"deafness" poems
Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.
Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.
Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.
No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.
Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.
Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
turning into decades
of challenges.
But we shall revive our hope
and raise our voices
tomorrow.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
I met a woman
brutal in her mercy.
Her embrace was a clinch
to prevent hard blows.
She pulled me close to push me away.
Seeing my nakedness
she leant me a dream
of chainmail and shield.
Taking love from me she gave a reprieve
to a mind resigned to the slow death of feeling.
Ignoring my words she heard
my faint silent heartbeat and
understood that it was music
too quiet for the world to hear
and turned it up louder
than I could stand.
I wept in my deafness
as she danced.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer
We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..
But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all
Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers
Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about
But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains
We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan
We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it
When we get
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life
So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
Frozen in the darkness silence peacefully shrouds me
hoping that I am breathless, praying he wont see,
this sublime sorrow I am gasping in the pain
swallowing bitter tears seconds from insane.
Defining the emotion each and every time
trying not to echo, balancing on the line,
silence is a killer but not my reason to die
hearing in this deafness will always make me cry.
The shadows over take me, speak the unspoken curse
just as well I am dying can't bear to smell this hearse.
Weighed down by lost tomorrows my memory finally broke,
why is it always my own hands gripped to make me choke?
His hug comforts my stomach blindly in his sleep
not knowing in this darkness my eyes can't help but weep,
obscurity plays around me tries to steal my breath
every time I close my eyes I know I’m close to death.
Panic underestimates the power the black withholds
carving me so gently, painless as it moulds
I sweat out my reaction cause words can't find a voice,
helplessly devoted to lay I have no choice.
Everything suffocates can't bear to close my eyes
repeated optimism as I see how everyone dies,
my mind is there to haunt me it never gives me peace
all the pills digested at will, still wont make it cease.
Night is a blur now confused by chemical reaction
convulsions rage as death excels performing its extraction,
in the mix I see his face traumatised by my choice, it's made
but time has gone his actions futile as sight begins to fade,
regret stabs flesh repentantly too late to change effect
I know he’ll cry forever at his failure to correct.
My selfish, vengeful actions will speak louder than my word
he never seen the suicide…do you think he finally heard?
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
4.6k
So… he looked on, watching from afar the imagery of family.
Now alone, sitting in place on an old cranky stubborn
porch, eighty-one years of tears laughter and memory/smiled;
his smiled gleamed through the haze and humidly
of another summer day: a day that reminded him
of his younger years when the joy in many eyes gathered
for a day of barbecue and rejoice
in his voice, as his raspy cough briefly interrupted the moment,
was the song of an elderly man missing the days of innocence
but briefly in this time, in the sight of the young boy
he now studied from across the street
he saw a familiarity. His vision saw support and togetherness;
his hearing heard the song of compassion
and in the charcoaled flavored heat, his heart felt
what he thought was forgotten;
the genius and destiny of hope. In his life he has seen
once inspiring brick-layered sidewalks become the mask
of crime that has kidnapped a neighborhood once
proud. He has seen the dreams of children become temporarily
paralyzed by the heights of poverty and many visions
of fear. He watched in silence over all these years
but the tears of his mind has always been vocal.
The shackles
of osteoarthritis that now held on to his bones and the slight
battle with old-aged deafness that now challenged
the vibration of harmony and not even the parade
of high blood pressure marching through his veins
could keep him from feeling the pain and decay
of days passed. But as he looked on at the sight
of burgers and hotdogs sizzling on the grill; as he looked on
at the pleasantries of young and old joining in good times
and fun playing the games of life; as he looked on
and lived again through the body language of the young boy
who now looked back at him
he saw the glimpse of renewal in a community
holding on to the aspects of a neighborhood’s inheritance.
For the first time in many decades, he saw the enjoyment
in dancing trees that waltzed in the breezes of tomorrow;
he felt shades of sweat trickle down his bronzed almond skin
that was the welcomed condensation of happiness
and he smelled a renewed energy of genetic fortitude
that was family all in the aroma of summer cooking --
and so…he dreamed on.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
SCREAM at the top your lungs
To cure any doubt for deafness
On a bumpy ride in between satin and fog,
Slipping on the white leather smudged
With the day's dirt.
Let's sit and tear
At the rolling and swirling dolphins,
Who swim to hunt to eat to swim,
In no hurry.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 11:22 AM UTC
They speak silently
on troubled nights
whispering through the crowds
Somber voices
crying out
and soon
nothing else can be heard
through blaring deafness
in the loneliness of your mind
Listening
Remembering each word
and speaking up for all to hear
because you will reply to them
every night
you will reply
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
wrists cry
hemaglobin tears
washed away by
shower steam
and daydream fears
your knife-wielding hands
clenched to the bone
my roar now dwindled
to a gentle hum
your selective deafness
my self-inflicted muteness
our perpetual daze
i wanted you to hear me so
i screamed my voice away
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
When You Should Be Doing Homework
You dig for your future inside a mirror,
Excavating pimples, drowning in your pupils,
Wondering if the road map that gathers around
The belt of your iris will make you look wise
After fifty years of blinking—or
If the folds in your skin will bookmark a chapter
Where you let them close for too long
Memorializing a missed-out stripe.
You lean closer to the better half of yourself,
The one that gets to look real
in a cold glass surface
Without enduring the social blemish
that comes with authenticity
And a lack of caked on makeup.
You count the pores on your nose.
The weight of silent opinions and swallowed up worries
Split the edges of your lips wide open like a sore.
You look inside; behind the fillings, under the flood of saliva, inside the flesh of your gums,
For the shelves where advice for your unborn children
will sit and gather dust; yellowing like old bones and tasting like coffee.
Don’t marry your mattress.
The way to a man’s heart is bacon.
Sticks and stone don’t usually look like sticks and stones.
If those children become anything like you are now,
it’s a safe bet they will have selective deafness.
You imagine your graying hair and huskied voice
spewing life lessons drilled into you
by your parents, Hallmarks cards, and people who call themselves poets—
*Make sure your smile matches the color of the dry cleaned heart your wear on your sleeve.
If you want to do well in school, learn how to ********
Never own / wear anything studded.
One day you’ll want to die your hair a rebellious color, thinking it’s cool: go for it. To hell with the people who will give a ****
One day you’ll want a concert t-shirt with wholes and stains that spell out **** go for that too, you’ll learn the hard way those are the hardest to wash*.
You step away from the echo of your eyes in the mirror,
feeling sorry for the future responsibilities
you’ll try hard to raise into good people.
Mom and Dad don’t always know best.
Don’t look in the mirror and think about the future. You’ll only see your hair gray.
Do your homework.
Keep your socks clean.
Use protection.
You pull yourself out of your mouth
Gulp down the darkness in your pupils,
Letting your face return to normal—the road map sinking into your skin, disappearing.
That future is too close for you to conjure it in the mirror.
Even without the weight of wrinkles,
Your eyes are too tired to stay open.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
"God is Alive, Magic is Afoot."
Who are you? Who am I?
the light in February can be self-sufficient,
sharp as deafness in the middle of the sentence
heavy as denial,
rapturous as a fusion
in the wind, in the air
forces of cohesion and destruction
play well together
in the arena of ribs, guts, lungs,
perhaps the silent liver
something is shivering inside
the light of a blade
an efortless wave of desire
a tired boundary left alone in the afternoon
the contours of my limits, your limits,
their limits so bright in this
constructivist fabric
Picasso was just foretelling us
forcing the doors
to expose the cover-up
dreaming his internal objects
then we start all over
with every breath
I want to give myself to me
as a new toy, as a gift
I want to love him with overt passion
I want you/him to break and store me
in between your thoughts
the body is full of eyes, of ears, of lips
I’ll survive in a whisper
They just want to flow into each other
clapping, holding on to the fluid of life
engulfing everything, defying all
censorship, authorship,
leadership
the light in February
is newly born with desire
to embrace itself, its darkness
in the vibrant body
I am, you are are sliding back with the air
finding rest in the vital void
the song remains the same
I am you, and you are me
the enchanted blade
is ready to cut
a new body for misunderstanding
we need to survive each other
something is tickling my feet
some wordless revolt
some rage of the living
to impersonate death
to posses their breath
I feel my boundaries
watched over by desire
but you are always invited here
to sing your sea of blood
turquoise or as you like
I am my desire
my desire is searching for myself
everywhere
in the incomprehensible light
in the lightness of his hair
in their hunger, courage and despair
for tomorrow
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
the fact of deafness
it is not our minds
but our ears
thinks not that i don't understand
though sound does not enter
sight is available
my eyes read lips
my hands make signs
i know you understand
pretending otherwise
to explain from start to end is a waste
for you do not believe
what can i do?
but i feel the isolation
seems like my life gets harder with passing time
you say i'm young its not true
you try to make it as if age matters
when its not
by blackrose
date: Sept. 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
no matter how loud I scream
I still hear nothing
I can't even hear my own voice
no matter how loud I scream
Mar 31, 2023
Mar 31, 2023 at 4:58 AM UTC
Soft Blows
Where there is thunder
the lips speak in soft blows
Syllables award-winning
Connect in dialogue
A distance meaning close
Action speaking deafness arouse
Hammer to anvil
Current transmitted
Feelings stir emotions
Message is clear
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
Good old Ludwig von Beethoven
Wrote music that was greathoven
His deafness didn’t preclude
The greatness of this dude
But now, alas, he is latehoven
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
Beauty wears the cold breath of death
the way a ********* wears a smile.
Is this casual brutality a sign of the times?
Or have you watched the news in the last
24 hours?
The mirror sung a thousand prayers
to the God; now felt forsaken
with 31 flavours to his love.
They pierced your body
with their spears of love
and hung you up by the hair
to dry.
You recite your green finch song
to the deafness of those above,
and they still hold
your lace burdened hand
to quiet your sorrowful heart.
Lay your head upon the pillow
as tiredness takes us both
as the morning rears its ugly head
and the day becomes yours again.
Then raise your golden brow
to the freedom of Night Angels
who know your secret kiss
where all desires roam amiss,
watch yourself seek for home
in the city's barrio's and filth
down *** sodden alleys
where happiness
is spilled.
The Centurions of hunger
who's empty bellies predict
this shift of power.
By these shadows of delight
you don the mantle of delirium
It stretches down
to your wrists
and grows taut by this slip of Fate
your barrier of Morpheus
a tattoo by Bacchus
a scar tissue kiss of Eros.
Your beauty burned like an ember
that puckered my skin
My love wrote a sonnet
in invisible ink.
"Goodbye"
a silver bullet
that is tasteless
unlike your kisses.
And your finger slipped upon the trigger.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
SuzAnne, nee Christine
Irascible, Incorrigible, Indefatigable, Affable
Adopted sister of Doug and Mike and sort of Jill
Lover of ideas and stances
Who fears laryngitis and deafness
Who needs music and malleability
Who gives grades and advice
Who would like to see Firenze and the Pyramids of Giza
Who lives in Hot Water
Wilson, nee Doe
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Good morning gorgeous!
You asked me why I broke up with her.
I've been thinking about what to say without sounding
like a disrespectful ****
Like you I've discovered it's easier to figure it out
if you write it down.
You're seeking and respect honesty so here goes.
I could not get you out of my head yesterday
and went to bed thinking about you last night.
I watched Tyson peck at the wood branch in his cage.
He bit me like the one he's named after bit Holyfield.
He loses interest in toys I buy him in minutes.
Reminds me of my ex she was the same way.
She never listened when I spoke and it was like I never did.
I lost patience with her due to her always being late.
Last time I took her out she was an hour late
with no good reason but couldn't decide what to wear.
She was adult but felt like I was involved with a immature kid.
Plus she's impulsive in a bad way.
She used the cards I let her use for emergencies
to gamble online, bought online and hid what she didn't need
and took her friends who were immature like her
out on the town at my expense.
Drove me nuts because she had difficulty paying attention.
Sometimes love isn't enough to over come her kind
of deafness or her thinking it fun to put aluminum
foil in microwaves.
She was the queen of drama and procrastination.
Her place was always disorderly and she swore to me
when we met she was a neat freak.
I don't mind a little daily life messes it happens.
Her chronic lateness made it a last straw.
On the night I was to introduce to my folks
she was late and they left my home without meeting her.
It's been over two years since I ended the misery
of her in my life but she's still bitter.
Unlike you she's stuck in hate mode and will
be there until someone else buys her
lies and manipulations.
Could say more but I believe you will
see the full picture.
I wrote this for you Betty Ponder.
I know you know it's about you. : )
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
*It all started in the town Warwickshire,
within Stratford-upon-Avon
a magician invented a spell
a thaumaturgy from Ovid's
magnum opus and Holinshed Chronicles
that whispered an image
of kings and battles
which turned into a game of bewitchment!
Hail the Globe Theatre
where the throng gathered
and witness the sorcery
ensorcelled by the conjurer
though spell cast into ashes
and turn dreams
into a nightmare
Yet, 'Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.'*
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
They say
It all will be okay-you're beautiful
As if those words can draw the line
Between bravery and slavery
And clear my back of scars
Left by the lash of sacrifice.
Every choice I have made
Has been a step away
From love, from freedom, from home.
For in this maze of concrete and steel
I must be alone, and always composed -
There is always someone watching
So I keep a steel rod in my spine
And walk towards the end of the city
Pretending I cannot feel passer-bys stare
Sizing me up
Feigning deafness to the murmurs of my pronounced bones and sharp features
All I am is a hanger for clothes
A display, a game, a gamble
They want it to pay off
So they tell me it will all be okay
Because I am beautiful
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
the town i was born in wasn't big enough
to contain the vastness of my dreams
so i moved out
i spent hours upon hours on the bank of river yamuna
looking for a sign
completely forgetting that a dead river can't speak
i misunderstood its silence for an invitation
so i moved in
i traded my inner peace for smoke filled air
and my innocence for the facade of a happy woman
delhi, i spent years of my life trying to fit in
to make sure that i belong
then why do the stares on the streets
tell me that i don't
delhi why have you been so cruel to me
like a failed mother forcing her expectations on her daughter
no matter what i did
i was never good enough
every time i tried to speak
you just didn't want to hear
you're a city trying to hide its deafness from its people
delhi why are you so unfair?
you throw stones at the workers that build you
and bow down at the feet of your destroyers
maybe you're just as confused and tired as me
people have taken more from you than you could give
so you stand exhausted, defeated and short of breath
and i do the same
for both of us have failed miserably
i could never be your daughter
and you could never be my home
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 7:44 AM UTC
Tarmac under foot
Bootprint in gum stain
Pigeon among thorns, warble from ghost
Wind between railings, xylophone of souls
Altar for vagrants, drunks and rovers
Graveyard for worms of steel
Footstep footstep footstep
Echo, silence, echo, silence
The Wait.
Out of the moonlight, floodlight
Bone of back against wall
Tentacle of mist, droplets on window
Thunder of wheels through the emptiness
Deafness, echo, silence
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
"I don't know her.
I've seen her;
A strong spectre of absolute femininity and a lingering presence so strong, that all things thereon.. revolved unto the centrepiece of her clear, imperfect, overwhelming and sinking magnitude.
The fortitude..
She's the most beautiful women I've ever seen.. and no, not that kind of beauty. Well, It could've been..
She has a darkness to her, so captivating; so dense that all article in her cense is stalled in mesmerising silence and anticipation for the next fleeting beat of her beautiful heart.. for the next pacing glaze that would tear me apart, along the horizon of mere "things" in her shade, as she looks around and so passionately drowns the world in awe.
The charm that she'd bestow..
When I first saw her, my heart stopped, literally, only to -and out of grave deafness, explode as if it has been beating 'cross an infinite expanse of scapes compressed in the swiftness of a second.. boom!
'cross the room..
Suddenly, the void that consumed out of me the very sorry existence that I am, failingly so distant to her proximity, exploded like a rose bursting into bloom.. exploding no less, from pale tasteless petals to mindblowing extravagance.
I don't love her, I admit. I don't even know how to begin to fathom such an implosion of utopian lust for the hazel green distance in her eyes, let alone love her. She might be a man-eater, in disguise, for all the possibilities of things likely.. She is, however unattainable, perhaps my greatest unembarked adventure; my Odyssey. Not so, perhaps, my greatest... the one other dream she, still that I of another kiss.. a bliss.. an even greater adventure, nonetheless.. but a rhythm for another rhyme; another prose for another time.
This.. She's ancient unconscionable forbidden bliss for the morbid spirit that I am, enchanted with sweetness and love. Volatile like wildfire, she has the world entwined in the gypsy black waves of unconstrained dreams.
But that wasn't her, who lingered back in my head... The residence was of another.. I saw her once, in my seems.. my truest endeavours for a place that screams for relentless torture behind sweet jagged beams of black light on black.
I don't love her, I reassure, nor am I in love with another. I'm taken by her like a leaf is in a storm. I am home. She's death in a green hazed gaze, for those of you who didn't figure it out by now."
A.r. Bazian
Nov 8th, 2015
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.
Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,
His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,
Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.
A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.
The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,
Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
Beyond the darkness
Shades of painted corners
face these inward fears
Now drenched in lost endeavors
and flat as the cornerstone of suffering
Caught within boundaries along wasting moments,
crying blanket feelings,
pounding on the walls of despair
“leaving fist prints like so many discarded roses”
Calling out to the endless deafness
“Time it does not heal,
scars merely cut deeper”,
echoes among the tapered dreams
Fog engulfs the melody…slowly
chasing after poetic symphonies
playing in a westward direction
“horizontal compass points from this to that”
This weary hand trembles
violently as it reaches, pleads
Where the monochrome sun sets,
beyond the chosen horizon
in heart shaped vistas and opened arm landscapes
Trust in amber glowing beacons
wave banners of solitude
“free flowing fabric beckoning in rhythmic motions”
Forcing the stoic front door…open
Creaking hinges scream, your fears cup beneath your chest
Breathing in the stench of life
but lured by the fragrance of the future
Where sorrow drowns in cascade pools,
pain hides where it can not be found
and he waits to lift you…beyond the darkness
“and you find you have wings, shimmering in this golden friendship”
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC