"anomalies" poems
He looks like a rasta
Preaches no money only peace
But smokes no ****
He’s been sober all his life
Like he just got out of rehab
But doesn't mind if his friends smoke a couple trees
He breaks it down like a b-boy
That might of known Michael Jackson
Then belts out American country music
In the heart of Africa
Designs fashion making Europeans wonder
If they should colonize Africa again to get his resources.
Neo-colonization anyone?
He has small money
He lives poor
But lives rich
Has his own humble home
Like the adult he’s been since 15
And loves helplessly like he’s still 15
Despite the bruises the world continues to lash on his never aging soul.
Ohhh
Those bruises must hurt
But he’s trying to heal them with his art
He is an anomaly
Doesn’t fit here or there
But anomalies are perfectly normal
They choose to sit in there soul
Release truth that needs to be told
Because it’s only natural
Not fabricated
The fabricated
Really hates it.
The fabricated
Still takes a taste of it
Because they want that
Freedom
The fabricated
Watch in awe
They say no
You aren’t allowed to do that
That’s a contradiction
You’re a paradox
Social lines wont let you cross that.
Get back in line
Get back in line
Before we shoot you
Because we want your freedom too.
He’s been shot a couple times
I think his soul is his armor
But he lives in a human body
So you can imagine he’s not all that bullet proof.
Even if his body dies one day
I swear his soul will live on.
His freedom has no expiration date.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
200+ Temperature records set worldwide in the last two days;
430+ Temperature records set worldwide in the last seven.
The heat record in Death Valley is 134 degrees Fahrenheit;
it has been as close to that as 124 degrees the past few days.
Believe what you will about the inconvenience of the dire truth;
Statistical Anomalies are becoming the new Norms
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
A bridge from colloquial to courtly fare
A span where idealism and fantasy pair
A railway to the existential realm; celestial lair
A conduit through which rational discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate, and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty; sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on civility and decorum
A literary ***** a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct; extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by an idiomatic core
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
Perfection: skewed over the years;
in our quest for longevity,
in our denial that good things do end,
we have tried to make perfection
into a permanence.
We chase it all our lives:
the perfect car,
the perfect lover,
the perfect relationship.
We've forgotten somehow that
perfection isn't a state of life.
Perfection isn't normal.
Perfection doesn't exist naturally.
Perfection is something we create,
and like all things humans make,
it is temporary.
Perfection is a moment to be lived in-
a glistening diamond moment that
we get to exist in for such a
precious little time.
We breath in and are filled
with satisfaction,
that most powerful ******
We glow in our souls
until it radiates from our faces.
It is the second right after a first kiss,
when you draw back and look into your lover's eyes.
When all things are brimful of possibility and all
futures are open to you.
It is the moment after you achieve
something you worked for your entire life.
Something you bled for, lost sleep and friends
and years of your life over.
It is the second when your child
screams and draws breath for the first time.
When you see reflected in their tiny face everything you were
and everything they will be.
We are perfect in that one moment.
Of course all of it will end.
Your girlfriend may leave you behind after a time.
She may break your heart and carry it with her,
leaving you scarred and unable to love again.
You may lose everything you've worked for
in a single, capricious moment.
In one simple, thoughtless mistake.
Your child will be with you for a time,
but they will grow old and leave you,
never to speak to you until you are on death's door.
Still,
as we sit on our unbelievably vulnerable world,
one of billions in a universe full of singularities and solar flares,
comets and quasars,
evolution and extinction-
Shouldn't we just be glad that the moment happened,
instead of realizing it will end?
Life has so very few of these anomalies of perfection;
enjoy them while they are there,
do not miss them when they are gone.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
I am the barbed thorn
the serrated reward
facing savage cruel winter;
sedition in transmission.
I am the only pawn
on your chequered board
facing a feisty queen;
of restricting submission.
I am the demonic exon
a heraldic discord
facing bleak futures;
an inherent disposition.
I am the stillborn reborn
the aberration restored
facing anomalies instability;
violation on a mission.
I am broken and worn
a fallen sword
facing a grim battle;
outnumbered by division.
I am the brass horn
the out of tune chord
facing orchestral expulsion;
a musician in remission.
I am history's forewarn
the contrite accord ignored
facing penitent absolution;
clemency in transition.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Sitting in labyrinths of cobblestone intestines
I’m learning to eat the entrails of sacrifice
only domestic, never hunted.
pick up spoon. put down
put down. put-down.
pick up. um . spoon.
um… putdown.
there are motions for eating and I do them.
soothsayer, look down
pay attention to positions, shapes
knife. butter. um…
bread. no. breadth.
better. no. butter-better. focus.
knife. better. bread.
knife, knife of haruspex. knife breadth.
okay… deep breath.
I have divided the livers
and the watchers of victims.
I have written on
the anomalies in my bronze living,
what I should look for,
what they should allow for.
my protruding viscera,
my ancient autopsy of starving.
Starving made me easier to tie.
easier to lift. made me feel
gutted out like finished
ice-cream containers
but, starving made me
full of household gods.
made me divine. made sheeps fly.
made days disappear and made cold cold cold seem like
simmering. made staying out of sight a piece of cake.
cake. starving made me rich when I found little
boys betting quarters for eating bowels of
goats. made me small enough to fit through
playground gates so I could swing
swing in earthquakes, and portents.
now, I listen to Memor, a man
who knows nothing of starving
talk about how starving I am.
tomorrow I have to advise
tomorrow I have to weigh
tomorrow I have to swallow
tomorrow I have to
tomorrow I have
tomorrow I am half
and starving made me whole.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
I am an exoskeleton
Falling to pieces
Half alive yet entirely dead
Crumbling and translucent
Delicate, and drifts, fluttering
With a single breath from someone
Nearby
I could be crushed or mangled
By a strike of the hand or a flick of a finger
But because I am considered beautiful and strange
I am kept preserved
The world revolves around beauty and
Oddities and I become one of these
Studied anomalies, a curiosity, merely
Because I am not like them
I am Oriental
And Occidental
I am a Southerner
And a Northerner
I am malnourished
Yet well fed
I am thin and short
But my stature belies my power
I am a geek, nerd, braniac, dork, and overachiever
But remain a stupid, ignorant, procrastinator
I am certainly an curio; a
Living
Breathing
Walking
Oxymoron
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
The internet and the
electronic gadgets are
now creating the new wave
of infidelity,
did you notice the anomalies in
the way things are turning out.
Hookups made easy,
knowing me knowing
you friendships,
easy dating and cheating.com,
wives and husband cheating on themselves,
Social media is the only
best place to live your
fake dream full of lies like the
deepfakes movies.
No more true friendship,
nothing real but a pretense
paradise.
Always uncomfortable but rather
deal with another from a distance.
You don't exist even when together
in same room.
Always closer to the stars
than to you.
You are ignored but chat with
someone so far away.
You seem to be happier
talking to someone you
never met and hardly know,
telling all your private secrets
to an unknown person claiming
to be a true close friend while
the one you grew up with now
becomes a friendenemy,
never to be trusted.
Electronic friendship
has killed our generation,
destroyed the foundation
of true relationship.
Fake lifestyle,
flaunting fake wealth,
gossiping about fake
not-so-sure news.
Infidelity has become
the new social norm
accessible and accepted
around the world.
No true commitment,
so much fraud and
drama displayed.
The young men and
women are going berserk,
their uncontrollable pesky ways
leading them in all manner of immorality and all kinds of trouble.
But there's still some sort of
good in it.
Is this a part of a new world order?
Maybe, I don't know.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
It should be noted that girls don't always come from Venus, that some boys might be a little deader than they were before they claimed you took their breath away. Some girls have barbed wire around their hearts, and others have white flags. Some boys have touched more cigarettes than thighs, more blades in the bathroom sink than the ones in her shoulders. The city might whisper the name of one boy and tremble at the thought of another; a girl have a hit list with only one name on it — her own. Some boys will **** just to say they lost their virginity and some boys will spend the rest of their lives making love as though they could gain it back; some girls have lost their tears and sweat in the upholstery of the same car that might belong to one of these boys — and some of those same boys are sweaty handprints on the backseat windows while others are fingerprints on your throat (no matter how you look at it, he will always leave his mark, won't he?)
It should be noted that some girls will miss you like Hiroshima playgrounds miss the laughter of young children, but others will miss you like an 11:30 flight at 11:31, and I bet you never knew that some boys will never tell you that they miss their father just as much as some girls calling everyone else Daddy except for the one they truly need; you'd never believe me if I said that some girls look at the night sky where they used to see their reelection in the stars, but now only see another broken mirror.
It should be noted, that not all boys are from Mars.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
I periodically Perpetuate
hurricanes all around me
manifesting my illusions
filled with anomalies
commonly I’m far from Common
as these evil forces
completely surround me
crashing down to rock-bottom
longing to no longer be lonesome
but my loneliness is caused
by my compulsions
such impulsive behavior
needs to get out of me, expulsion
creatively i creep
to seem casual and sane
To a world that’s corrupt
and crippled needing a cane
****** and staring
into the eyes of the truth
but with all this proof
we can’t find who is to blame
to some mentally
my mind it is unglued
broken into bits
from so much abuse
daily I’m terrified of torture
I feel like I’ve got nothing to lose
I’m black and blue
Just one giant bruise
Beaten and brought down to my knees
Reluctant to beg. I scream out please
No more
In my tears I’m drowning
A moment of silence as
You Playfully tease
But the kid with the magnifier
Doesn’t hear the ants screams
Only burns and burns
Until their is nothing left
But the shell of a man
Who’s life is a mess
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
Are we all not idioms,
peculiar to ourselves
in construct and meaning?
Are not all of us
syntactical anomalies?
Do we not all have elliipses,
lacunae, egregious gaps
in our beings? Lack of
parallel construction in
our lives, dangling like
participles, a pronoun
without its antecedent?
Are not our lives run-
on sentences handed
up by unconscious wishes
and unmet needs? Too
bad we could not be
more declarative and
less rhetorical or
imperative.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 3:23 PM UTC
To meet a stranger twice
is an anomaly we all see.
Our paths meet again
because I had looked away the first time,
because you had stared straight into my eyes
and walked on and on until you thought it was safe to look back
tenderly.
Life throws us against each other and screams
silently for us to say something,
has 'Hello' become a tongue-twister?
what about 'Hey' or 'Nice day'?
Now I stare at my feet
because if our eyes meet
I won't be able to look away
and then I'll have to speak words
but that might ruin it all
so hush and
rush and
pretend this is the end
to our series of anomalies
because I haven't the courage
to make it a beginning
unless we start
together.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
I am panic
Frenzied particles
Moving and shaping
Everything I seem to be
Inside of a
Concrete cage of consciousness
Inside of a
Dazzling dot and dye marked
Enigmatic epidermis
Here I am
I am ice cold
Frost bitten to the core
A bullet train made of sleet
Running on cyanotic cylinders
And the gritty grating salt
Beneath your cold, wet shoes
All at once
I dissolve and destroy myself
Yet I just keep
Coming back
Here I am
I am as satisfying as
The long winded palindrome
On the tip of your tongue
The redundant rhyme
You chanted as children
And the hymn you harmonized
With haunted heathens
Here I am
I am the all encompassing embrace
Of all that you are
****** up futile flaws and
Autonomous awe inspiring anomalies
I will hold it all together
In the way no other has
My seams of love
Stitched and sewn
With intentions as pure as gold
And nothing else
Nothing more
Here I am
I am the writhing writer
Frantically feverish with
Fingernails like forceps
I pry these words from
My brain like a
Sickening surgical procedure
On a ***** disheveled mattress
As if they were
Ingenuities oozing with infection
Here I am
I am the ritual rebirth
Wrongfully righteous reincarnation
I tip and turn like the tides
Lurching at the shore
Time and time again
In an endless cycle I am
Looking for
Nautical nirvana
Here I am
I am the exceptional exchange
Of a daunting and diligent dialect
Only few can understand
And to those fluent
In my twisted and tiring tongue
I say
Here I am
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
There's a man with no face
amongst an empire of apes
that spill blood like fine wine
made of concord grapes
I carry the worlds weight
with enemies pursuein
but the king of the jungle
won't stop til I'm ruined
Now you can call this my sedition with semantics
or satanics toward the nation
but let me advocate this adverse scope.
And holla at my brothers who's down
and salvage hope.
we neglect our abilities
to comence to be
masters of our destiny
we choose to stay tantalllized by the streets
get lock up stay wishin we was free.
Ballisitics takin' away all our family
these anomalies
got us lookin stupid
forgetting we're not aboriginies
of this land oh man
we can never bow to the man
Choosin to bang
instead of abstain
from this
belligerant babble
the system rattles your cage
with rage
we anhiliate
assimilate
the emotions it produces
abstract thinkin causeing back lash
abysmal thoughts of how to get that fast cash
when cats dash past
we take everything
even all their back stash
but we tend to abnegate
the zenith
to which we are
entitled
archaic ways are the axiom
so we need to absorb this alchemy
and abandom them
alliviate
this absentmindedness
and abtruse forces as our accomplices
There's a man with no face
amongst an empire of apes
that spill blood like fine wine
made of concord grapes
I carry the worlds weight
with enemies pursuein
but the king of the jungle
won't stop til I'm ruined
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
A beautiful understatement
to see your hair graze your face,
startled but still treading,
in the soul red of your lipstick.
What life has been,
No more than a series of random anomalies.
How those trivial pocket-sized pieces,
tied in to envisage
to fix this inanimous reality.
How wayward me
lost in this purposeless dream,
at random to meet you,
augmented closer to declare,
the love people just theorize.
How life started for me after you.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
I chased down the bustling road
when I caught a glimpse of her walking down.
Today I stand, impatient;
my finger thumping a pithy tune,
as she climbs down the stairway,
one step at a time.
*Time capsules are concealed
in objects that we rarely see,
and only notice when silence visits
and sits in the middle of the room,
unpleasently.*
Today was on such day,
when my foot accidentally brushed
a tea cup that had bravely withstood,
the anomalies of my childhood,
and leaning back on its broken handle
took delight,
on my sudden emotional plight.
*After years of unrelenting boundaries
the yearning to jump over,
turns into the ultimate goal.
Definace, with a vengence,
and fury so grave,
mars conscience by its senstaions,
makes it depraved.*
Forgone was the leap
that bound my heart with rules
of love, loyatly and frienship,
for it now only understood,
the twinge of ache it gained
whenever it recognized,
a then familar face.
*In a world fantastical,
there is order and right.
And mistakes are begotten
to only be forgotten
and set some memories aside.*
I held my hand out,
on the last stair, she looked up,
and in brown eyes, just like mine,
I saw days that now defined,
our relationship,
as mother and daughter.
*We talk of far shores and setting sail,
with our two feet firmly rooted in the bay.
The anchors aren't pulled, the rigs aren't checked,
we are rarely ready, if ever,
at our fancy's behest.*
In the seconds that she took to step down;
seconds in which I re-lived a lifetime,
I ran down the same road,
the bustling street with the same goal.
I held my mother's hand
and let go.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
Spider society needs their own locus
While others break of, I'm keeping my focus
Let me breathe, can't you see I'm what this universe needs?
Millions at risk, due to inaccuracy
I'm never Icarus, only report I'm accepting is one I succeed in
They ask if I'm good, life's not black and white
The justice I'm seeking seems bleak in the light
Priority, I cannot stoop to being petty
Won't take no from no miles, no Pieter, no Gwen and no Penni
My law is final, the canon's at stake
I have to be brutal, taking out the fakes
"I thought we're the good guys" we are, we... Are?
Just look at the good we've done, the lengths, how far
I respect every person in this room, the doom and the gloom
I'm no vigilante, don't wait for the moon
When I see anomalies I just go and Boom
Maybe we can... But think of the Spider-verse
Can't think of her now, they're not in this universe
That kid was on to something, I can't crack
That life I used to lead, I just can't go back
Maybe we're not heroes, maybe we're not evil
we're just in the middle, anomalies to unveil
the job we do, seem to never get hailed
But if I fail this, then it's her that I've failed
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 8:31 AM UTC
Women
are not mysterious.
We are not shrouded
in cloaks made from the night sky.
We are not anomalies
or irregularities in the data.
Our nature has been hidden
from men, by men.
We have not been studied;
Not extensively, thoroughly, over centuries.
Not the way men have been, either.
There was no equal footing in
analyses.
Women were test subjects, when men were patients.
When we were "relevant" at all.
This pattern literally kills us quicker.
In medicine, and love.
In the office and the bedroom.
In the workshop and the nursery.
In the kitchen.
In the kitchen.
Some food for your soul:
Everyone is magical.
You don't need a pointy hat and a ******
Everyone is intellectual.
You don't need spectacles, white skin, or a *****
Everyone is environmental.
Just go outside.
You just need to be you.
Subscribing to the binary
and rejecting it completely:
One ties your hands,
the other your feet.
Be all the parts of you. Then you can feel
Whole.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC
in the grass lingering
subtle. new life, seeks.
life over distractions
will you buy attentions? for me?
i could try and persuade interjections
to interject anomalies. false.
in decay, blooming
death. closer than your mother.
unaware of the scythe
speechless.
despite selection
phrasing perpetually
simply put, arrogance
tests my limits. carefully.
picking out life from death
a masterful game. monotonous.
does the truth betray your senses?
do your eyes smell?
deliverance. ignorance for innocents.
there are millions. billions.
unstoppable.
watch my back. we’ll both die.
a rip in sound. feel the throat churn.
erratic vibrations disorient the world
they cannot understand us.
poisoned perception of the native mind
in struggle. in war.
recovering and failing the same.
thieving the motions. motionless.
all to achieve deplorable fame
dreadful.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
encamped on a barren savanna
a formaldehyde trick laid
beneath a palace of red canvas
carcasses of Noah's Ark
left for a menagerie of men
a spectacle of meat and bone
the tides of oddities come crashing
against the shores of spectators
the earth opens its hands to carry
the rails that lead an entourage of
grandeur at the ring master's ordinance
God's children in satin and sequins
Devil's work bared in ink and blood
ladies and gentlemen!
wooden pews for the congregation
occupied by followers seeking refuge
in the sacred acts of manipulation
enchantment for children
necromancy for those who walk
with hearts no longer beating
for the world they once knew
prepare to be amazed!
tight ropes are spun into webs
painted skin become prisms
nature's anomalies turned
into golden mythologies
figments of A Vision
brought to life by an apparition
the most extravagant extravaganza!
and the world burns anew
contemporary tales are told through
a splendor of color and brilliance
in a palace of red canvas
lay the corpses of humanity's finest
a formaldehyde trick
of preservation and deception
come one come all!
an asylum for those consumed
a sanctuary for those comforted
by the art of celebrated illusion
an institution built on maneuvering
the depths of every man's heart
welcome to the circus
sit back and enjoy the show!
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
I suppose I should be happy,
My God gave me a blessing by taking away my blessing,
The blessing I was so confused about.
My dear, my precious Firdous.
I suppose I must be happy,
Every inch of my brain is telling me to be happy,
But why is there a ringing in my ears;
And so much weight on my chest,
It's so **** aggravating.
I suppose I could be happy, except that I;
I demand silence,
I demand peace,
I demand anything but to feel like this-
Worthless, insignificant, trash.
I suppose I am happy,
To be the puppet of a universe filled with
So much standard anomalies...
That the universe did not curse me to ****** my own kin...
that I didn't curse my precious with a life...
Oh the little things we tell ourselves to make it easier to live for another day,
Oh but I suppose, I suppose its necessary.
It's **** necessary.
Goodbye my precious. ♡
-fir.m
Sep 16, 2021
Sep 16, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
My hands above my head,
I grasp for purpose,
and pull the Sun to my chest.
Circles become arbitrary.
Squares, the cousins of
rectangles are discredited as
man-made. That's why metaphors
known as squares are seen as
vulnerable shapes in a misunderstood spectrum.
They are dotted lines
dependent on right angles,
left ashtray to explain anomalies.
So for order we justify lines.
We contain music within them.
Until, of course, the Holy Ghost
is found. Because that strike
against the canvas is thought
to be premeditated.
But that isn't human nature.
That isn't God.
It will only become recorded
notes on a page.
It's retrospect.
A future remembrance of the past.
It's the Sun in your heart,
knowing that containing that
kind of energy is hazardous
to your health.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC