"forges" poems
Black surges, forges piling emotion,
Foraging, attaining such predicted erosion.
Color the rubies to a diluted amber,
Brittle, dripped gems are toxic, I clamber
To the lamp as to see my implicit devotion.
Vitals ascend, and I can't perceive
This motionless forfeit I often receive.
Aid is essential, it holds potential,
To cure this conflicted, addicted vessel.
My heart on my sleeve, I'm undeceived.
I implore to explore, as breath, I leave,
So close to dying, I'm on the eve
Of darker clothing, and flowers to family,
Hallucinate my abnormalities.
Yet somehow, I am still on my feet-
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
Tiny wrists.
Tiny rivers of blue.
Translucent.
I'm thinking about making myself a home
Beneath your pale skin.
I'd float along your lazy blue river
Until I make my way to your ghost chest
And burrow myself a tunnel
Deep inside your heart.
Light myself a campfire,
And pitch a tent.
Looks like I'm gonna be here for a while.
I am rocked to sleep with each beat:
Onetwo. Onetwo. Onetwo.
And my heart-house dreams
Intermingle with yours.
Maybe if we dream hard enough,
We can create a world of our own.
Where red blood cells sing like angels
Housed in four chapel-chambers,
And each artery stretches up far
Like a rainforest canopy
Riddled with exotic capillary-flowers.
Can we be safe here?
The heart has tender walls
But it is a soldier.
Though it may be kicked down,
It forges on
And picks itself right back up again.
Always beating,
Always winning.
Your heart is a soldier.
A fighter.
A protector.
I think I feel safe,
For the first time in a long time,
Within the home I've made for myself
Inside of who you are.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
~~PASSIVE PASSION~~
Endures & Binds,
when
Provocations Looseth the Soul.
How
Submissive & Impulsive,
Yet so Very
Paradoxical a Paranoid !
~~RUSTED TRUST~~
Forges & Sharpens,
when
Life's Brunts Maketh the Soul.
How
Ironic & Caustic,
Yet so Very
Powerful a Predominance !
~~VANQUISHED VANITY~~
Fosters & Transcends,
when
Identity Forageth the Soul.
How
Narcissistic & Intransitive,
Yet so Very
Surreal a Sacrifice !
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Where do you see yourself in a year?
Still living here -
A tactile skyline atop pillars of smoke
Heavy with guilt
And the craftsmanship of a generation of men
To whom Earth is a rock, immortal
Untouched by the bouts of the smog which ascend
To hold up their forges?
Where that which is green must also be man-made
And an old plant-pot
On an old window-sill
Is the closest to what was here before? Is it a facsimile?
Where your throat hurts,
Chemicals an ersatz flowing stream
Of purest water -
And why is rainfall the freshest you can drink?
You haven’t always been here.
Where were you before? Was it green
Or blue, or any other colour
Besides this abiding grey? Perhaps
There were rainbows and colours
And sunlight, unfiltered by smog
Or dust. Warm, purposeful.
Her fragility charmed you.
Because our Earth is not immortal. A wanderer
In space, motherly, who are we to defile her?
A species of smoke and tar turning her soft hues sour
Colours unknown to nature
Like a drop of arsenic in a stream flowing through rocks?
Do you see yourself living
In a fortress, tumultuous to its steel bones
Each day burrowing deeper into her body,
Claiming her for its own, and ruining her at the same time?
So you think about your opportunity.
This life which fills her air, pulsing and vibrant,
To restore the purity we are missing -
Because Human and Nature are as one,
Invention is necessary but we are losing our time,
Virescent leaves brushing in the wind,
Our friends are loving, laughing, living
And we realise now that we are able to do so much better.
Or does none of that matter, somehow?
We make money to spend on plastic.
We are born, we work, we breathe, we die,
But we are still yet to run out of time
So where do you see yourself in a year?
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
I sat by his bedside the day my father died.
The cancer that had riddled his body and soul now had complete control.
He fought kicking and screaming
the night the men in white came to take him on his final journey
like a great wildebeest struggling to get up on its front legs after being taken down by young lions. The way so many had said he
probably would since he fought his way tooth & nail throughout his life from the very beginning.
That night I sat on a chair at the foot of his bed staring out the huge ceiling to floor window of the medical centre at the many worlds hidden beneath thousands of rows of stationary lights and fluid winding rows of transient lights in-between and thought how the light of this window is just one of many thousands.
At that moment it seemed more like just one tiny speck in the vast star fields worlds above this city of light.
My father had spent most of his life just a short six-mile drive from here under the scattered lights of his hometown.
He turned to me and asked,
“That’s a big city. Where are we?"
Dementia had claimed his mind ten or more years earlier. It
slowly wound its way around his brain like a cocky snake
handler being choked by a boa constrictor unawares.
It seemed like it all caught up to his body. But it was good to see much of the bitterness and bad blood between us dissipated over the past decade.
On that night compassion ruled the day.
I could not say it then but it has been many years, where it seems compassion has forged with objectivity.
In a lucid moment he looked around the hospital room
bewildered as if he were a little boy who just woke up from a bad dream and asked,
“How did this ever happen?"
If only I could have told him.
Sometimes the truth cannot be spoken or heard. All I could do then was sit by his bed and lean in close to his ear and sing softly his favourite hymns.
By morning his lifeless
dilapidated body laid in the fetal position. His once ravenous mouth now forever frozen looked like a knothole in a twisted cedar tree.
All I can do now is hang my head and think of how weak and frail we humans truly are.
Like compassion forged with objectivity, weakness and frailty forges with fleeting moments of strength. We forge heroes out of these moments to tower above
the pedestals the former is made of to somehow minimize the pain of this often denied truth.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
look me in the eye and tell me that you love me
or was it all a sad story that you unconsciously believed
while you raided the fridge and fornicated wildly
too late is not really an acceptable position
and later on is usually an example of indecision
and sometimes specimens reject their predicaments
especially if they are eventually going to be your dinner
i am sure that i am here to usher in a new authority
resurrected like a phoenix i must be stronger than before
so even if forever is often equivalent to never
and september is the month of seven (or was it nine) serpents
that are to be reborn in the dawn of Time's obsidian
as our minds have spent oblivion in the forges
of turgidly engorged shores, torn from their former continents
as forms are always gripped in hands who choose intolerance
take administrators, lawyers, bureaucrats and clerks;
as examples of this; par excellence
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Howls in the night
cross the threshold of savagery
Coordinated hate
of a hundred jackboots
stomping faces in the streets
Storefronts smashed
Crushed glass crunching
under the feet of unbridled violence
Doors bashed in
Swinging sledges smash
Women and children dragged
kicking and screaming from their homes
Beaten unconscious
then beaten while unconscious
Clothes rended
flesh roughly groped
******* mashed
by laughing barbarians
with teeth made of knives
Innocence of a generation *****
in a single evening
Ransacking hands
strangle the wealth of a culture
One thousand synagogues in flames
light cast magnified in the carpet of crystals
sparkle of hellish brilliance
Ninety one lives snuffed
they were the lucky ones
Avoided the camps
where greater horrors were wrought
in the forges of torment
from the pounding of flesh
beneath hatred like hammers
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 8:27 AM UTC
Two lefts don’t make a right.
But I make use of this.
I want to make the left left choice,
Find the left left word.
Because this left left word
Is the opposite of the “right” word.
It does in the opposite direction,
Forges its own stream.
And this is the left left choice.
This is my way.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
*flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love
warriors topple over forgotten
like cartons of used milk
silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate
are we ill or are we healthy
stealthily imprisoned by our visions
finish the sentences and sever your attachments
respecting tradition leads to detachment
a semblance of serenity
the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force
hover in the mind’s sky
houses pass you by
in finite allegories
gardens blossom
governing movies and seating our jobless
go outside now
remove the shades from your eyes
breathe in soma and drink from the sky
sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow
art is a balancing act
she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story
of garlands of silver and gold
woven finely into ribbons
greased with oil from a rare toad*
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
It is not the city air that ignites the forge
It is the wind the that weaves through the souls of its people
It is the spark that lives in the artists heart.
And the Blacksmith, mighty Blacksmith.
Sets all into motion.
So I place my dreams upon the anvil.
Apprentice & Master ****** hammers as fire forges the heart.
Blacksmith, He who breathes the wind that flows through all righteous ambition.
The desire to create.
The desire to change.
City. It is good to be back.
The coals are burning.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
How could I ever just simply let you go?
Your beautiful smile that forges
Has now imprinted upon my restless soul
The warm soft glow in your wandering
Bedroom eyes
Your radiant shooting star charm
The chase could never die
Dearest Dark Fairy
Darkness 'til dawn
Shrouded in sparkles
When I catch you it's on!
......
Thanks Santita
For your beautiful friendship!!!!!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
I am the hero who remains unsung,
The brilliant, the innocent, the beautiful young.
The resilient youth who is ever strong,
Who never gives up and always forges on.
Who doesn’t rest her weary bones,
But struggles through life ever alone,
She rescues the weak, and slays her foes,
And onward on her journey the lonely knight goes.
From town to town, to fight and war,
Images of death never seen before,
Each death she causes has its cost,
And soon her brilliance and innocence are lost.
She takes on the dragon, the wizard and witch,
And battles on without a hitch,
But with each step her youth is left behind,
With each ticking clock she hears the passage of time.
One step further, one battle more,
To help the weak and save the poor,
To rescue the damsel and aid the king,
And never of the hero do the people sing.
Never is she thanked for all she’s done,
Never do they recognise that she’s the one,
Who kept them alive and kept them safe,
Never do they think that she may need some space.
She’s seen so much evil; she’s seen so much pain,
‘Is there any happiness in life to gain?
Is there sun beyond the cloud?’
The lonely knight asked aloud.
She could see that darkness lay in front,
And that if there was trouble she would bear the brunt,
No love was waiting for her, no warming home,
She was the knight, she travelled alone.
Finally she opened her eyes,
To the truth that lay beyond the lies,
To the despair, and death of this barren land,
And no longer could she bear stand.
The knight has fallen to the ground,
Lying face down westward bound,
She fell before she saw the light,
The lost, the lonely, the Fallen knight.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
*I listen to you breathing in the darkness
A sound that turns my lips into a smile
A soft rumble like the purr of the sweetest kitten
There is no denying that I am wholly smitten
So I listen to you breathing in the darkness
For just a little while
For just a little while longer
I am lost in the slow, steady sound
The sound that makes my stress falter
And I pray that life doesn't alter
For just a little while longer
I bask in the love that I've found
The peace that your slumber affords me
Is more than I have ever known
The hope that used to elude me
The joy that once seemed to exclude me
The peace that your slumber affords me
Makes it so I don't fear being alone
Tonight as I listen to your sleeping
I remember how life forges through
Embracing the unknown connections
The comfort in emotion's reflections
Tonight as I listen to your sleeping
I am lulled to sleep dreaming of you*
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
If my blood could illustrate,
A picture to the world,
It will tell you the exact state,
How my heart pumps its hurt.
Each ventricle pumps emotions,
Pain, anger, hope,
Up to my brain,
And down to my toes.
Slithering through each artery and vein,
Blood carves my hearts pain,
In my head,
In my head.
Working through each capillary,
It forges anger and rage,
In my bones,
My aching bones.
After its done its work,
It fights back through each valve,
And pours back into the atriums,
Devoid of fury and pain.
It was used up,
Just like my tears,
My wasted energy for nothing,
It brought me no good.
Just more hurt.
And just slowly,
As the pain and anger dissipates from my system,
And fresh blood is packaged and sent,
From my bone marrows,
It brings along a slimmer of hope,
That this new cycle of blood would carry no more pain.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
caveat! —bursting out as the fuse fetters away
wafting t'ward oil spills, tranquilized guns
with pace maker minds
and time to ****
sickle celled, graving shores
plead to crawl underground
through cascading bile and sedatives
that sift through these negatives
like bangled thieves
who crawl on broken knees
and lie idle under haunted bridges.
bouldered bones intertwine
or veins cut along a dotted line
caveat! cries the sayer's sooth,
for he says it scours and devours—
the slinking nightmare sleuth.
the tar is interrupted in carved equinoxes
soak in the crippled toxins
as the air becomes as thick as theophany
and tharm like grease in blood that take me in,
through ash and mud and
all the spider webs caving in
like delicate gorges forges beneath
nightmare sleuth reaching zenith
caveat, silhouettes
stretched out like oil in water
and this silicon tomb can hold me no longer
for i must break out before i am a goner
because it's a mistake that i'll never shake
your face turns opaque
and there was nothing in your eyes
but dripping flesh
wring out all your words for me
your jeers and your juries
but go cling to your crutch
your kings and your qualms
and the church that burns
in its hallow vacancy
for none can resist the urge
that thieves its delinquents from catatonic catacombs
and quagmire junctions
where the swamp will **** you in
and festering sweat sticks like guilt to your skin
and hell is a nightclub where every loss is a life
and heaven's a daydream with your neck to the knife
it needs no rhyme or reason
and every slip of your broken lip
just lose your grip and give in to the treason
would you rather burn at the stake
than suffer your cement heart break
with no reason or rhyme
it's just the weight of the season
backdrop collapse
railroads unfolding
and like a cell storm the train
is coming your way
and slinks away like a nightmare sleuth
it just takes one swipe of the claw
or one bite of the tooth
and it drags you in
feel the sidewalk sleeping
and the blinking lights creeping
above the overpass
and the cold wind reeling--
it'll be your last.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
Inside of my body
Amidst death and poison
a virus lurks
in every
puddle,
pumping
blood that flushes
my tired heart
like
the river
Styx
Amidst this
battlezone
that is my
failing being
lies
a secret, sleeping
The cells swim by
They are
rarer
now like precious gems
the factories of my
fighting body
produced like
diamonds
born amidst feverish
forges within
a toxic mine
The gems,
they call them T-cells,
are now suicide bombers
converted daily
by the
whisper of
necromancy
They call
this
hex ***
a war against
your own
treasures
Yet my T-cells
are more,
runes blazing
mystic and
glowing,
antigen sorcery
that wards against
failing
Amidst
the 300,000 +sleeper
cells
that abandoned
my cause
Insurgence
bulges with
nightmare
The cells
clamour
growing with the whispers
of past victims
now roped into the
mystic chains, the wizards
call it RNA,
that bind us
An ironic family
of ghosts
who live
in each other
"junk DNA"
My body
is no junk;
instead a treasure
- what do they say
one man's trash?
My body
an
amalgamation
30 years
magic growing
twisted
like thorny vines
that must consume
their
helpless host
My
T-cells
inception
Worlds within me
the "JUNK"
of
lovers past
becomes entangled
in archives
carved in my bones.
Amidst recipes
of a poison
I cannot trace,
I am
ironically
linked
into
a
family of
ancestors
whose cries
beat in
my still
working heart
The drum
of the long fallen
crying for justice
...My blood
Our blood.
chains enmeshing
....ghosts I
will never know
Now parts of me
that lie sleeping in
Trojan horses,
all my own.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
In The Universe's Palm Lays A Rose,
With An Inviting Door Closed,
Black On White,
Dark To Light,
Words Slipped Through The Fence,
Penetrating Resistance,
Like A Grape Vine,
Forces Lost And New Ones Combined,
An Eagle Holds My Hand Through The Pain,
Warms Me With Wings In The Freezing Rain,
Kisses The Crown Of My Cranium,
Tells Me It'll Be Okay,
His Words Verbatim,
Then Flies Away,
Forges A Path Leading Me Past The Flames,
A Silly Game Played,
Millions Of Mirrors Showing My Reflection,
Oh The Curse Of Visual Preception,
Green Eyes A Watery Mess,
The Labored Heaving Of My Chest,
My Soul Speeding Past Life's Stop Sign,
My Heart Broken But Rebind,
Maybe The Meaning Of Life Would Be Clearer,
If My Vision Was Not Blurred With Endless Tears,
Red Nails Aren't Even Painted,
My Meals Poisioned And Tainted,
Smiling To Myself,
Everyone Jarred And Set On The Top Shelf,
My Gardian Eagle,
Sits By Me So Regal,
My Celestial Hero,
Blocking Every Arrow,
Which Try's To Knock Those Shelves Down,
Who Try's To Make Me Frown,
He Will Never Let Me,
Lose My Crown
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 8:54 AM UTC
The exploration of womanhood,
viewed by a child, who had failed to birth an heir
and was auctioned amidst a war,
to lay beside the man who Lyrnessus heard before it saw,
and felt, before they felt nothing at all.
Plucked from childhood to motherhood,
failed motherhood, into obedience and slavery,
despised by her husband's mother for the absence of life she yearned to grow.
Then veiled in a soft pearlescent,
that blurred, but did not hide, the reason she survived,
and her brothers and husband did not.
Her barren belly proved a blessing when the girls in tents sprouted kleos from their swollen stomachs,
to carry the son of foreigners, bloodthirsty for their native home.
These girls, they are just girls, brainwashed by glory and trauma,
carry children that will slaughter their brothers of blood,
in the name of a woman seen only as a measurement of egotistic revenge.
And what of Briseis?
Aristos Achaion, they cried.
To them, he will always be: the best of the Greeks,
even after Apollo favours the hand of Paris and forges fate to impale the accidental hamartia.
What is her legacy?
Aristos Achaion, they cry.
As the boy who carries his blood rises from the fire and carries forward after his father's body hit the ground.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
Rustle in the leaves,
tussle with the vines,
afoot in the tree of life,
the gutsy snake coiling,
Raddled and rattled with mans sin,
Divulgence to the loner who cherished the fruit,
in the dusky orange red skies which brought in the adhen
and from the tolling bells in the distant church ,
While the snake lolloped in the stark blue skies,
Manipulating this oppo for the abyss.
The wandering seam of the night,moon,
With flickering light forbade the seance on the seemlessly never ending night,
Pity the snake for another morn would rise
For it will have to go to the *** ,no the pit.
The ***** and cuckoo within cooee , chanted and coerced another morn out !
Following the sun like the grail, the people lounged in to the waters of the ganges.
While broods of hurted children huddled in hate,
hurling stones at the traitor.
Hauling the renegade into the throngs,
Hunnish hands assaulted him until he swooned in to the motherlands lap,
Hue and cry of the avengers brought in the tripper,
Heavy loads hugged on to his shoulders,
In poise words he spoke,
''for every creation has its flaws,
And when we batter on the withered soul,
It leaves the barren man dry again,
To ward off evil is like blowing into the forges of Vulcan,
And only when tests and temptations are burnt in the bonfires of joy,
will man be moulded into a joyous being''
Hissing whisphers from the crowd spoke,
Heresy of the tripper is the hold,
Hasten yourself and bring our brother medication,
Hunt down the snake will we,
For this vagabond has spoken in verses,
Only to be filed in the trippers travelogue.
Hushed up as the snake in the pit.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
He is a tinkerer.
Through his eyes he sees only cogs and turning gears,
His fingers, they feel only bolts and nuts and screws,
He's doesn't understand her, he doesn't get her tears,
To him her sentiments, they are nothing if not new,
So he tries to fix her. He pieces the broken shells of her heart together,
Together the shells weigh a pound, but individually they float like a feather,
He glues and welds her heart together with his mixtures of metals,
But he doesn't understand that these shells are like rose bud petals,
Delicately they flow, and the slightest touch makes them break,
But in time, they bloom prettier than a sunset on a shimmering lake,
No, he doesn't understand. So he welds and forges the pieces together,
He is a tinkerer.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
Rust tipped leaves suspended, the snowblind continues.
Footsteps mark a new path, deviation forges revelation.
Amongst the bamboo flutes a single melody draws me in.
Blues and greens merge, the kingfisher dives from view.
Sun bleaches the remains, fragments, pieces of yesterday.
Blood drips from the dagger's edge - this ritual of rebirth.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
The mists that part,
By Bride's Day light,
Are mists between the worlds,
They open wide,
The gates of night,
And allow things to pass both ways,
What died before,
Comes forth once more,
The serpent's wings are spread,
On Hallow's Eve,
That sacrifice,
Begins the year again,
Forth from the well,
Between the worlds,
Scaled form returns once more,
A new year dawns,
In dark moon light,
And all begins once more,
Upon her forge,
New year is wrought,
By hammer and by flame,
The raven's call,
The hope of all,
As she forges the year again,
Now the births,
In springtime snows,
In cold and solemn moons,
Keeper of Ways,
Builder of Paths,
Takes now the regency,
Misrule is done,
That tide is turned,
Bride's Time has come again,
The Trouble Moon,
It parts and passes,
The Lost Moon begins again.
And awakened now,
The serpent old,
Begins a journey home,
As they open wide,
The gates of night,
And allow things to pass both ways,
For the mists that part,
By Bride's Day light,
Are mists between the worlds.
~Mists Between the Worlds, a Candlemas poem by Lorekeeper, February 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC
I turned away from reality
And entered another world
A world deep within the recesses of my mind
I can now enter another make believe world
Walk 'neath a canopy of autumn leaves
In the company of woodland elves
Watch in wonderment as faeries
Perform their nightly fire fly dance
Why don't you come with me
And see the dragons lair
Reach out a quiet hand, gold and diamonds to ensnare
Or we can visit the dwarven smiths
See their hammer beaten art
Works of spleandour unknown to modern man
In dwarven forges the art does live
We will gather at the summer fayre
Where sweet harpen music sounds
In that pleasant sunlit glade
Where birds and butterflies abound
Take me not from this wondrous place
Where magic still survives
Where the power of the wizard staff
Helps the good to stay alive
Suddenly a buzzing sound destroys this tranquil scene
I wake to the sound of my alarm
Realize it was just a dream
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
Our desire for emotion in people's craft often forges our unseen path that sometimes may lead to confusion in the process—which sometimes leaves us to hunger for what still lies beyond.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 4:24 AM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC