"debonair" poems
There's a color in my head, it wont leave me alone
As the peacock feathers, she's got no where to go
So I just smoked her down, left a funny taste in my mouth
No longer can I breathe in, I'll have to do without
This lung
And this heart
Is filled
With tar
He said he was your lover, with real debonair
Filled you up with warm words, that weren't really there
His hand was on yours, felt like a shackle
Frozen straight to the heart, he felt so cold
His heart
and his mouth
Were filled
With his own doubt
I swear to god I'm trying
But my lungs can barely move
Trying to breathe you in
But there isn't much space
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
I'm a MAN.
A rugby-playing,
Football-loving,
Pie-eating
MAN.
A nerdy t-shirt wearing,
Glasses bearing,
Bad-teeth faring
MAN.
A sad,
Lonely,
Little
MAN.
A nice-dressing,
Debonair-looking,
Smooth-talking
MAN.
A rose-giving,
Hotel-whisking,
Loving and kissing
MAN.
A drunk,
A lush,
An alcy
MAN.
A person with
Thoughts
Feelings
Pain
Sentiment
I like stuff
I hide my feelings
I **** up
I cry.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
C
is confused, so a little complex
I mean, one moment it’s top of the range
glowing
in the hierarchy of vitamins
but next it’s a little abashed and low
in a student’s report card –
you know, C is not as good as an A
And so can you blame C for its mood swings?
Its agony continues:
one instant C is Calm, in another it’s a Curse
And you know it also feels a little wanting
a little under-stretched, not fulfilled
like not being able to complete
all the stretching exercises
its fitness trainer metes out
“O, if only I could be a little more yogic,”
C intones
“I’d be as composed as an O” -
but O no, that’s not to be
And don’t you start
on the indignant possibilities
of the letter C, for C has always aspired
you see
to be genteel, cultured and debonair
and curls with disgust if the uncouth
should use the letter
to refer to any body parts,
be it that of male or of female
So, dear mortals, C should be left in celestial spheres
And so, in conclusion,
one Commandment I give unto you:
*Never drag C to ****** shallows*
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
a ladybug in spacious blue
splattering specks of red and black
with miniature aerial stunts
that speckle through uncaring air
it takes a keen eye to notice
a ladybug in spacious blue
a tiny snippet of fancy
in the otherwise simple sky
whizzing past wonderfully so
no trail or perfect plan concerns
a ladybug in spacious blue
her patterns flying forward fast
unhindered by specks of debris
fitting an insect debonair
sweetly dressed for a world's party
a ladybug in spacious blue
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
Dull does not become me, pale, monotonous I laugh at, for they never defined me.
A world in black and white would cause me to shrivel up and die for I am as bright as the brightest butterfly.
The little girl inside me screams to show off the colors that make a girl girly, a woman a woman.
The color pink is my absolute favorite, it brings out the very essence of who I have become.
The little girl who loved pink candy cane, pink bubblicious bubble gum which made the biggest pink bubbles no one could miss.
Pink skirts, pink shorts, and my dazzling pink sunglasses made me look like a princess from another era.
The sheer color of pink, and the flamboyance nature that it adorns with that dazzling ray of different shades.
The world would be a simpler place if colors were lighter for it would bring about so much laughter.
A night on the town and ready to make a splash is what it's about.
How about a blue dress and what accessories could I wear to make me look so debonair?
I got it, what goes with blue? Why pink is a good mix. Pink pumps, pink bracelets would catch someone's eye.
Definitely not blah looking, more like dazzle, razzle superstar in the making.
The trees are green and that's amazing, the clouds are white and that's also amazing.
The earth is brown, the sea is blue but without a dash of rose pink, ruby pink, ultra pink and creamy pink tell me where would we be?
In a world lacking in fashion, pizazz, creativity, no future insight to vanity.
We need flair and dramatics, fashionistas in our market and I propose to get us started.
We need to paint the town and make it look oh so **** Pinktastic.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 11:07 AM UTC
*wonder’s
joyous
heartfelt
smile,
beauty’s
charming
expressive
style,
delight’s
enchanting
debonair
attire,
whimsy’s
gleeful
intimacy
afire,
laughter’s
voice
lovesome
glow,
gentility’s
engaging
graceful
show,
love’s
adoring
kisses
embrace,
hope’s
welcome
inspiring
grace,
desire’s
playful
flirty
glance,
passion’s
jubilant
fleeting
romance.*
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
I got a hundred shoes
in pairs, of course
and a wardrobe fit for a Princess
I got the bed
carved with gold trimmings
from the best end of town;
and a range of the best wigs -
all human hair,
third world crop no doubt
but at first world cost for sure
that all took me into bad debt
credit card and all
so when debonair James
asked me to marry him
I grabbed him lips to lips -
now he's paying through his nose
MORAL of TODAY'S POEM
so those of you guys
who are naive
you get caught;
those who are smart
you better use your head
before you put your knees on the floor
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
I get home, to a hand crafted
note, one you wrote, with
the old calligraphy pen, that
sits at grandfathers writing desk.
You even used the envelope,
sealed by candle wax, stamped
a red wax, my initial, touching,
folded paper, a kiss of brass.
The art of, manliness, unforgotten
left on the pillow, of this grandiose
four poster bed, mahogany homemade,
the resting place, for weekend affairs.
You refuse to kiss, ruby covered lips,
as I remember the calling card, you
used as a formal introduction, perfectly
groomed, you entered my life, unregrettably.
You, a man learned from his, grandfather
his own father passing away, whilst
away at sea, that cold and distant war,
my tears fell as you pursued his path.
You looked so debonair, a
tuxedo, measured to fit, all alignments
and as I stare at you, eyes connecting
all I wish for, are sweet kisses.
I want your arms around me,
softly whispering, of how you
will gently caress, each
and every curve, kissing my thigh.
The letter, quite simply,
hand typed, reads;
Florence Rose, will you do me the honor of marrying me?
I flush my arms around your neck,
tears fall, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.
He embraces me, kisses those lips,
lifts me to the bed,
********** me for minutes
moments and hours,
he makes love to me,
and I know, I know he,
is the only man I will ever need,
or even know.
© Sia Jane
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
I'm checking the post daily
Can't tell you how exciting this is for me
Since I called the 1-800 number
From that mail order magazine
While one day sitting at the dentist
I picked up said magazine
A full page ad which made me gasp
A colorful array of personalities
I've never really had much of one on my own
So I ordered a couple dozen
Sitting here anxious for my order
And so far I've seen nothing
I'm wearing a path to the mailbox
It should have been here by now
When it does arrive I'm first taking out Impatient
Then placing a call to tell them about themselves
I hope I remembered to order one Romantic
Cause I'd sure like to impress Mary Lou
As it now stands I feel less a man
Around her I don't know what to say or do
Imagine my surprise when the box finally arrives!
I open it up with a slight giggle
Just like that the personalities fall into my lap
For a moment I felt just like Sybil
Lets see there's one that's Strong, one that's Flirty, one that's Shy, one that's Quirky
One that looks like it's Mighty Proud
A personality that's Fun, Debonair, a Serious one
All I know is I want to try them all out
These days when you see me around...AKA "The Man About Town"
The one that has the large following of friends
Everyone loves the tales that I tell, now that I tell them so well
The way I weave them from beginning to end
They all want to hang out with me, there's something special they see
Looks like I've come out of my shell
Now I don't think twice as I jump into life
Since things have been going so well
And all those personalities I own, I now leave those all home...
I keep the box locked high up on a shelf
I found the best personality I have is the one I was born with
And that people tend to like me for myself
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
She doesn't know me, nor recognize me anymore,
as if the trees have changed shades of blue they never were
and dandelions have melted into an orange color.
She stood back in a shocked unacknowledgement
a painful stare right through my flustered skull
taking notice to every little ant but silly old me;
the chilled sizzles in her passionate eyes
passing by my attention seeking debonair,
easier than skipping stairs on her way
out of work every Friday afternoon.
she sometimes speaks to me, but the tides are shallow,
and our depths couldn't even bathe a babe.
Red flakes of the greatest nothing
incapable of breathing the slightest spark in her mind,
but her blazing hair has caught my attention.
Flaking embers that have sprinkled thousands of burnt marks
upon my coarse skin
like freckles stained to my body unable to be brushed off.
Her burnt heart is on my sleeve but I'm afraid not in my arms;
a fire pulsing through my veins like a slightly more addictive ******
because she is my little red, of course, from afar
and that is all I could ask for
no more, no less
because she is my little red
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Shoop, Shoop
***Shoe, *** ***
Shoop, Shoop
***Shoe, ***
The moment I laid eyes on you
I knew it was true love
You were sharing a root beer float with your friends
Down at the soda shop
I looked debonair in my Pompadour
You cute in your poodle skirt
I took out my comb to slick down the sides
As you smiled, giggled, and twirled
I asked if you'd like to go out
Just you and me on a date
I picked you up at seven o'clock
In my 56' Chevrolet
Your father gave me a stern look
Your mother a gleam in her eye
He asked where we were going
Why to church sir, I said with a smile
Shoop, Shoop
***Shoe, *** ***
Shoop, Shoop
***Shoe, ***
I took you to the drive in
Bobs Burgers and Late Night Shakes
Afterwards we both went dancing
At the Hop just down the street
You had my heart all in a flutter
As we slowed danced all night
It was then I knew for certain
That I would make you my lovely wife
I got you home way past your curfew
Your dads silhouette by the front door
You said I can't go back to that
I pressed the peddle to the floor
So here we are these many years later
Me as your husband you as my wife
With our grand kids playing about our feet
Thinking back to that fateful night
Shoop, Shoop
***Shoe, *** ***
Shoop, Shoop
***Shoe, ***
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 7:58 AM UTC
how Eye make love,
this popped into my head
tho questioning this quest,
what purpose served, unknown...
lacking the infatuation to poetry write,
the mind retreats to the basics,
eye write with no destination,
wondering at the wonderment
of this basic actionable accolade...
sometimes,
be the
operative word,
sometimes
cooperative,
is the operative...
sometimes,
is but a
it just depends
who
is the initiate
and who possesses the initiative...
every story has a different
author, ending...
sometimes slow,
sometimes muy rapido
in foreign tongues
in foreign places,
the only commonality be that
wonderment
eye wish this not to be explanation,
eye wish this to be an explication
of the texts of sensual visionaries,
imagining the helping to happening,
the passageway to and from
where the mind begins,
the body completes its origination
oft I close my Eyes,
listening to hers,
her eye voices directing me,
what will be the course of our
course,
miss no Michelin starred landscapes,
through hers, mine Eyes triumphant...
tour guide excellente
cannot explain
why the temp sometimes
solar flares,
why the temp sometimes
is a glacial expedition,
tongue led,
from toes to eyelids...
always buy tickets for a
round trip flight...
how
is a titillation, begging you to read & expose,
there is no how, only sometimes better,
sometimes different...
why
is a question needs no asking...
when
when the shape of her profiled neck,
reflects shadows of further inquiry,
when her décolletage collects me
as she and her designer intended...
when
she laughs uproariously at my piquant,
suave and debonair one liners,
requiring kissing tickling calming
when
tears spill when reading
a new takeaway poem mine,
needy for a tongue to collect that spillway...
just being friendly appreciative and thanking
where
is when
the how and
the why
intersect
the intemperate weather of
being alone
subtle suggests
auto recollections
now know
the how, when, where and the
why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
of memories of past and present...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.
2.3k
What do you know me as?
Some know me
as a doctor,
some know me
as a pastor,
some know me
as a poet,
an author,
Others know me
as a Naturopath,
Most know me
as a herbalist,
Some others know me
as an alchemist,
some know me
as a mystic,
some know me
as a beloved hierophant,
a high priest,
Some know me
as a metaphysician,
Some know me
as a crisis counselor,
some as a
human rights activist,
some as a martial artist,
some don't even
know me,
I'm different things
to different people.
My life is complex
and dynamic,
and very interesting
with incessant activities
that surrounds it,
debonair and a teetotaler.
But with all the
complicated complexities,
I am profoundly so simple,
amiable and easy to placate,
with a great sense of humor,
purposeful mingled with
a no nonsense attitude.
I know who I am.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
Flipped through my comic
And there I eyed
Free ride on the batman slide
Got so pumped I nearly cried
Got so pumped I nearly cried
Took my ticket
Drove to the fair
Let the wind breeze through my hair
Kind of cold but I don't care
Kind of cold but I don't care
There it was
Past flume log
Was it worth this sudden slog?
Chomping on my chili dog
Chomping on my chili dog
Gave the ticket
Crawled on in
Beaming with a goofy grin
Taking this ride for a spin
Taking this ride for a spin
I slid down
Then I barfed!
Losing all my debonair
Chili splattered everywhere
Chili splattered everywhere
Off to ride
Carousel
Handyman would come with broom
Walking past the scary flume
Walking past the scary flume
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Everyone says
"Oh, don't worry! It's just a phase."
Or even worse,
"You'll grow out of it soon."
And so you begin to think
That the quirks and smirks
You see in the mirror
When you've wiped the shower fog clear
Are somehow wrong and undesirable
To the masses of others outside your door
Even if what you see makes you happy.
And so you try to hide
Behind conformity and masks
Of aloofness,
Of apathy,
Of indifference,
Of nonchalance,
Until you yourself begin to believe
You've passed the phase!
You've grown out of it!
You're finally someone whom the world
Can pour its love and adoration on!
And so you wait for that sparkling moment,
When you go from ugly duckling
To ravishing debonair desirable swan,
Yet the days turn into weeks into months,
And finally years have passed away
But nothing happened.
And you find yourself wiping away
The shower fog with a tired hand
Only to see the quirks and smirks
That used to make you happy
Are gone and for what gain to you?
Where are the masses of adoring friends?
Where are the praises of who you've become?
You're all alone like you've always been.
But I ask you,
Is this really who you want to be?
Where's the girl who recites Chaucer?
And rolls down grassy hills?
Where is she whose snarky comments
Could hours of hilarity fill?
Where's the girl who laid bricks
Side by side with her father?
And imagined up the neighborhood
Olympics with his other two daughters?
So I'll ask you again,
Face in my mirror,
Are you happy?
Is this who we're going to be?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
The poet asks, and Phillis can’t refuse
To show th’ obedience of the Infant muse.
She knows the Quail of most inviting taste
Fed Israel’s army in the dreary waste;
And what’s on Britain’s royal standard borne,
But the tall, graceful, rampant Unicorn?
The Emerald with a vivid verdure glows
Among the gems which regal crowns compose;
Boston’s a town, polite and debonair,
To which the beaux and beauteous nymphs repair,
Each Helen strikes the mind with sweet surprise,
While living lightning flashes from her eyes,
See young Euphorbus of the Dardan line
By Manelaus’ hand to death resign:
The well known peer of popular applause
Is C——m zealous to support our laws.
Quebec now vanquish’d must obey,
She too much annual tribute pay
To Britain of immortal fame.
And add new glory to her name.
2.1k
Rockin' on the front porch
Gazin' down the street
Loathsomely fannin'
Away the Southern Heat
Oppressed hands
Pickin' the days toils
Balmy and wet
Southern Heat never spoils
Whisky bottles bourbon brown
Deep fired and syrupy sweet
Vices to die for
Welcomin' Southern Heat
Clothes pinned on a line
Flappin' in dense air
Mamma starched ‘em stiff
The Southern Heat dressed debonair
There is a trouble around
It smile’s with a firm handshake
Jesus in Confederate Grey
The Southern Heat for the Devils sake
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
I was staring at the pompous Sun,
gleaming over water.
Its legs stretched out, one by one,
the desperate sea its fodder.
As I watched, I seemed to sense
a jealous sibling feeling.
Just east of this, the Moon just shone,
loneliness endearing.
"I'm sorry Moon," this I say,
I'm only facing west."
But his face, as I confessed,
I swear lost glow and jest,
I assured him of his beauty,
his loyal and regal air.
not 'sick and pale' with grief, once said,
but utter debonair.
A question's there, in the air,
the one I rose above;
"Then why on earth, little girl,
is the Sun the one you love?"
"That's incorrect, and so unfair,
dear Moon, for heaven's sake.
It's only if I turn my head,
I feel a dreadful ache."
The Moon still shone,
a quivering pool,
giant and yet so sad,
said no more
and looked ashore,
wishing what he had.
No more I looked,
no more I frowned,
enjoying the bright pink thrill.
How can I say,
"Sorry Moon,
we all prefer some frill."
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
Hershey, black satin, as long as my torso
Diamond green comforting eyes
Velveteen curious nose
Tongue like a pumice stone
Her elegant but waddling stride
Powerful, confident and territorial
Sitting like a queen on her throne
Cat of mine, mother to be
Tuxedo, black and white, bow tie and all
White sock covered feet like satin gloves
Long white elderly whiskers
He reminds me of Fred Astaire
Quick calculated light on his feet
Shy yet debonair
Patient, watchful and full of pride
Father to be
Oreo, friend and foe
White as snow, black face and tail
Large circular patches of black
Fearless fence and roof climber
Youngster full of mischievousness
Paws in the air, tummy exposed to the sun
Purring so loud she vibrates
Kitty of mine
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 6:14 AM UTC
Almost
by Michael R. Burch
We had—almost—an affair.
You almost ran your fingers through my hair.
I almost kissed the almonds of your toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost contemplated using Nair
and adding henna highlights to your hair,
while I considered plucking you a Rose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost found the words to say, “I care.”
We almost kissed, and yet you didn’t dare.
I heard coarse stubble grate against your hose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost called me suave and debonair
(perhaps because my chest is pale and bare?).
I almost bought you edible underclothes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost asked you where you kept your lair
and if by chance I might ****** you there.
You almost tweezed the redwoods from my nose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
We almost danced like Rogers and Astaire
on gliding feet; we almost waltzed on air ...
until I mashed your plain, unpolished toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost was strange Sonny to your Cher.
We almost sat in love’s electric chair
to be enlightninged, till our hearts unfroze.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
Keywords/Tags: Almost, love, lost love, loss, lost, relationship, relationships, hesitation, procrastination, hesitancy, vacillation, near, near miss, nearly, close call, miss you, missing you, missing, loneliness, lonely
Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 8:54 AM UTC
Lest!
Passions! Exist,
desist not let
thresholds of passions.
Vikings yet…
Kings regard King Arthur,
snow white snow flakes glisten,
“winter, the snow-cold thaw”
Spring chime of Big Ben!
succinct debonair benevolence.
Pedantic pedagogue
of impudence of More Thomas!
passions of Love, unity, solidarity.
a blend of humane, man, men.
Mortals!
Behold!
Love,
Love,
Love,
Love!
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:48 AM UTC
It had been 2 weeks
She assumed the kids were asleep
Because he entered
He must of thought seductively
(making sure to shower first)
with an air of cool calmness
a scent of beer with a new thirst
for another type of refreshment
not fulfillment
but refilling
not romance
mere maintenance
she sighed & looked up
through her glasses at his swollen frame
like a balloons tied to a clothes horse,
left there for a day
so they sagged and lost their colour
& the frame had become visible
but only at its peaks
through the sheer power of gravity
his bones became seen
through his collar of his van huesen shirt
he thought so debonair (had a classy air, sleekish air)
she smiled acceptingly
as he pretended to be sincere
when he told her that he loved her
even after all these years
she was still a **** momma
she tried not to laugh
when he kissed her on the neck
& rubbed
her breast like he wanted milk
she spread her legs
when he pushed them
& waited for the steering
of a trailer into a garage
in reverse
at midnight
under influence
with the subtlety of a steer
it reminded her of years ago
when she had laughed at the austere
teachers that had enraged her
with their frigid sneer
& she smiled to herself an thought
of her *** like a rare fruit
only to age and watch it be eaten
by a once charming now savage brute
who turned into a blob of sorts
& she aswell had sagged
at least they sagged happily together
there's some comfort to be had in that
so she waited for the ******
with an image impressed in her
of a smirking withered teacher
arms folded & a smug grin
with a look that proclaims
‘here u are
it seems we’re on a par
an existence so far
from what u saw in dreams u had
of supple limbs & knowing grins
to dry skins and droopy things'
a flower wilted & smelling a bit funny
the faded colour of pale brown
in the end she felt lie a jug of sorts
he rolled over & went to sleep
she eventually did also
thinking about wat to cook next week
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
I was breathing in the beauty of Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.
‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.
He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.
Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.
His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face –
I imagined I saw a shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.
He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Mountebanks and madmen
And marvelous maidens
Populate and pollute politics
Which joss sticks cannot chase
Or alleviate the electorate
In its counter clockwise swirl
Down its own bathroom drain.
Only morals don’t ameliorate
It only exacerbates, enervates
Rather than eliminates the pain.
The pain is felt by franklins,
Never the nobles or magnates;
They go on and make play dates
With other multi-billionaires
In debonair pied-a-terre lofts
And scoff at the peasantry
While exchanging pleasantries
Over gold-laced desserts
Thinking nobody gets hurt
If they pilfer and pillage
Far off village and town
Tearing down and razing,
With life grazing scorched earth.
To the rich, nobody has worth;
Voices that implore are muted
And garbage-chuted in the press.
Nothing to confess, the smile;
A mile of porcelainized teeth
Made more intense by pretense
That importance is impotence
In the face of extreme wealth
When stealth cease efficacy
And delicacy isn’t required.
The moral judge is fired.
A new wife is squired
In hopes a son is sired
To take over the empire.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC