement
Massive enough to take us to space.
What we've plucked from out of our souls
We can never replace
Such as it is, we have no chance
Put to death.
****** and detached.
That's how it ends
--surrounded.
We write out
these sorrows
that aren't really sorrows
and
Pin the tasteless love to our chests
Oratorical shit-hoarding
Trade-card victims
with no actual dignity left.
How embarrassing..
the glory of man-kind
To face a demise,
so mundane.
Forsaken by lies.
Our souls have been neutered and
Turned into tools for
Violently-popular
Prostitution-alized fools
Love for the luscious
the rush of the snarling
Hysterical rousings of
Tumultuous twerps.
This is the way that history ends.
Resting in our dreams.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
an Overweight Adolescent
who is unhappy with his physique
an Overjoyed Adorable kid
with a red hat on his head
an Over Aggressive tiger
screeching over his prey
Over All i just want to sleep
Over Abashed by mistakes
Over Ably worker
who forgot to pray
Over All i just want to eat
Overdose Admiration
from someone you even hate
Overflowing Absences
in my subject that i hate
Over All i just want some sweets
Over Age, Over Awed, Over Arm
Over All
I'm just exaggerating my Actions
for you to
pay Attention!!!
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
you will never hear
a thumping drum of
a Kafkaesque mea culpa
of the first fist clenched
drumming against the chest...
thum' thum' thump,
boom boom, boom boom,
given that my index finger
on my right hand was dislodged
in order that i might not clench it
into a fist,
given the strong hand it once was,
given that,
i'd still gladly if not
ably punch you dead - indeed should
it take another dislocation i would see it:
a face ably punched dead, nonetheless...
question is, would i take more pleasure
anally defacing it rather than punching it?
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
illusions abound
what's not an illusion?
is all in life an illusion?
is life really nothing
but a man sitting at a computer
typing his existence into existence?
could he type himself into
whatever existence he wanted?
could he dare to type
the thing he feared the most?
the lack of existence?
and whether such a state
was type-ably reachable?
he wouldn't dare
the sentence would elude him
but it would gnaw at his mind
it would sit and wait
and then jump out
and try to be typed
but the man wouldn't let it
like a caged bird
a self-destructive bird
one who literally would vanish
if it flew from the cage
if that bird knew its potential fate
would it still want out?
would the caged bird still sing
if it knew what awaited outside?
not just doom
but complete annihilation
SHOULD the caged bird still sing?
should it accept its fate?
should it reject its fate
and try to escape?
what would the caged bird do?
what should the caged bird do?
and if the caged bird is nothing
but a part of the man
should the man listen
to the caged bird at all?
what about the other thoughts?
the thoughts like cheetahs
sprinting through savannahs
like dolphins
leaping from the sea
like digital aliens
quantum leaping across the universe
more free
than that bird
could ever hope to be
should those thoughts have more say?
or should the caged bird win out?
will the caged bird win out
if it's such a strong willed beast
telling that man to try
to be bold
to type that sentence
into existence
(or non-existence)
just to see what happens
the heart would speed up
man's heart does speed up
the thought would jump forward
man's thought does jump forward
the fingers would begin
a slow deliberate march
across the keys
man's fingers begin to march
the breath catches
the bird sings
the cheetah halts
the dolphin floats
the aliens know
and yet they watch
all stops
all waits
the fingers tapping at the keyboard
now the arena of the whole universe
as the man types
one key at a time
as he's always typed his existence
INTO existence
and wondered
if he could type his existence
OU
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 5:09 PM UTC
He would file the edges of glasses down
Whenever one would chip
And I would find them,
Rough rimmed
Ragged edges ground
And always where my lips would rest.
I don’t know why it annoyed me so.
Perhaps because I hated the imperfection so badly
But the dishes too, he began to glue those
When broken and that was too much.
Cup handles superglued and breaking just
As I lifted the hot liquid for a sip
Lead crystal port decanters with the
Elegant stoppers mended
And sitting cockeyed on top
Daring me to lift it and then
Only to break over and over
And him,
trying to fix it
again and again and again.
I found myself deliberately smashing things
Down when chipped, or flawed
Throwing them on anything hard.
The backyard patio became my favorite
Breaking point.
I couldn’t stop.
although I cut my feet and knees
While creeping through the yard
barefoot
Weeping.
I hid the adhesive.
Just so he couldn’t try to mend things one
More
time.
I severed the cord on the grinding wheel
And found myself examining anything
fragile with a keen eye=
Sometimes a magnifying glass.
Searching for any imperfection that might prove
A flaw capable of breaking.
And in the end
it seemed to me
That nothing,
nothing could leave this house
Until finally,
eternally,
unfix ably broken
or crushed into pieces.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
Ably, a convenient door
Caution, I would esteem's vain
Let with poorer light, a certain valor
Has taken me, for a fate that prayed...
Sweet order
To a life, so lived
So sent to wishes, foreign?
In the name of love, given
But persuasion remains
Sour reasons, with a tongue
Let in certain light anew, the stains
Of lucre's rhetoric, has a voice that won
Hatred, for a kiss
Somehow profound
Somehow blood, is our only wish?
Breaking a promise, sympathy allowed
A welcome turn of chaste
Into a fate of simple regrets
Made well, and in need, haste
That stole life's reasons, where we never met...?
Jun 12, 2024
Jun 12, 2024 at 9:34 PM UTC
JUST BECAUE IT IS ALL HOPELESS
doesn't mean a thing
we are not
trying to win
we are not trying
to stay sane
we are only here
"to see"
to see eachother for free
to see eachother and make love
in the same ole way
JUST BECAUSE WE ALL ARE HELPLESS
doesn't mean a thing
i don't need no help at all
i know the most important thing
which is that you all are lovely
so love-ably lovely
oh so lovely
so very very lovely
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 4:41 PM UTC
My chest is heavy
like there is a burden that I carry
so I feel a bit weary
and my eyes are a little bit teary
But I needed to be strong
To cry I felt was wrong
Instead I just sang a song
To forget the pain I've endured for so long
But what I didn't knew back then
For every single time when
I held back the tears I should have cried
by those tears my heart was drowned and died
for every tear that didn't fell on my cheeks
accumulates on my thoracic cavity, where my heart is
For every "I'm okay" lie, done by my lips
locks my heart deep into the abyss
In that abyss
filled with every tear I wasn't ably to cry
I drowned my own heart.
It was I who killed it,
It was I who made it die.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
responsum ego: inviso alibi.
monotheism doesn't work
based on one principle:
(one man cannot provide all the answers
given so many people are left
questioned, and in their questioning
cannot resolve a single answer,
let alone provide a single satisfying question) -
*uno **** non sufficio omni responsum* -
the remnants of monotheism are imbued
with monarchy, and it's so called
export-worthy status,
first the western powers export monarchy,
then they export the deposing power,
the monarch soon to be the despot
deposed by democracy... shambles...
one man cannot suffice all answers,
even the jews endear history for moses' kindred
with themselves as moses a non-jew,
40 years in the desert ably limbed is too
much hence their eager glorification of the crucifixion,
less a distance travelled they say, they say,
cousins of arabs and arabs joking
originating from the yoke womb of abraham's concubine...
*uno **** non sufficio omni responsum vel quaesitio*.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
It started with a few strokes,
a pointed charcoal,
pulsed...led by the
thumb and index finger, that
initiated a sway of arcs, the contours
of boyish hair, clinging to the nape
a few short strands on a not so wide
forehead,
very near...........a pair of
not so bushy eyebrows, under which
stared...peeping, smiling
almond-shaped, brown eyes.
then...followed gentle strokes
of perfect highs and lows
of a
medium-bridged
nose.
:::::
hills, valleys, and softened arcs
shaped and manifested character-
high cheekbones....a pointed,
but softened chin,
suddenly, i was
looking at
sensual,
full, pouting,
luscious lips.
:::::
index finger covered tip, to help
define jaws....then slid down lower,
a slick,
slender
neck
appeared,
propped up by
a shallow clavicle
and gently shaped shoulders,
that fool judging eyes and minds
they seem small, and weak
and fragile, but, they can carry
tons of worries...determinedly.
:::::
fingers angled, pencil tip slowly
danced...in careful strokes,
and curved lines,
artfully creating
a valley,
'tween two heavenly mountains,
with pinkish brown crowns
conspicuously tensed at the tops...
pencil moved decidedly....so sure...but,
slow in shaping waist...then curved
on rounded hips..sliding inwards
to the front.....to a central point,
essential, fundamental, umbilical.
its surroundings raised, as if to protect
a knotted cord...filled with stories...closed,
atop a slightly fleshy belly...
from there, a short distance downward,
led to a hidden flower
the reason...a cradle...a port,
covered by a triangular shield,
squeezed in between
chubby thighs and legs.
:::::
lines went lower, narrower...
shaped a pair of fair feet,
with painted toes
ably supporting
a bare maiden
::::::::::::
wonderfully
sketched,
:::::::::
in
deep
charcoal.
:::::
Sally
Copyright July 30, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
most days i'm thinking:
thank god i didn't give you a smile;
for all the love that abounds and binds man,
thank god mine was not translated into a failure
of dis-encouraged children not achieving
a higher ideal; leave me dreaming,
and you too left the happiest
ably resourceful
in me minding the outer
so-called existential suburbia;
i know, the english vocabulary
does not like the ponce of philosophical
involvement... it doesn't even like
the word as such... it prefers:
manager of deleted files,
safety manager of hammers,
contract supervisor of termites,
you know... all the Monty Python ha ha,
goose strut ha ha (funny walk ministry);
very debasing contrasts of
"real" jobs not being kindred of coal-miners...
no real jobs in the office, although
sold as such they are considered "real",
to get to grips with
underused triceps
and quasi-haemarrhoids of sitting
on your *** all day playing candy crush
sh'aga... or some ****
about the Shanghai stock-market
creating a booming Hong Kong
housing experiment of noodle lovers
ready for some artificial intelligence *****
chat; hey, if pink is the new *****
of fluffy handcuffs... sign me up!
i'm ready for the near voyeuristic
claustrophobia of living in over-crowded
high-rise accommodation.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
One thing that makes me truckle
At times, for which i can't chuckle,
Is that at death all what we ably
Know or seem to know will verily
To nought come. Our good counsel again
Shall not be sought for in any bargain,
Neither will people request more for
Our input in this or that endeavour;--
Though some do believe in clairvoyance,
Getting the direction of life thru sèance;
Yet for the Christian such is no option
To be considered in any dark situation;
Saul the king though went to consult
With Samuel in Endor, but a result
Bad he had; for what God hath purposed
Cannot be by a band of devils crossed!--
Save a head ere his demise a book
Had written or cast like a fish hook
His imaginations in the river of a canvass
Or recorded an album or taught a class;
Else all his lulu endowments shall no
Profit be, when he at last lies below
The surface of the earth. To die a manqué,
For the world and him, is a tragedy.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 9:08 AM UTC
*i write what i see, i encode images with sounds...
hence my simple life,
and the complications of speaking as noted
and the complicated life around me as unsaid.*
so fragile - poetry so ably juggling
paedophilia and an identity -
i could almost leave a snarl and a gimmicky
phlegm in it ~ ᛞᚨᚻᚨᚱᚷᚨ'ᚻ... ᚢᚾ!
the Arab wishes his were Rune.
i own a cat unafraid of a thunderstorm, that's enough
for a C.V. where i come from -
but where this writing comes from it's unlike
thus stated -
it's probably a thoroughly read lord of the rings
rather than an unread book readied for
cinematography - because that's were books end up,
in a pile of wished-up "page-turners" of charity shops
turned into blockbusters of Hollywood
for a timescale of kept blisters;
or nothing at all, and best kept admired like
cheesy pop songs you'd play at your wedding disco
to imagine yourself being undressed
and hence dancing on stilts via woman
and in stilettos via man.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
On a dark, dreary day
Kissed by the Rain Devils
Who launch a monstrous attack
In the form of buckets
Of water so cold
That it sends shivers down your spine
As you keep a brave face
Confronted with a heap of work
As tall as Mount Everest
With every passing minute
Despair creeps in
And penetrates your system
Infecting every nerve and bone
Every artery and vein
Until an epidemic breaks out
As you are about to pass out
An angel stirs inside you
It seems to be saying something
That sounds a lot like gibberish
As you regain some of your senses
You realize that the angel is singing
And, all of a sudden
Your head is filled with music
Music that is so symmetrical
That it is the very antithesis of noise
With every beat
Your foot begins to tap
Your body begins to sway to and fro
A fresh ray of light
Begins to dawn upon you
As it fills your mind and body
Your heart and soul
You begin to realise
That the tide can be turned
However, just as your resurgence is growing
It is brutally thrown off the rails
By a large and ugly boulder
In the form of a Skype message
Delivered by your tormentor-in-chief
The boss, ably supported by his cronies
The clients, reasonably unreasonable, as always
However, though you may have lost the battle
You can still win the war
Because, the flame of Hope, once rekindled
Can never be extinguished
Thanks to music, you can dare to dream
Such is the magic of Harris Jayaraj
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC