"allayed" poems
Who fears to own up to a mistake
Much worse mistakes may go on to make;
Until such time as fears are allayed
Mistakes shall continue to be made.
If mistakes all are afraid to name
Then who is at fault, who is to blame?
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.
Daffodil bulbs instead of *****
Stared from the sockets of the eyes!
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts and luxuries.
Donne, I suppose, was such another
Who found no substitute for sense,
To seize and clutch and penetrate;
Expert beyond experience,
He knew the anguish of the marrow
The ague of the skeleton;
No contact possible to flesh
Allayed the fever of the bone.
. . . . .
Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye
Is underlined for emphasis;
Uncorseted, her friendly bust
Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.
The couched Brazilian jaguar
Compels the scampering marmoset
With subtle effluence of cat;
Grishkin has a maisonette;
The sleek Brazilian jaguar
Does not in its arboreal gloom
Distil so rank a feline smell
As Grishkin in a drawing-room.
And even the Abstract Entities
Circumambulate her charm;
But our lot crawls between dry ribs
To keep our metaphysics warm.
7.2k
Feel the strengths of vein that hold the whole of your neck!
A life of loose you live on believe
A hope, a Faith even when you barely know a god.
****** juz be like:#OluwaIsInvolved
Your father owns an Estate, even a country built in Gold
The #Street remains a #Paradise
You'll wanna go, even if you have to be named #Devil
You drop your #Pride like it never mattered
To gather a better world
Where you'd be worshiped as #Boss
You chase a #Bigger dream that the oldest in your family won't dare.
Rub-in all pains that attaining #LandNeverPromised would wanna bear
You #Focus , patiently hoping for what is never #Certained
You #Beg your 'Luck' more than the rate you beg your #God
To meet the #One that would bring you the #PayDay of no accountable #Duty
#Legitimacy becomes the most irritating Slogan you'll Cause your brethren that ever utters.
Authority, a #Foe that would stop you from dressing #TooLoud,
Anything you ever #Wished links way back to #Money
#MoneyMustBeMade the only #Pledge that keeps echoing in your brain
A #Brain that works only to unlawfully take from the token of a #Brother
With the #Vengeance-filled mind of eradicating Poverty that denied you of a better #Background,
When you have a #PayDay, you still long for a million more
In a better fold that could last you many more #Lifetime
Then, you pick back the #Pride you allayed for a while so #Long
Now reflect that part of you.
That part, you rebuked a #RichYoungDude earlier on for
Or the #Angelic one you would ever love a #Philanthropist for
Remain on the #LowestKey for 'a now's ' while
To be at the #HighestKey, even under the deepest ground
And keep your #Brain more opened than #YourEyes
While you make the only thing that keep you going as #GodBlessTheHustle
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Listen soldier to the tale of tendor nightingale
Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,
Singing medicine for your pain in a sympathetic strain
with a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.
Singing bandages and lint; salve and stearate without stint
Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion.
And your mixtures pushes about
And the pills for you served out
With alacrity and promptitute of motion
Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands
How to manage every sort of application.
From a poultice to leach, whom you haven't got to teach,
The way to make a poppy fomentation.
Singing pillow for you smoothed; smart and anguish smoothed,
By the rediness of feminine invention.
Singing fever thirst allayed, and the bed you've tumbled made
With a cheerful and considerate attention.
Singing succour to the brave and a rescue from the grave,
Hear the nightingale that's come to the crimea.
Tis a nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song,
To carry out so gallant an idea.
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 12:06 AM UTC
The briny tears have dried
The sounding knells are stilled
The grieving crowd, dispersed
The parting pain, allayed
Benumbed lie the dead
Beneath the marble vaults
Bereft of power and prowess
Benighted and beaten.
The sun shall never cast its glorious rays
The stars shall never their brilliance shed
The breeze never shall bring tidings new
The showers shall no more drench them through
A thoughtful friend sometimes seen around
A fervent prayer at times chanted aloud
A plaited wreath, rarely laid over
A trite rite, randomly carried out
There’s none left to mourn or weep
Nor anyone to sing, sigh or sob
Leaving the dead to rot in the closure of graves
To life’s alluring charms, the dear depart.
Cold as clay the dead lie so still
To be feasted on by maggots and the worms
Life with all its glory – defunct
Its fever and fret too – extinct.
How in vain we run after wealth
The power and position we deem so great
Shall come to naught within Time’s gloomy vault
Yet we run and yet we straggle behind.
In vain ends our travail for might
Inglorious is our quest after fame
Transient turn the riches, we garner
Short lived is their gleam and glitter.
Oh Lord! Lead us not into illusory charms
Deliver us of our avarice to hoard
For all that is born and made
‘Must consign to death and come to dust.’
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 6:29 AM UTC
*common chilling sights--
i see humanity
ungranted
ice nucleators--
mutual lives underground
buffered dots of heat
Jupiter winds glow
revivals there and then --
red swirls of lust
twelve conquests past
all creatures skyclad
in that loose zodiac belt
unconditional
dark solstice
deepest love
festive thanks
at dread allayed--
more roasted birds
.
the same sun,
snowflake years
uniquely melt
.
still Fall-ripe,
matunda ya Kwanza
nourish unity
.
only a nick,
the green knight forgives
saint sir Gawain
.
winter thin
Shakyamuni trees
entangle star rays
.
Dōngzhì recurs--
tangyuan and dumpling soup
warm ears and hearts
.
Lucy brightens
Advent's tidal frost
sugar powder blind
.
strong eyelids--
holy corpses
smile again
.
endyear eyelids pull
open --
Summer's chain emails
.
i nightgaze here too--
Yalda Shab brightens birth night
vermillion sweet eve
.
gelt to gifts--
sacred lights remembrance
wonders burning yet
.
obstacles embraced
powdered elephant dance
ancient clouds of lore
.
of country dwellers
gifted greatest gifts--
pentacles outshine
.
hot planets glint
subtle light unseen and far --
night sky snow
transaeonic squint
textured sense illumes vast space
light trails interweave
evergreen bird womb
coos beyond my porch--
fireplace ignites
Februa nears--
thermals gather itch for
one last indulgence
Hubble vision melds
an interspecies lens--
"home" descends anew
integral trust--
grapes freeze by vintner's paths
of future sweetness
moss between toes
Spring ooze effluvia
giddy spine sky high*
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Sweet love, renew thy force! Be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but today by feeding is allayed,
Tomorrow sharpened in his former might.
So, love, be thou, although today thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
Tomorrow see again, and do not ****
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
As call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wished, more rare.
1.5k
Poets make lousy friends because eventually they’ll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
My love is like to ice, and I to fire
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What miraculous thing may be told,
That fire,which all things melts,
Should harden ice,
And ice,which is congealed with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the courses of kind.
ፍቅሬ እንደ በረዶ ነች
ፍቅሬ እንደ በረዶ ነች እኔደሞ እንደሳት
ታዲያ እንዴት ሆኖ ነው ዝምታዋ የበረታው
በፍላጎቴ ግለት ያልቀለጠው ያልተረታው፣
ይልቅ በቀረብኳት በተማፀንኳት ቁጥር፣
በረዶ፣ በበረዶ ላይ ሚጋግር!
ደሞስ እንዴት ይሆን
የኔ ፍም እሳት
በልቧ ቁር የማይጠፋ የማይዳፈን
ጭራሽ ሙቅ ላቤ የሚንቆረቆር፣
የፍቅሬ ቋያ ሚበረታ እያደር?
ታዲያ ከዚህ የላቀ ምን ታምር ሊነገር፣
ሁሉን አቅላጭ እሳት በረዶ ሲጋግር!
በአንፃሩ ለመኮማተር የማይቸገር
በረዶ ፣ሲሰትዋል ሳተ አንድዶ!
እንግዲህ እንዲህ ነው ጉልበቱ የፍቅር
የነገሮችን ኡደት አፋልሶ የሚቀይር!
(ኤደመንድ ስፔንሰር)//
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
Some poets make lousy friends
they'll eventually skewer you with their poison pen
their insulting writ of relentless nasty venom
like some twisted performance-art-form
naked foist of un-allayed aggression
the dilettante's vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife
the very nature of chumminess segues into adversity
a quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence
so affixed are poets to the unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face
a horrendous starkness of civility
justified by a requisite needy urgency of expedience
contemptuousness brought on by an anxious desire to blow you off -ASAP
they'll turn on you like a feral cat
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
The sound of
a flute
the whistle of the wind
an old-century bel canto
more ambrosial than
the allayed gale on the book
a siccative for the soul
beautiful and fibrous
warmer than the divinity
with a broken arm
outdoor on the walkway
the sound of flute
the wording of beauty
like being faced with the spring
and the cliffs
the first tone erodes
the stones
the second tone ******
the bones
the thrid tone captured
the thrills at the ends
of the neurons
like waking up
on a divan
in a morning.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
Hey hey,
I've changed
I'm not the same
No not the same
I still talk too much
About life and such
Things
But it was yesterday, no
Oh no, no no
My sister crying on the doorstep
As I left
Behind
Those familiar times
Familiar times
And I watched, expressionless,
As I left
As I left
So why do I feel this way?
Have I no sympathy?
No feelings, no tears,
Over the years
I refused to look back
Feet set upon my tracks
Feeling guilty and saddened
In my frozen wasteland
What does this mean?
Where is my heart?
Perhaps countless tears
Tore it apart
ripped wide open, left unspoken
Over the years
Reassurance allayed my fears
I knew I'd come back again
again
Knew it wasn't the end
No not the end, no
But still
Those tears,
She shed,
This hollow,
I dread
Like where did
It end
My emotion spent
I'm so cold, so cold!
So why do I feel this way?
Have I no sympathy?
No feelings, no tears,
Over the years
I refused to look back
Feet set upon my tracks
Feeling guilty and saddened
In my frozen wasteland
Frozen over, all snow and ice
Hiding in the shadows, as dark as night
Stars above this frozen wasteland
Where my heart shattered and solitude began
So thaw me out, be my fire
Return my heart, for I require
Those feelings I had, coz' I don't want to die
So please, oh please, please bring me to life
coz I don't wanna die
coz I don't wanna die
coz I don't wanna die
coz I don't wanna die
No not tonight!
So why do I feel this way?
why do I, feel this way
Have I no sympathy?
no sympathy
No feelings, no tears,
Over the years
over the years
I refused to look back
Feet set upon my tracks
Feeling guilty and saddened
In my frozen wasteland
With tears running down her face
And a hollow chest I leave this place
My frozen wasteland
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
together we sit and scan through pages
searching for knowledge of savants and sages
apart by wires and spaces deemed cyber
together in some places besotted by desires
for that which you seek and that which you share
your hasty interests may lead you to stare
into the abyss of the nets' unending
the maelstroms vortex you'll soon be winding
going ye here and going ye there
hopeful your meanderings
shall leave you fair
for within some sites there's the inveigle snare
ultimately constructed to leave you bare
go wittingly into the all- electric fray
some sensitive toes you'll invariably belay
don't fret over words harmlessly mislaid
to err is only human, short-circuits allayed
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
You are the Nightingale of Mayanmar
A cruel magic fakir has caged you for fifteen years
Your pathetic plights brings incessant tears
Into my sore eyes
Who can choke your sonorous song
Which devil can hold you for long
“heard melodies may be sweet
But unheard melodies are sweeter
Your soothing song has echoed into our ears
We have heard it for many silent periods
You have allayed our fears
We will kiss your beautiful feathers
You are an angelic bird
And have won the heart of the world
You can fly very high
And soar into the free sky
You are freed from the iron fenced cage
Nobody can stop the people’s volcanic rage
You are the eternal democratic spirit
You will surely be crowned for your unfailing merit
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 4:41 AM UTC
He travelled far and journeyed wide,
To find those with a spark inside,
Each one a sacred gift of love,
A soul descended from above.
He found her in a dark despair,
Lost in a world with none to care,
Her bright eyes drowning in her tears,
This slave to weaker people's fears.
He told her that she held a spark,
A light to guide her through the dark,
This power she'd hid for too long,
The chorus to her siren's song.
He took her hand and held it tight,
To save her from the dark of night,
Their bond beyond all love and lust,
A sanctuary of hope and trust.
He watched her dream in silent sleep,
Her mind still gripped by pain so deep,
A broken doll so incomplete.
This fallen angel at his feet.
He took her from the world she knew,
Towards the dawn of life anew,
Another land beyond the stars,
To mend her wings and heal her scars.
He helped her grow across the years,
As slowly they allayed her fears,
Until she spread her wings at last,
And left her old life in the past.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
Ashoka
The one
Without sorrow
Devanampiya Piyadassi
The beloved of the gods
The beautiful one!
So once had it happened
Such a tale
So great in amounts!
There he came
Like a wanton wind!
To the mighty Kalinga
After all
It was his 'prestige'
Oh sorry!
His people's
His kingdom's
Prestige
Just at stake
Now it all began
Wardrums heard
Like the curses
Falling from heaven
'Bherighosa' was the
Order of the day!
Swords struck
People Kings
Everyone
In utter haywire
To end in what?
Yeah,just
The digvijayi
Ashoka
Atop his Dreamland
And a grave of dreams
Hundred thousand
Taken prisoners
Hundred and fifty
Thousand killed
This is what
Was left
To fill his 'victorious'
Eyes!
Stood atop
The Dhauli hill
The crown of his new
Acquired land
But God had something
Else in his hand
There went
These arrows
Of such destruction
Of crushed dreams
Hollowed desires
Of someone
Whose soul
Now had only
The pyre of his holy Land
To enjoy
Such was this arrow
Penetrating the
Deepest corners
Of the Great's
Heart
Something so fragile
Though no one knew
For all they'd seen
Was a stone
Without even a a drop
Of a rare moisture
Even a few!
But this scene
Had a profound
Impact
Just as if
A stone of
Conscience
Came falling
From unknown
Empires
And stirred
A stagnant pond
Took a vow
Did he
Instantly
Gave up arms
Shunned war
And spread
But only
Peace
Dhammaghosa
Reigned
Sound of peace
Was heard
Like the joyous songs
Overflowing
From heaven
For a changed one
For the Goodwill
Of all those
Who he now
Had in his heart
Allayed with
A few drops
Of just
Something so precious
After all
Had he
But gathered it
In just a few moments
O man!
Prosperity and joy
Are just awaiting
To follow
You
Your footsteps
Find it somewhere
For it is
Somewhere,somewhere
So close to you!
Find it!
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
Cliffy (Read the new poets)
someday I shall board a bus in
North London,
should my dimmed eyes not find him,
shall board another and another
till at last allayed and allied,
my pink newspaper wrapped,
slim volume of gifted boldness,
thirty-one antique poems shall I hand this
odd bespectacled man, their father,
their author
to name him new is confusing
for his originalities, new here,
sourced from over twenty years of past recent,
most writ before the current horde of
genghis khan occupying invaders
were body birthed
and long
before
they birthed themselves
their first
écriture
an acquired taste,
he acquired my taste one night,
when despair mastered my outer view,
words were ashen under the sun,
nothing new and I forsook my mother tongue
this odd owlish glassed creature,
will not charm you or delight you
he will originate you
say there is another way,
so old fashioned that it is
cutting edge
and not cutting oneself
do you ask these questions?
*Whose resurection is this
anyway ?
Has anyone seen the messiah today ?
There is never a messiah around when
You need one ?
Perhaps I shouldn't speak of th?ese things
Lightly
But what can be done ?
Have you ever smoked a ******
In a temple ?
Do you know what these kinda words
Resemble ?
Did you ever think life is just incidental ?
I can picture druids hovering above sacred corpses
Laughing at their impunity,
And tripping on their vulnerability
It's not a long way between Jesus and sin.
Y'know
Y'know
Having *** whilst wearing a strait-jacket
Is better than having no *** at all
I always echo the optimist's call
But I'm tied to a spastic cross
Where I present my loss.
All theses thoughts came to me
Much later in history.*
But now I must board another bus
In North London,
to find a true original
and perhaps find a sterling pound
of my own
http://hellopoetry.com/cliffy-buglione/
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
-
sometimes I wish you didn't exist
because you stab knives in My back
and bend me until I break.
the feelingS i feel
cannot be Substituted or
allaYed, mitigated;
the weapon and the wOund are both
permanently etched Under my skin.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
Sometimes it can be difficult to avoid
Playing fast and loose around the edges
As if time were bearing on you
Like the past you’ve tried to run from
Or your impending sense of mortality
As if time were just slipping away
Maybe it is
Maybe it isn’t
Maybe it doesn’t matter either way
So long as day to day you do what you are supposed to do
Get that? Supposed…
Not required nor coerced
But just assumed as in a natural cause of inaction
This lack of satisfaction in your circumstances
Can easily be allayed
By staying on your feet in front of your dismayed public
Who hoped silently to see you stumble
Lest your success cause them to lament their circumstances
Just by proving it can be done
Staying on your feet I mean
And playing fast and loose around the edges
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
In Riverside Square, a vision in blue,
A goddess descends, in morning's first hue.
Her train flows like rivers, the steps cannot tame,
Each fold tells a story, each whisper a name.
Her thoughts are a secret, a dance in the air,
Of a love that's awaited, a soul's matching pair.
The world may keep turning, but for her, it waits,
For the moment of meeting, the twist of the fates.
She dreams of a man, with hair like the night,
In visions so clear, she feels his light.
Their souls entwined in time's tight grasp,
Promises made, with each breath, they clasp.
From futures unseen and pasts well-trod,
Their paths have crossed, against all odd.
In the heart of the city, where dreams take flight,
She waits for Dublin, in the soft twilight.
The Now is her canvas, the past her muse,
In the dance of the cosmos, none can refuse.
For love knows no bounds, no time, no space,
In the Now, they'll meet, in a destined embrace.
As dawn breaks the silence, and stars fade away,
The goddess in blue finds the courage to say,
"Though time may divide us, and distance may test,
Our love is the journey, and hope is our quest."
With hearts full of longing, they reach through the years,
Their love is a beacon, transcending all fears.
In a world ever-changing, one truth does remain:
Love's promise eternal, again and again.
Beneath the canvas of a starlit sky,
Where dreams take wing, and spirits fly.
A whisper of the wind, a promise made,
In the quiet night, our fears allayed.
The moon, a guardian, watches over,
As we find solace in the cover,
Of night's embrace, where hearts are free,
To seek the truth, to simply be.
In every star, a story's birth,
A silent sonnet for our Earth.
We gaze above, and in our sight,
A universe of endless light.
So here's to dreams, to love's sweet call,
To finding peace, amidst it all.
For in this world of vast expanse,
We're given but a single chance.
To live, to love, to laugh, to cry,
To hold the moments as they fly.
An original tale, in time's great sweep,
A poem of life, for us to keep.
Mar 22, 2024
Mar 22, 2024 at 10:11 AM UTC
The symbols of arriving springtime have come late this year
in north-west London.
The blossom on the apple tree outside my bedroom,
heralding the anticipation of renewal
and the promise of life to come
has been delayed by several weeks.
And the flowering is less profuse than ever.
I try to seek the metaphor;
the concatenation of my personal survival
conveyed by the tree’s own growth.
But what does the linkage signify?
Another year? Another life? Another death?
Or none of these?
And if I yearn for signs of immortality
then I am doomed to morbidity,
as the tree is programmed to portray
a slow, inexorable but unmistakable decline.
And still I know that morning light
will daily draw me to my bedroom window
and the forlorn desire to see some sign
some hope, some promise, some assurance
that there is no inevitability
of change,
save that it be change itself.
Instead of which I am presented with
a demoralising symbol of uncertain hopes.
Spring should be an optimistic season;
the blossom on the tree should herald
a renewal, not a death.
But this poor springtime growth has
merely served to reinforce
the fears and sadnesses of
Winter’s tribulationary concerns.
ENVOI
Five days the blossom stayed
and then was gone.
Nor were concerns allayed,
but hopes were thus betrayed
and possibilities undone.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:57 AM UTC
A Remembrance,
Of a Day,
Quand Je Me Souviens.
Vitality spent,
Courage displayed,
Fear allayed,
dismay, at the lives lost.
There were scholars,
there were youth,
there were the uncouth,
there were aged,
but never mind all that,
as a matter of fact,
any one of them,
deserves my respect,
For an eternity.
On this Eve,
I learned, my freedom, is not of my doing,
I learned, I can choose, because they did lose,
their freedom, their lives, their dreams,
I learned, what sacrifice, what SACRIFICE,
more than sufficed, to provide hope,
to cope,
with wars and rumours of wars
and rumours of wars, that breach my peace of mind
that I am blind
to the peace that passes all understanding,
for I will never understand war,
but I thankfully understand
what was given away by choice,
not to rejoice, in what I have received,
but They are, the reasons, at least eighty six million four hundred thousand reasons,
I do not huddle
in my bed waiting for
the bombs to stop falling,
to start calling for my loved ones,
I do not clench my teeth as
I grip my rifle to call out
"All Clear"
until the next time I am gripped by
the fear it may be me or someone I
know, who will need to be
let go. Thank Them, Catch Courage, Found Freedom, Love Life, Pray Peacefully
There are more but these are the learned Lessons on this Eve.
©DWEfor11112013
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
Tears invited by recollection,
Brush a silhouette upon cheeks.
Moment's revisited introspection,
Complexities of the heart do not always speak.
Inner beauty’s overflowing can’t be allayed,
Life’s bittersweet, ever potently displayed.
PFL
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Sun with its golden curls was peeping in
Horizon to horizon, the orange shade deepened
The red portico tiles glistened in the glow
Like polka dots on satin
Fair impressions lay scattered in the front yard
The queen of night, had shed tears of sorrow
Were they embarrassed?
The orange blush was palpable
I retrieve them
As the flower decoration progressed on the red tiles
A new identity was being evolved
The existential crisis, has been allayed
At least for this day.
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC