"crowder" poems
If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace
We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space.
If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity
If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality.
Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety
the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity.
If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail,
so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail.
If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation,
existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations.
If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in ugly hordes
on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall.
If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call,
If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all.
If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only
If Only
M C Crowder
@scorsby
19th November 2018
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:00 PM UTC
The fakeness of fake reality
is in reality ...
fake
and is of no consequence.
If you, in reality,
are fake
the consequence of the fakeness
is - your reality,
Ipso facto, this consequence,
your - fakeness
should cease, in reality
or - prepare for consequences
which - in reality - won't be fake.
The Fakeness Of Fake Reality Michael C Crowder 17th March 2019
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC
Everything, is fine,
it is. Fine,
If I have that again, it will, make me sick
It will always get stuck in my throat,
I would choke. Sick,
that I don't need, Don't eat.
leave it out? Totally.
Someone might see,
know, help, me? Getting worse.
Help myself. Normality,
keeping things usual. Work.
Pull myself together? get over it, don't be silly:
That's not helpful,
don’t say anything.
What's happening? I've never passed out before.
You in my head will you explain
What to do, yes you; I'm losing,
help me?
see things I'm missing. Ignore.
Remember being sick ? I don't want that, leave,
I Need food to keep the same.
Not. Change.
Food others have makes me feel unwell. Don't eat.
I. Tremble, consider, stare, UNABLE TO EAT MEALS,
Eat: with everyone, sit, quiet, be slow,
as much as possible, I will leave.
At least I tried. To observing eyes. I did well?
Touch leave, take leave tremble, later, maybe. No.
Don't want to, yet: need to think,
what I'm going to have? where I'm going to eat?
you can tell me, yes, no.? Safe food list, alters,
becomes not safe. It has changed, different cold.
Leave it. If it's not the same, colour, shape, smell,
not safe, Wait. It's on the list. Avoid it, the date is old,
milkshake
best.
In therapy, I speak, I listen, you unravel.
Best?
help me? keep to timetable? Its achievable.
What has really happened.?
Avoid? Try? Listen. Try, try
Is it fine?, me trying, still worried, concerned.
Not what you thought
(ARFID) Michael C Crowder September 2018
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
Through the miracle of meteorology, up high - little by little
parts of me was made, without form within a clouds middle,
and eventually, formed in unique designs, lighter than feathers,
temperature and water work together to produce, a period of weather.
When shapes, never repeated - but in approximation, begin to fall, as snow,
feasibly forecasted, sometimes not so, down on to the surface below.
And so as blanket laid, across town and countryside, fields and city mews,
changing the familiar, smoothing contours, into new landscape views.
The material soft, white glistening snow so miraculously delivered,
at earliest opportunity is introduced to excited shouts, laughter, and shivers.
Fittingly gathered by adult and children's hand, with the goal - to build a man.
midst joyful sounds, travellers moans and snowball fights, the creators plan,
By rolled ball pile and heaped snow I was born, created by many in several places,
some small and really, lovingly made. Others large with various, curious, hats and faces.
All - to stand appreciatively of of the makers time, to create me and proudly put on show.
Winter feeds our lifetime span with cold wind, colder nights and, temperatures low,
we stand as white statuary, where children play, soon - will come the expected day
a thaw, will take our sustainability of cool, and so little by little I, and others go away,
with saddened countenance creators watch as we bend, wither and slouch,
stoically accepting this is, as is. Snowy days will return, snowmen too, I can vouch.
It’s a happy sadness for snowman builders and snowmen too, who together
wait in anticipation for fun and creativity, the joyful side of snowy weather.
From a Snowman
Michael C Crowder 23rd January 2019
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 5:09 AM UTC
Relax, begin to Imagine you are in the proximity
to immerse yourself into a precious moment.
It is that needed time you have brought into being, and is intrinsic
to experience composure, equanimity.
Smooth - melodic - ambient music with simple cause,
low and soft will, in its incipiency invalidate
trending previous troublesome thoughts,
silkily, sauntering, lingeringly pauses,
to softly embrace your audible senses
with silence which conveys complete assurance,
that the here and now is yours, no-one elses,
ataraxia created by you, for your true inner self,
It continues; envelops remaining unsettled interruption
embraces the heart, and encourages serenity,
all the remaining negative, solicitous intellection
are temporarily, tipped out of your consciousness,
you are experiencing them leave, then transcended
with blissful tranquillity for your indulgence.
You are asleep with your eyes open, it feels so benefic,
the mind is calm and clear no longer confused.
Melodious sound continues to provide atmospheric
momentum to this sensibility folding into the soul.
Joyfully you are enduring moments of pure inner solitude and
wrapped in perfect peace, consciousness uncommitted.
There is no expectation of time, not at all
just the psyche drifting, changing shape, density, profundity.
You feel wonderfully restituted, calmed; uplifted.
You sense it, knowing, this absence of tension you sought,
this, your perfect you, is transient and will slowly begin to regress, reluctantly,
relinquishing this blissfully serene, conditioned emotional stillness, to be restored.
Then you turn the telly on! All gone.
Michael C Crowder March 5th 2019
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
On darkening red sky languish low clouds as if, smeared into existence by artists knife,
golden edged against clear red sky that transitions, upward to darker cover, void of light.
Horizon formed by railway bank black, sprout twig and bough silhouettes of bush and tree
still in winters mode, bud form begins, reach, mingling with power lines gentle bow
in the the distance assemble birds seemingly in motion slow, fly seeking places known,
their favorite safest roosts, whilst crying silently, seagulls solicit the close estuarys call.
Serenely and unusually silently a train glides into view, slowing, prepares to halt
at the nearby serving station, clouds, now red edged emanate in windows of carriages long,
through moving frames the scene so pictured then - with the last carriage, gone.
The backdrops reds darken as the unseen sun sinks lower to adorn skies new
and so draws in the waiting night, escorting pinpoint stars, finally kissing the day adieu,
Laughably today, so called ‘happiness day,’ today, where tiny annoyances
grew into frustrated rage, conversation nettlesome, tension nerves to stressful result,
Mentally I accept the guilt for letting me, yes me - down, yes - it is my fault.
Still, a scene like this.... calms my reality within, even so, the self incriminating roundabout
slowly, restarts again the anger of - my - self created weaknesses and futility.
Thankfully this darkening sky creates a serene oneness in which retire I,
the placid evening, now early night, calmness returns connecting me with this aspect .
regardless of this view a day indifferent, tomorrow maybe be a better prospect.
Spring Equinox Evening Michael C Crowder 21st March 2019
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Thunder rolled deeply on the morning as the baby boy arrived,
his father typically absent his mother she wasn't surprised.
Early days were troublesome for a single mother to provide
a home, somewhere that was safe and retain some dignity and pride.
The child grew in hardship, in his mother's eyes he saw inner pain,
he often heard his mother weeping and hang her head in shame.
They survived, and into an average youth he learned and he grew,
not so different to others because, his dad, he never knew.
Early teens, he began leaving his concerned mother home alone,
with bravado hanging around places, with kids he didn't know,
from their dark influences, tricks he learnt well, in guile he was trained,
powerless to change his ways, his mother hangs her head in shame.
Attitudes hardened, he became devious, now almost a man,
so involved he became leader of his own pointless, wilful gang.
One night attempting thievery from a store, they almost were caught,
it's not their manor, they can't avoid the local gang, so they fought,
midst fists - kicks - shouts most ran, but he was pinned against an alley wall
scared, choking, grabbed a bottle from a bin and made that bottle fall
mindlessly, again - again, smashing down on his opponent's head,
fleeing the from the scene, doesn't know the man on the ground is, dead.
his gang has gone, his escape is now blocked by shadows of a group
open arms he walked toward them he's unsure of what he should do
he's encircled, the streetlight reflects each drawn blades dull deadly flame,
and later that night, his mother hangs her head in grief and shame
Michael C Crowder
Hangs Her Head In Shame (rewrite of my 1978 song Samuel)
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:48 AM UTC
Through voracious eyes devotees, peruse writings, clever literature all styled to thoughtful poetic ways
eloquently, exposing wounds of body and soul, discovered distrust, anger much regret, sadly even fear,
thereto shortcomings in life, of people, their actions, loves and lies promulgated in illuminating phrase.
Technology endows contributors with outlets for venting suchlike occasions using artistry is here.
Passionate poignant experiences most well written, some not are duly shared to attracted communal eyes.
declarations of 'I have cared so much I'm wounded mortally', some bask in lost or unrequited loves last kiss,
several employ inner strength 'whatever happened, I don't care, I'm resilient, I survive', shared with poetic pride
concise verses rework obvious reminders, may motivate suggestion that opportunity shouldn't be missed.
Modest words abundantly profound begin remarks that reassures, with the - I'm here for yous'- symbolic embrace,
in support it is written, 'I know what you mean' and from a great distance - empathise, but I have little to say.
Health issues aren't fixed by artistic pennings, only face to face professional advice forms the strongest base,
Writings from the poetic inner self may become positive steps, for futures not, staring in depressions face.
Much is written with sensitivity oft-times is judged by content, overlooked is why and how it is composed.
For instance suicide educes fear however. dubiety invites, is it fiction or truly despair?
Writing as an art observes, describes, creates imagery, of sadness and joy, escapism, fictional or no.
Poetic creators who web-wide commune through stories, thoughts, secrets, ideas, dreams, let the poetry be shared .
Poetry www Michael C Crowder 12th January 2019 @scorsby
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
Sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Cutting keys wit flour
****** man of the hour
It’s the sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Lookin down from the tower
Homeboy, I got all the power
It’s the sweet sweet powder
Like I’m raven from the bowery
I be hittin fools wit trash cans
Wake em up in bout an hour
With that sweet sweet powder
Shootin three ***** like crowder
Hollarin hella louder
Like Aretha in the shower
Got that sweet sweet powder
That I’m given to the *******
Never ****** with those snitches
That are wearing goodwill britches
No I roll with the
Sweet sweet powder
Been running through the ditches
Eating salty ham sandwiches
You act like I don’t know riches
I know that
Sweet sweet powder
Be cutting keys wit flour
I’m da man of the hour
Jumpin in the shower
With the sweet sweet powder
On the ivory tower
Pimpin tricks by the hour
Holding all the ****** power
Got that sweet sweet powder
Now wit that sweet sweet powder
I get ******* like a Scotty
****** Baio was hottie
But with that sweet sweet powder
He coulda ****** gotten Molly
Little Ringwald in her prime time
Slap that *** like a hate crime
Sweet sweet powder blowin my mind
I got that sweet sweet powder
Fuckim man of the hour
Rollin with robin trower
Acting like a lil bow-er
With my sweet sweet powder
Turning trick by the hour
Showering with power
Giving ******* flowers
Got that sweet sweet powder
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
Before her the open laptop stares
At settled coffee shop young lady
smart appearance nice hair.
Phone close, to hand for just maybe.
nowhere in particular she looks here and there,
as she shares short glances between
coffee shop phone and screen,
An image created of controlled serenity,
around her the tidal increase of customers ebb and flow.
Laptop screen, a document shines out, I'm here.
Momentarily her phone blinks me too
then returns to outward inactivity.
An embryo smile flickers, perhaps a thought
of the fleeting communication, perhaps not,
voices sway back and forth then, spike of a laugh
quickly swallowed by the ambience to give way
to hisses, gurgles of music coffee machines play.
Young men perch and slouch in fervent conversation
They leave, talking, passing Dad with daughters so pleased
when discovering window side seats, wait in anticipation,
where delivers Dad , then into newspaper immerses.
Girls silently survey the scene, hot chocolate cupped
shortly paper closes, a look, chocolate speedily drunk
to join dads exit swift, wordless and abrupt
past headphoned staff in crockery recovery.
Incessantly tables change coffee treats enjoyed again,
The coffee shop laptop lady alone but not lonely
chooses to be, just maybe, happy in her own skin.
scorsby
MICHAEL C CROWDER 1st January 2019
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 8:29 AM UTC
Sleep - Oh my dear friend why do you hide
midst the turbulent brooding that twist
and tumble within my fatigued mind?.
Come, let slumber kiss my heavy eyes,
whilst Luna roves the scene Nox has spread,
waken for me Somnus from his bed
to still thoughts and words erratic chase,
till Morpheus dreams then takes their place:
thence to grant me slumbers precious peace,
Come - settle my mind: Please - let me sleep.
3.30AM ©Michael C Crowder @scorsby
15th February 2021
May 3, 2023
May 3, 2023 at 10:50 AM UTC
Period homesteads line Peppercorn Road , meticulous working farms of corn , cotton and sorghum cultivars , rugged gravel drives cut into dried , red clay ditches , Charleston architecture cooling her Summer residents . Double story barns with white washed brick silos , picket fences and blue ribbon cattle .. Sturdy Pole barns shelters surrounded in shamrock clover , the clanging of cowbells as Dairy cows return from her glistening fields ... Catfish feeding frenzies over field corn and evening mayflies , gas porch lights illuminate the family garden with activity in Summer well into night , Crowder peas and Fordhook butter beans , Okra and Butter peas harvested free of Red wasp and Bumblebees as opposed to hungry mosquitos , red chiggers and Crane flies ... Silver washtubs on hot , humid nights , the instant relief of cool well water relieving the pang of harvest .. The creaky screen door and porch ceiling fans , white rockers and good books ...Mason jars filled with sweet tea , hearts filled with adventure and young eyes with sleep .. Coonhounds sing to the ever rising gold Moon .. All was well .. All was most certainly well ...
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
Unwittingly and surprisingly so often ignored is appreciation.
Of gifts, the love, the nurture received, given in true benefaction.
Even lack of spoken gratitude from the receiver, by the giver it is perceived.
Accordingly that which is given and is conspicuously wordlessly received
from the recipient, bathed in sublime silence, shines the appreciativeness
When physical attraction evolves into the love for each other entirely,
overwhelmed with gratitude for feelings, passion, desire, intrinsic sensuality.
In carnal gratification intertwined lovers, murmur words the moment in time set
as the act of true love, lovers appreciation of each other is a prerequisite,
kindling their deep and profound recognition of the symbiotic enchantment
Individuals have so much in life for which to celebrate in thankfulness
Taken for granted are emotional feelings of those who daily acquiesce.
Actions, items the mundane, all forgotten overlooked values unconsidered,
A list almost without end, descriptions of conceded gratitude left unsaid,
until its familiar benefits cease, revealing immediate impact of gratitude held concealed.
The Quality Feeling Of Thankful Michael C Crowder 30th December 2018
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
Is it possibly, strange believing,
you’re somewhere else but, still here,
Not physically close by but a feeling
Is it reassurance - perhaps a safety tier
a presence somewhat instinctive around me.
I speak to you, didn't always do,
not commonplace between us, conversation:
sometimes there'd be an answer, from your perspective.
Whenever now I question my determination,
a moments ponder- what might have you selected.
Character of courage and trust: ruled by fairness.
Silent belief - dignified and true,
moral sensitivities caring and kindness
None, ever, placed prominently on view,
just waiting behind your shield, for careful use in crisis.
Solitary - not seemingly lonesome but quiet,
yet, when needed around to convey
considered words, and sturdy hands to guide.
You wisely put to use, new skills, knowledge learnt,
supporting the family if required from day to day.
in thoughts is where your lingering presence exists
reminds, so much still to learn – that’s why
your story, the about you, we will want to hear,
absent physically - true, yet in thoughts indeed they persist,
You never left completely Dad, you’re still here.
You Are..
Michael C Crowder @scorsby Friday, March 8, 2019
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 2:49 PM UTC
Sitting in the henhouse to relieve pepper burnt eyes with the sound of Miss Trellie whipping the okra, willow switch in hand , harvesting eggs , adding fresh hay to each nest box , ankle deep in pig dung , snapping crowder peas , Fordhook butter beans , pulling black eyed peas , resting on a five gallon bucket , mother nervously on the lookout for " Giant Serpents " more commonly known as King snakes and taking breaks with a mouthful of figs, plus all the cherry tomatoes that my overalls would hold ! A daily event in the Summer ..... Children thrive on routine , dirt , a mothers love and a long list of chores each and every day !
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
And we are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.
and Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss,
and my heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don't have time to maintain these regrets,
when I think about the way that
He loves us, oh how He loves us.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Rainbows for chasing,
the moon for the aiming,
forming in clouds, faces
for inspiration,
beckoning, is life ahead
full of credible opportunity,
beside empty promises creating,
truthful reality.
Standing tall, girding *****
I, reached for the unreachable
so - distantly close, impulsive forward, surges.
without doubt,
or plan,
missing by the - conceivably smallest,
actually - furthest amount,
yet still moving through,
pushing the immovable, climbing
the inaccessible,
falling - frequently,
never reaching nethermost depth,
buoyed by a recognition,
realising - all this fighting - striving
failing - miserably,
doing it all - wrong,
was not failure, but a justified lesson
on coping in the mire of existence.
The rainbows beauty explained in science,
gives it simplicity. A reality water and sunlight,
nothing really to chase,
or catch.
Moon - oh moon - my most favourite, still my dreamstone,
is but a stark beautiful presence,
removing sunlight reveals a satellite bleak,
nothing is here to seek,
or take aim,
likewise our cloud perceived faces,
expectations are best - unexpected.
If controlled by endeavour and aquasition
disappointment may be somewhat - repositioned,
attainment of skills formerly devoid of utilisation
revived, re-given to make something, that in truth,
can be ameliorated.
if only to yours truly
.
Still Chasing Rainbows . Michael C Crowder 10th March 2019 @scorsby
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
Responding to the sunny afternoon,
curtains, breathe in and out of the room,
for a moment I lay, I rest my eyes
and listen to neighbours DIY,
and children's voices lifting stream
playing on joy giving trampoline,
indistinct not much clearer,
are voices somewhat nearer
which, discuss matters of no alarm,
laughter adds to its charm.
Even trains pass at a slower pace,
like the breeze, without clouds to chase.
A magpie's chatter, doves return coo,
and a wood pidgeon joins in too.
Dreamily, creep reminiscences.
Times, difficult to dismiss,
all the ways, perhaps I would
have changed prospects, if I could
have sorted things, when I should.
Still it's not bad, nor is it good.
I just turn away, and let them fall
the past cannot be changed at all,
dismissing them, behind closed eyes.
De stress, maximised,
my negative thoughts, who cares.
Feeling so relaxed, is for me rare,
a difference todays sun had made,
and it's one I so gladly take.
Afternoon
21st April 2020 Michael C Crowder @scorsby
Aug 17, 2024
Aug 17, 2024 at 12:01 PM UTC
Move on, it is time,
hurts heal best, if left behind.
Relief you shall find
Michael C Crowder 18th February 2019
@scorsby
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC
Each year comes to close
Plans goals hopes, so many missed
New Year without those.
Michael C Crowder @scorsby
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
Moon phases agree,
apogee to perigee,
precept time and seas.
Moon (Haiku)
Michael C Crowder @scorsby 18th March 2019
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
Winter February finalises,
his tenure o'er, so oft unkind,
let Winter withdraw with firm good-bye.
Hence I eager look to milder clime.
Comes March, thus inclined to breezy moil,
tulips and head held high daffodils
Springs blossom bud borne on once bare boughs
whence sleeping floras grateful hues rouse,
precedes, mostly mellow, April’s charm,
softened through sporadic showers calm,
thence to May: unfolds green fragrant warmth,
blossoms in full array, Springs dances done,
the unspoken vow that Summer comes.
Renewal, regrowth, light airs of love,
reflect on resurrection of the Lord.
Rebirth found in flowers, birds, the lamb,
as day extends as nights hold, duly falls,
Oh, Spring, how you ease me to Summer's call.
To Spring 23rd February 2021
Michael C Crowder @scorsby
May 3, 2023
May 3, 2023 at 7:58 AM UTC
Often in darkness she approaches
predominantly men, seeking fun
soon as they speak, she already knows.
She's a professional and it shows.
Astute to what some men can't resist
moving as she does, her allure grows,
her trade perfected through many years.
She's a professional and it shows.
She's a priestess of many pleasures,
in particularly, of the flesh,
her ****** curves men long to own.
She's a professional and it shows.
She's a dispenser of sensations,
performing she fulfills buyers hopes,
a willing taker of hard earned pay.
She's a professional and it shows.
She can be a ten minute lover,
or can be rented by the hour,
it's just how far their money will go.
She's a professional and it shows.
Characters half clothed, or in leather
in all styles, she will easily cope,
she can give pleasure now on the phone.
She's a professional and it shows
She's a professional and it shows,
she has assumed the name of Honey,
buyers pay to love her for a while,
meantime she loves to take their money.
She will deliver all paid delights
desires of buyers, she well knows,
often called Predator of the night.
She's a professional and it shows.
Professional Lady
Michael C Crowder January 24th 1978
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
*Have you worked a crowder pea field in July
As the Georgia sun fries
When humidity sits you down every half hour ,
where the weather deals great power
Showers are few and far between
Dirt fills every pocket of your blue jeans
Sweat blinds
The day seems to grind
Humor and inspiration are hard to find
Picking peas by moonlight
Mosquitoes feasting by lamplight
Filling bushel baskets by day
If the good Lord be willing , please call the paper wasp away* ..
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 5:20 PM UTC
Lying so close to you... my love.... my life
I feel your warmth, see your smooth skin
in moonlights glow....cast over silken sheet,
defines in subtle shadows pale light,
partially veiled..... your sensuous form,
fractional to your captivating...wholeness.
So I..rapt within your especial fragrance,
the very essence of you, that my indulgence is, so drawn.
I regard your soft, gentle, calm breathing,
for me beautiful, nocturnal music, sweet,
written by you, for this, hedonistic night.
Such treasures are future memories, seeding.
I long to wake you, to hold, to love you... be complete.
So enthralled am I, watching you sleeping
your dark hair frames the face I cherish,
as you stir the motion slightly slides the sheet.
your thigh, back, shoulder, the silver moons gleam
exposes your appealing femininity
evoking your caring personality,
you are moving.. sinuously.... towards me,
midst soft murmuring...eventually,
bodies in coalescence curl serenely.
I softly rest my head against your shoulder,
kissing your neck, I caress your breast.. gently,
your warm smooth skin... tenderly moving downwards
slowly you turn facing me, our eyes meet... to betray
a tiny smile from the lips I will kiss... and kiss,
is the silent signal between us.... intimacy assured.
Pushing away the covers, we fondly embrace,
and so aroused, we, as lovers, experience a consensual excursion
towards effecting the ultimate... ecstasy,
fuelled not by - carnal impulse or lust - but along with grace,
an unconditional... true love and mutual desire.
In Love In Memories
Michael C Crowder January 19th 2019 @scorsby
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC