"colonies" poems
I,
a colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
Would like you,
a colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
To accept, some of my
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
To join some of your
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
to create a completely separate
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
and as our
colonies of 37 trillion cooperating cells
cooperate less and less, our new
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
shall be looking for a
colony of 37 trillion cooperating cells
to repeat what countless
colonies of 37 trillion cooperating cells
have done since we swung in the trees.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
The Japanese attacked
British and Dutch colonies
In southeast Asia
Japanese landed on the southern island of Mindanao
And the west coast of Luzon
On the 24th of December
They landed on the east coast of Luzon
The allied forces withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula
For three months they held the Japanese troops
On the Bataan Peninsula
On the fourth of April
Allied forces were attacked again
Five days later the allied forces surrendered
Of the 12,000 Americans
Captured on Bataan
Only a third survived the war
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Terra Nullius born from the ashes of colonies past,
from a nation over seas far,
the white cliffs of Dover show their colour,
they reached a land of beauty rich and rare,
they saw and they conquered caring none for those that stood in front of them,
for years this ravaged,
destroying ancient culture,
until a man realised that the land he loved was not his,
taken from him unbeknownst,
he stood in despair,
the system against he fought,
until he died a young man of pain from tortures past,
in his grave he heard the victory he won,
Terra Nullius is gone,
Long live Eddie Mabo.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
Once upon a time
There was a man
In an apartment
With flesh-colored walls
And a perfect view
Of skyscrapers
And rooftops
He has a brother
In a jail
With a perfect view
Of warehouses
And factories
Cover to cover
He reads magazines
And newspapers
And he likes two
Sugar cubes
In his regular cup
He doesn't worry
About ends
It's just progress
And we've all
Got to bend
Less the world breaks
If the bomb comes
It'll come in a neat
Little package
And someone
Will build new
Quadrilateral colonies
For two
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
A ship in a bottle is a useless thing,
encapsulated, isolated.
It is meant to be crewed.
We are each holographic captains
seeking first mates
and yeomen to climb the riggings
and guide us through the storms.
Floating colonies needing founding,
battened hatches guarding dwindling
stores and shielding superstitious
sailors galore.
We must learn to trust our
crews and captains alike to
brave the rough seas and
coral reefs of life and
nature's faith.
Sometimes ships run aground,
the founding of the colony,
and then sandcastles reign supreme.
We must learn to trust our
crews and captains alike to
learn from their faith in nature.
We must build upon the dunes,
carrying buckets of water and
trust from the sea to inland
shores. The castle, like the ship,
will one day be reclaimed by the
sea, despite our efforts.
We build them anyway out of hope,
fearing faith, learning trust, while
wishing we were safe in a bottle.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
sometimes i get
suicide bombers, rapists, killers, robbers and thieves
because their motives are visible through their actions.
but i never once in my life
bothered understanding businessmen, pastors, priests, muslims, religions, politicians,
and people whose motives in life
remain hidden
until caught red handed,
and also those people
who choose not to see the world naked for what it is.
maybe the UP activists are right
and that i shouldn't think of them as brainwashed kids or
just paid heads to do
what they do but their actions,
my thoughts and this poem
doesn't change anything.
i bet 100% of you
who are reading this would either think i'm deranged or seeking for attention.
i could go on and on writing
this **** and explain thoroughly
but the people's brain
are now wired to ex b's
hit single and yes,
mentioning that made
this a little bit funny but no.
as a ******* filipino
who should be typing this in tagalog, working overseas,
i've seen some fellow countrymen showed some pride
against their oppressors
from work but they don't get anywhere but jail.
i must've forgot,
the movie about manalo
trampled the one
about heneral luna.
see how helpless
we are in reality?
what's your photo that comes
with a bible verse got to do with others?
are you spreading
the word of God?
what does it do to you?
Sometimes I get
The New People's Army.
But I don't get Muslims
who runs businesses and the Chinese too.
Sometimes I wish
I could spread fake news
that doesn't harm others
and last but not the least,
I hope someday the world would stop not and smoke Marijuana all
at the same time
including North Korea.
I couldn't stop.
I also hope that these people,
those who has a lot of followers
use the attention properly but no, people are so ******* dumb and Salinger is right with Holden's, "People never notice anything"
and nothing's too big
if people will stop creating bigger things that'll only add up to the congestion clogging up the world.
and Allen Ginsberg is right,
we are breaking our
******* backs just to lift ******* Moloch.
**** your Mosques, your INC branches, your corporations, your religions, your borders and divisions, your trends that kills the minds of the youth.
**** your laws, about making Marijuana illegal.
**** your disguise and your intelligence.
I almost believe world cleansing is the answerbbecause the ant colonies are so much better
ruling the world.
I don't know anymore, my smartphone's ******
and I am not smarter. . .
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
Patterned dots, existence connects
An anther to a stigma, reproduction
The pollen withers, pollution subsides
Colonies of bees vanish in the wind
Toxic genetic food wins in binge
Mother earth cries in pain, an ail
Food chains and supplies cut short
Globalised mass production of poison
Supermarkets stocking “all season”
Consumerism monopolies swell
The environment abused and misused
Plastic bottles displaced, a chemical sludge
The haunted “great pacific garbage patch”
Littered garbage, debris and chemical sludge
Humanity displaced, dissociated and divided
Ruining sea waters , floating landfill fueled
Probability of heightened population
Global panics, mimicked maniacs
Reductions of resources to feed all
Unsustainable long windy farms
Big roads, buried bills, stingy reality
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
It started hot and passionate and blinding.
Then it ran,
ran from me
faster than the alpine highway or
an Afro over your cute lisp.
And a bus leaves for 13 colonies and 14 days and
pictures are all I have.
Colorful but in
50 shades of grey.
Then never a breath from you
on the home front.
And disappointment marks my eyes.
Running all over town with eyes
like video cameras and
minds like a metal detector.
We wish we could be a fly on the wall or a plant in the earth or a new hair on your chin.
All moments,
every moment,
we know.
My fiend.
Detect this on your police detector.
Little blue Honda that looks tan in the sun.
White Camry.
Up the street then back down.
Serpentine through the neighborhoods
hoping to see a familiar body,
but not be seen ourselves.
Every day
till July 15.
Then waving goodbye to an empty house I once knew.
Where I stayed too long and talked too much about nothing.
Too many memories to remember and flash before my heart.
Then I blink and they're gone and we've passed it.
And finally I've mimicked Taylor Swift
and wrote a song about Paris.
And boys in Montreal.
Late hours. Early hours.
All hours.
Spent engulfed in our own music from our minds.
Military men. Marines that cheat and break hearts.
not enough sleep.
Lots of tire on asphalt.
Up and down and up and down and back again.
Not enough French
and a brand new white iPhone.
And the sun sets on another day
and still the one thing I want
doesn't go my way.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
In the year 3131
They come to devour our suns
Terrible, godlike, interstellar giants
Inconceivable beyond all reason and science.
Humanity and all her colonies,
Divided amongst the galaxies,
Finally united once and for all
For our race dare not fall!
To eliminate the threat of annihilation
We constructed planet-sized stations
That house massive and powerful guns
To protect and defend our vulnerable suns.
As our fears vanished behind us
Those in control sought to rebind us
For systems of authority never change,
Not even with pervasive freedom in range.
With the powerful distracted by their lust,
For control over every speck of dust,
There emerged a demented cult
That believes our race is at fault,
And beings that come from above
Do so out of divine, parental love.
These naive and delusional zealots,
Inspired by avarice long embellished,
By a ruthless society lacking empathy,
Have developed an ever enduring apathy.
Seeking to destroy our only defenses,
They mount violent and ****** offensives,
Their rugged, disorderly fleets crucify
As humanity is unable to reunify.
However, there is another cooperative effort,
A last stand, self-organized endeavor,
This vigilante group battles cultist detestables
They call themselves The Solar Sentinels.
Bound by a principled, passionate collaboration,
The Solar Sentinels defend all people and nations,
Engineers and military minds come together
To ensure our survival and prosper, whatsoever.
Now, one existential question remains:
Will humanity break free of its chains,
Awaken, realize that we are all one,
Disregard old orders and save our suns?
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
I dont know how to say goodbye to a man I never knew.
Clifton. Tail gunner ,Lancaster bomber.
1942.
I tried to write his story but I came up short. Black man fighting to free the world in his Majesty's air corps.
1944
A man who answered the call.
One of many. One of a kind.
A man from the colonies..Belizean..
Family man, father, patriot.
Has fired his last round.
R.I.P.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
I remember the schoolgirl days
when Sister Anne led us out in rows of
blue and white
[mirrored in
the Dutchware my father painted with
quick, uniform strokes]
to the school garden,
pointed hands to plant the
violets.
We breathed their air,
colonies of their gold dust
settled in our lungs; sometimes
we carved out twin plantlets
to grow in our window.
And for all those years
I never saw the flaking autumn nights
when Sister Anne stooped,
nunnery cast behind a bush;
crushed a violet stem between
2nd and
3rd fingers
lit one end
smoked her eyes
blue.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
Stumbling
Weary voices screaming soft and slow
A whine
How am I to understand
Gulls and shrieking colonies
Have never opened up to me
I can't divide the hurtle of millions
Into the movement of one head here
A feather there
And mouths agape for more
Cram a colony inside my head
Bursting with busy, covered in crap
Do you wonder now
Why I cry myself to sleep
Why I dread the light of morning
Why I stare into the deep.
I can't escape it. A million miles of progress twisted into half a cup of brain.
And not in order, either.
All's a mess within.
So how am I to understand
How am I to live
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
Wow, the weather sure is cold,
Days are short, the wind is bold.
The season isn't a favorite for sure,
Most in the cold, aren't begging for more.
This testament to the winter, is short and is sweet,
Its brutal cold, upon you does beat.
Begs for spring, and longer days,
And new found fun in different ways.
But back to winter, now let's explore,
Its wondrous beauty, many do adore,
The frosty nights, a blanket of snow,
Untouched and ****** a skiing we can go!
Take the kids to the local park,
Sleigh ride with them, a youthful spark,
May be rekindled, inside your soul,
This surely is fun, never is it droll.
Build a snowman, with coal and pipe,
He may come alive, frosty isn't just hype.
The alive that he comes, is not in the snow,
But in the hearts of the ones that help make him grow.
Spending time with the family, this bonding is good,
Feeling alive and well, with your family you should,
The wondrous winter, has the holiest of days,
A time to be kind, and have gentler ways.
The birth of the savior, the greatest of men,
His spirit reborn, and we all know when,
This holiday comes, its time be kind,
Good deeds and good thoughts, cover your mind.
The new year comes in winter, a time to start new,
Cast aside bad habits, and with them your through.
Good cheer and good times, and drinking some wine,
Kissing and hugging, and playing Auld Lang Syne.
Presidents day is a time to give thanks,
Lincoln and the north, and the fighting yanks,
Put an end to slavery, blacks free as whites,
Another century passed to gain civil rights.
Praise to Washington, the first to lead,
Our country from Britain, his troops had freed,
The people of the Colonies, America was born,
Plains full of plenty, many acres of corn.
Valentines day, the time for romance,
Put yourself out there, ask a girl to a dance!
The celebration turns history around,
Originally on this day, many bodies were found,
Dead in a garage, in the Chicago town,
The pictures are gruesome, bloodstains on the ground.
These are the times in winters' cold,
That have special meaning, and memories they hold.
Look kindly on winter, its end will bring,
A time of rebirth, known as the spring.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Il n'est pas donné à chacun de prendre un bain de multitude : jouir de la foule est un art ; et celui-là seul peut faire, aux dépens du genre humain, une ribote de vitalité, à qui une fée a insufflé dans son berceau le goût du travestissement et du masque, la haine du domicile et la passion du voyage.
Multitude, solitude : termes égaux et convertibles pour le poète actif et fécond. Qui ne sait pas peupler sa solitude, ne sait pas non plus être seul dans une foule affairée.
Le poète jouit de cet incomparable privilège, qu'il peut à sa guise être lui-même et autrui. Comme ces âmes errantes qui cherchent un corps, il entre, quand il veut, dans le personnage de chacun. Pour lui seul, tout est vacant ; et si de certaines places paraissent lui êtres fermées, c'est qu'à ses yeux elles ne valent pas la peine d'être visitées.
Le promeneur solitaire et pensif tire une singulière ivresse de cette universelle communion. Celui-là qui épouse facilement la foule connaît des jouissances fiévreuses, dont seront éternellement privés l'égoïste, fermé comme un coffre, et le paresseux, interné comme un mollusque. Il adopte comme siennes toutes les professions, toutes les joies et toutes les misères que la circonstance lui présente.
Ce que les hommes nomment amour est bien petit, bien restreint et bien faible, comparé à cette ineffable orgie, à cette sainte prostitution de l'âme qui se donne tout entière, poésie et charité, à l'imprévu qui se montre, à l'inconnu qui passe.
Il est bon d'apprendre quelquefois aux heureux de ce monde, ne fût-ce que pour humilier un instant leur sot orgueil, qu'il est des bonheurs supérieurs au leur, plus vastes et plus raffinés. Les fondateurs de colonies, les pasteurs de peuples, les prêtres missionnaires exilés au bout du monde, connaissent sans doute quelque chose de ces mystérieuses ivresses ; et, au sein de la vaste famille que leur génie s'est faite, ils doivent rire quelquefois de ceux qui les plaignent pour leur fortune si agitée et pour leur vie si chaste.
2.3k
watched grains dance playfully
affixed to lengthy golden stalks
the wind sways them gracefully
in-between a hidden world unlocks –
pink-footed mice run
well-trodden paths
the warm summer sun
never granting them baths –
shiny black crickets chirp in the night
while grasshoppers eat through the day
an occasional rabbit scurries with fright
and ant colonies seemingly play –
a dust covered floor
‘neath a ceiling of blue
in the middle, a ruffed hawk soars
striking fear in the heart of a shrew –
nobody suspects the vastness of life
when passing by in their car
the joys of birth, hunger and strife
within a wheat field under the stars –
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
doing the heavy lifting
*picking up my emaciated heart,
letting the rest of my wilting body
tag along qualifies, but is not the
heavy lifting referenced above.
we all have a meeting, the bits and
pieces, the bobs and keepsakes
that constitute my mien, a constitutional
convention of 13 colonies that raucous
write of burdens, of freedoms, with wild
inspirations and cold political calculations
this combining document hoping to topstitch
my reeling mind and deteriorating physic,
to write words of hopeful praise but rising
to a world that is baking in hatred into fabric
and tissue, and that is the heaviest lift of all
Sunday morning, coffe-d, somewhat rested,
a full day planned, and a Mike Message says
it’s me that does the heavy lifting and I know!
he knows! the displaced state of my mind, and
the hardened ache of writing with fresh hope,
when there is so little, that it is lost in the litter
of endlessness of a world gone, not going,
mad~insane and murderers are
illogically celebrated,
and yet here I am punching words on my
AM Morning Punch List of worthy words
available that aid us needy for repair & yet
might move us together to a state of full repair;
but I am punchy from trying, to find words
themselves that require do not require, a
truth washing,
a new word recleansing
and*
(they put the load right on me),
*and naïf-not, see the troubles ahead and get
me more paper to add to the list of lists of
worldly worrisome words that are heavy
lifting of the world as it is but know I weep as
I write this for not in my possess the light airy
words, the wordsmith is crushed neath the weight of***
tonnage of human word-lessened-ness
Sunday Morning
Oct 22 2023
9:02am,
writ in a singed single cry
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 10:09 AM UTC
The First. My great-grandfather spoke to Edmund Burke
In Grattan's house.
The Second. My great-grandfather shared
A pot-house bench with Oliver Goldsmith once.
The Third. My great-grandfather's father talked of music,
Drank tar-water with the Bishop of Cloyne.
The Fourth. But mine saw Stella once.
The Fifth. Whence came our thought?
The Sixth. From four great minds that hated Whiggery.
The Fifth. Burke was a Whig.
The Sixth. Whether they knew or not,
Goldsmith and Burke, Swift and the Bishop of Cloyne
All hated Whiggery; but what is Whiggery?
A levelling, rancorous, rational sort of mind
That never looked out of the eye of a saint
Or out of drunkard's eye.
The Seventh. All's Whiggery now,
But we old men are massed against the world.
The First. American colonies, Ireland, France and India
Harried, and Burke's great melody against it.
The Second. Oliver Goldsmith sang what he had seen,
Roads full of beggars, cattle in the fields,
But never saw the trefoil stained with blood,
The avenging leaf those fields raised up against it.
The Fourth. The tomb of Swift wears it away.
The Third. A voice
Soft as the rustle of a reed from Cloyne
That gathers volume; now a thunder-clap.
The Sixtb. What schooling had these four?
The Seventh. They walked the roads
Mimicking what they heard, as children mimic;
They understood that wisdom comes of beggary.
1.9k
Culture is sometimes just a way of showing who the person truly are. A country’s culture shapes everyone’s life that lives the that area. The ways that trading has affected culture is extraordinary. It changed the way we look at each religion and ideas all over the world. Trading helps a country’s culture because it spreads to grow a culture, makes other people see and understand the other cultures, and opens up new ideas.
Without trade life would be different. Trading made the whole world be able to expand to new regions and eventually get along with one another. The native americans hating the fact that Europeans moved into their land and took over everything. Eventually, they began to get use to each other. It took time, but eventually they got the hang of it. It made the world be able to expand to new regions while being able to get along and not **** each other. Honestly, without trade the world would be less diverse and not able to be joined into one.
Trading could help make the countries understand that they are different and that the world is better if they are different from each other. Take religion for an example, without the trading and exploring there would only be one specific religion for an area. That could be good, but it could also be very bad. Country leaders controlled their country by the religion a lot of times. England use to be only Catholic, so when they made colonies in America they ended up to be Catholic as well. The natives had their own beliefs and the English decided to come and try to control them. Well, that didn’t go too well for them. It caused a lot of fights between the groups. Now that the countries have traded, it opens up a whole new thought process to the different religions. It made you understand why the people believe what they do.
Opening new religions is just a part of trade. Countries over the years have been introduced to religions such as; Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, and Catholicism. Not only that, but look at the way traditions have changed. Christmas is a celebration that is celebrated in America by different religious and non-religious groups. Christianity and Catholicism believe baby Jesus was born on Christmas, but some people celebrate Christmas for the fun of it. Some people don’t even celebrate Christmas. A couple celebrate Hanukkah. So, trade made America more diverse.
Trading could corrupt a culture, but it helps it a lot more. Spreading of religions helps countries be diverse in new ways. Without religion some people would be lost or stuck in a place where they were forced to think a certain way. Many countries had a lot of arguments because they didn’t understand each other properly. Without understanding someone, it would be bad and end in an argument. It gives knowledge about the traditions that have been spread throughout the whole world. Christmas wouldn’t be here and neither would any of the other holidays. So, trading has helped the culture of every country become better.
Trading is a big part of a country’s culture, without it the world would be different. It helps in so many ways and no one really knows it. Times people don’t even appreciate what is given to them. Trading helps a country’s culture because it spreads culture to make it grow, makes people see different points of view, and opens up ideas. In order for you to prove this, look up information in a history book or look at America today.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 8:10 PM UTC
Space is hardly the final frontier.
But, for now,
don’t you think we seem ambitious?
Shooting arrows at the clouds
could come back
to shoot you in the head.
Can’t you see that colonies on mars
would become a new home for problems.
Seems desperate.
What do I know though,
I'm Twenty-Five and I haven't even graduated college.
But fears of failure make us see future
where our planets long since dead.
From that arrow to the head.
Salvation relies on a new years revolution
or something humbling like that.
But wait,
I shouldn’t write that here.
Big Bro is always watching.
I might find a man in black,
tap-tapping at my chamber door.
Not Lenore.
Thats when you'll hear me saying,
"Does anyone have a cigarette?"
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I am not a carnivore
but a ****** man eating
the flesh of the baboons.
Colonies of monkeys in
awe watching David in
enterprising exploits slaying
Goliaths in heroism of liberty
for equity.
It'll not be long when the night'll
break into day of freedom when the baboons will leave the bananas for the monkeys.
Till this ugly night of injustice turns a summer day of freedom when all sieging clouds are cleared, it's war!
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
Happy Independence Day America
July 4th 1776 our independence was declared
Thirteen original colonies believed in freedom here
Thanks to those who fought to make and keep us free
Many paying the ultimate price for you and me
God Bless America! Land of the Free!
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
Washington was the first, helped emancipate,
His skills as a leader, nothing less than great.
A founding father, during the Revolutionary war,
America's first general, British trouble was in store.
Crossed the Delaware, while the English slept,
On the Limeys army, his troops had crept.
This historic victory, both clever and tactical,
Thoughts of independence now were practical.
Now victory assured, not bowing to the king,
Colonists were free, here there voices sing.
George rule the colonies, we put you on a throne,
Let's start a new democracy, he said in a gentle tone.
Served as the president for eight strong years,
Loved by the voters, respected by his peers.
The next great man, to hold political reigns,
Was our counties leader, during the time of great pains.
Born in the woods, his character strongly built,
His passion for equality, never did wilt.
Families torn apart, North against South,
The Emancipation Proclamation, wisdom out of Abe's mouth.
The Civil War now over, abolished was the slave,
The social order of the States, beginning to repave.
Lincoln wasn't alive, to see freedom abound,
Shot by Wilkes Booth, the world mourned the sound,
Heard at Ford's theater, that fateful night,
His spirit is alive, it continues to fight.
For freedom and justice and the American way,
Both Washington and Lincoln are honored this day.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
V. the ballad of briseis
my heart is of
the flesh of figs,
and that which
i cannot touch:
grainy sweet
garnet nectar
pretty to behold
but easy to bruise
no god shall speak for me, briseis
for this fig-heart, like the heart of man
craves art as it does god
and though i know you not by name,
but only pseudonym:
blood, words, and love,
we are kindred souls
i'd like to believe that we
are cut of the same cloth
hewn of the same mound of clay
(or cast into the same iron, i suppose
for we became one another's anchor
the day we met)
i once told you, my dear briseis,
that if you taught me symbiosis
i would teach you love
for you found pragma
in philosophy cold
markov's blankets
freud's ego, plato's cave
whereas i found pragma
in alchemy's poetry
chekhov's gun
freud's neurotics, plato's human
it means nothing.
the alchemy lies
beyond the chemicals,
beyond the seed and the egg,
beyond our festivals of atonement,
beyond my prima materia
and your unfulfilled magnum opus
it lies in simple interdependence,
the oceans, the heavens,
the forests, the deserts,
the storms, the famines,
the herds of wildebeest,
the colonies of ants,
the beady dew on the spider web
and the purling river shallows,
our acrid mouths yearning for mother's milk,
the boy who makes us cry at night,
the fiery logs roaring against the cold air,
the hoot-owls and the faces on the wall
(our skeletons never did stay in the closet)
bathed in that slow, hideous wonder
those interplays of love and symbiosis
as i drown and die in reverie once more
pray that the stakes may be forever higher
that i find those eternal elysian fields
so long as our achilles lives to fight again
we are more alike,
than you or i would
ever dare to admit,
briseis
so humor this fig-heart:
hold me and tell me
that it'll be all right
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 11:57 PM UTC