"gurgles" poems
What was it again
About the ride of life
That you could experience
By riding a rollercoaster.
"There will be ups and downs "
They say
But I say life won't be
That nice to let it come and go
Oh so swiftly
It takes time to get over the pain
And more to find happiness
The ride of life ,or a year
Begins when the rollercoaster
Is just starting to move up
Painfully but surely slow
Your stomach gurgles
Not only with excitement
But also anxiety
Those are the months that has passed
Behind us
Whereas the new year is at the peak
Where you'll start to think
"This is it"
Before it's twelve a.m
And you plunge into
A different page
Of your life
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
I can't write...
I have a stash of twenty drafts, bearing a couple of lines each
I can't crack...
Every draft seem to have developed a shell I can't breach
I can't gather...
My thoughts so I could nurture these drafts to fruition
I can't think...
The clatter in my head meant only to deafen
I can't fathom...
What went right from what had gone completely awry
I can't find...
Much needed sanity to let soar and fly
I can't cry...
The tears I've beckoned for so very badly
I can't scream...
Only muffled gurgles of notions drowned at sea
I can't see...
The bigger picture...that consumed us both
I can't hear...
Except for the dreaded voice of reason that I loathe
I can't piece...
Together one decent little write
***I can't breathe...
I can't breathe...***I'm losing this fight
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
you're drinking, and then you can't control
the reaction upon entering the tetragrammaton...
one h is for hushed up laughter, for sighs (ah),
and then the alter deja vu
is a cocktail of:
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
yeah, so many, so you can look at it rather than
say it... it's a sunny day, go out and play
or something... leave me with the anchor of ****
humanity dragging us down, or simply basing us
in the underwater fudge of mud to a standstill...
it's sunny, go out and play, ride a bicycle or something...
you know, living 20 odd years in an english society
i never had an english girlfriend, i'm told she's a real
firecracker fortune-cookie... my hands are cold,
i swear by the oath of the old Bailey i never touched
her thighs... scouts' honour, cross my fingers
and wear woman's underwear with a bowler hat
to match my serious demeanour...
yep, an Abbey Road's standstill... a fifth beetle
chatting cheeky chat chat of a chirp...
gurgles of fizz in carbonated wine known as champagne,
well that's me... or as the roadrunner said to
speedy Gonzales... hark a sayonara when changing
the gears to a 100m sprint world record.
the Mayan disease? ah right... excess spontaneous
laughter, unstoppable like a tide;
got chatting to a ms. khan... Genghis' great great...
great great great great great... great great granddaughter...
a doctor from pakistan... nice english accent
gets you all the pleasantries so everything can
go to hell... the sleeping pills prescription is waiting...
now the sick-note... so i don't crash a plane
into the Swiss elevations by "accident"
while sitting on an arm-chair of nails while everyone
else is farting into cushions.
honest to god, the tetragrammaton is like a brick
wall for vowels, you hit the ball against the four
walls, and the vowels are either ****** up
or they extract the consonant stability of the four letters,
and your safest bet to express them is
to laugh;
well, i do call it a Mayan disease... because
my stomach is aching from building a six-pack with
the giggles.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
**Earth Day, April 22, 2017 "give back to Earth",
as an "offering" for all the planet gives us.**
For Global Earth Day information visit: http://www.earthday.org/
Her ominous shadow
shown a path
far beyond the miles high
a majestic mountain stood
Silently climbing down
million year old
steep canyon walls
at dawn,
each step chosen carefully
coursing with purpose
Finding a way forward
was the only way
to look back up
river carved ravines
where higher ground
once stood
Instincts drawn downward
gravity feed towards
the faint murmurs
deep echoes tracery
down sheer basalt cliffs
Artesian waters'
resounding gurgles ―
bubble up to quench
a lost soul’s incurably
intrinsic parching thirst;
to find an unfolding
metamorphic peace
in the trove of igneous
fountain veins of earth
There’s not need to wait
on sunrise pathways lit ―
there is no fear of gravity’s
downward silent weight
nor burden to be borne
Listening beyond dark silence .
igneous bedrock roots
beckon deeper expanse ;
spirit realms of ancient souls
whisperer like thunder
to the soul of man ―
Awakening ruptured lifelines
deep below earthen crust ,
creations hidden essence
eternally remembered
by the light above ...
April 2017 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
A girl is standing on a ledge.
A stale breath of air on the back of her neck
Urges her to step forward.
She turns, but no one is there
But the sky.
A girl is sitting in the bathroom,
All but ripping and shredding her flesh to bits.
A chuckle from the drain
As water and red gurgles,
Gurgles away.
A girl is laying in bed,
The creaks and moaning whines from the house
Echo loudly in her ears.
“What would happen,” it asks, “if you broke through the glass
And leapt out the window?”
A girl is followed,
Footsteps in time with her own,
Chased and haunted by every feeling, sound, and thought.
It seems the spirits have her too,
Because she still continues to smile.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
He slumps, grumbling at the air
a grunt, no more
admittance of awareness
minimising risk
of developing interest
grunt
the glow across
his face pale
a reflective pallor
shows us his day
has spent him inside
grunt
nourishment calls
a gutted feeling
deeper than his alienation
as food is not forthcoming
he tries to sing
grunt
in letting go
his newfound voice
an interrupted squawk
so disgusted he uhgs
hiding himself again
grunt
daily untouched
but for lonely nights
when in consolation
he hands himself to the
bounty of the sickened screen
grunt
and gurgles
in unity, at one
with images which champion
his waking hours, forcing him
unconsenting
and confused
grunt
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Laying in bed on my back.
My head resting on hands, cushioned.
The dark ceiling with a black asterisk in the middle.
My windows casting shadows of light across my room.
The rain outside silencing me with
shhhhhh
continuous
shhhhhhhhhhhh.
Listening closely I hear the lone pitters and single patters.
The nearly not noticeable rustling of branches.
Tempo of the rain quickening, slowing, quickening-
almost like a heartbeat.
A drip drip of droplets delving into a puddle.
The rushing of a shy, shallow, stream;
Its rare gurgles.
The ominous bass of thunder, deafening.
Natures own orchestra-
For me to fall asleep to.
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
*dandelion seeds
too tight to fly--
frozen Spring lovers
stream breeze--
pollen ripples into sun,
brace of current bed
inflorescent burst--
hikers' boots beside a pool
on sun-baked rocks
green buds ***** the air--
in corymb echoes,
fuzz of leaves
water-sounds cascade--
moss-drops, trickles; dog-splash, falls;
gurgles under foot
the tones of waves
tiny on the smooth shore
lipping on
stem-length stars,
streaming rays of sun
and water's deep shade
gentle eddies over stone--
one world,
one world
froth twirl and tendril
under Spring brook shade--
so clear beneath
burl-sprouts misted bright,
cups of water,
forest thirst
waterfall gasp--
the cold! the winter! now swim!
the first breaths
Spring Misogi--
pummeled muscles--
grin of mossy heart
your wet shirt against my chest
--hot love--
thunderous winter-melt
we sink laughing,
numb in Spring's fluids--
our voices drown
papaya lunch--
a tropic fruit
and i am home
sweaty backpack--
two beloved women hike,
my heart weightless
cliff-jumpers--
green from nostalgia,
i hit bottomless
cameras first,
avert canopy surprise--
Spring screen
black-backed iridesce--
warm beetle slips
in and out of scree
barefoot in the stream,
our hands and voices smooth--
ankle sprain
Spring paths--
a parent's visit
breathes new life
my womb-maker
from another life--
ageless comfort
her haiku eyes--
water shining sun green
bloom here again
*
\|/
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Under the grieving moon
we whispered secrets long kept.
Beneath the roaring waves
that drowned us as...
we quietly wept.
We spoke in hushed tones
of promises made to last.
Our cracked voices
melded with the echoes of a time...
of a fond memory in the past.
Water in our mouths
with words we jousted and lunged.
Heard only as hapless gurgles
and inaudible whimpers.
Unparried speculations
unsheathed and then plunged.
We cupped our wounds and retreated
knowing that we each drew blood.
We kissed with our eyes,
broke down walls
and welcomed the flood.
We wiped our cheeks
now smeared hot with tears.
Where did we err?
Who do we blame...
for dishevelled years?
We would never know...
but we must learn.
Time had shown us our mistakes
but our hearts had taught us
eternal love that burns.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
Lived on one's back,
In the long hours of repose,
Life is a practical nightmare--
Hideous asleep or awake.
Shoulders and *****
Ache----!
Ache, and the mattress,
Run into boulders and hummocks,
Glows like a kiln, while the bedclothes--
Tumbling, importunate, daft--
Ramble and roll, and the gas,
******* to its lowermost,
An inevitable atom of light,
Haunts, and a stertorous sleeper
Snores me to hate and despair.
All the old time
Surges malignant before me;
Old voices, old kisses, old songs
Blossom derisive about me;
While the new days
Pass me in endless procession:
A pageant of shadows
Silently, leeringly wending
On . . . and still on . . . still on!
Far in the stillness a cat
Languishes loudly. A cinder
Falls, and the shadows
Lurch to the leap of the flame. The next man to me
Turns with a moan; and the snorer,
The drug like a rope at his throat,
Gasps, gurgles, snorts himself free, as the night-nurse,
Noiseless and strange,
Her bull's eye half-lanterned in apron,
(Whispering me, 'Are ye no sleepin' yet?'),
Passes, list-slippered and peering,
Round . . . and is gone.
Sleep comes at last--
Sleep full of dreams and misgivings--
Broken with brutal and sordid
Voices and sounds that impose on me,
Ere I can wake to it,
The unnatural, intolerable day.
2.2k
Dark and ordinary mornings start,
with haptic taps from my Apple watch,
and a yawning stretch, way before dawn.
I glance out my window, to check
the weather because that’s the spec
that decides whether, we’re outside
or we’re down to the gym inside.
“Alexa, brew,” I compel my AI
thank God, she understands,
and my Keurig gurgles to life.
I brush the ‘ol tusks and wash my face,
before wiggling into spandex and taking a place
on the bench by the door where our shoes are stored.
When Lisa comes out, stout coffee in hand
she slumps on the bench, with a sleepy pout.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confides with a yawn,
“I barely closed my eyes - then it was dawn!”
Checking my watch, I haven’t the heart
to say ‘dawn’s a half hour after we start.’
Every morning we rise and jog a five K (3.1mi)
we decided, last year, that it’s the best way
to jump-start our brains and start our day.
Poets write about love, pure and chaste,
and less about morning alarms and toothpaste
but in these moments, the ways we start our day,
can influence our lives in interesting ways
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 4:03 PM UTC
1. I woke up too early, when outside the sky a pearl hue and the curtains ghostly white, a dreamy mist hung over my covers, I did not want to be enslaved by the unforgiving hour of first light, but my eyes had peeked anyways, and I felt this deep burning desire to run before it consumed me.
2. It consumed me. My meager thoughts begged to perform, we couldn’t stop seeing beasts in the hunt, the moon curled up in the corner of the page, this tight feeling in my neck, my *** squeezed tight, and my stomach gurgles. I’m hungry and there’s no food and there’s no money. There’s leftover wood and paint.
3. Too ignore my hunger, I knelt down by my bed, at night where I imagine a pornstar playing with herself, so I could not fear the animal, or the ravenous beast. And I started to finish painting on the wood.
4. It’s been so long, I’m so afraid, please God, let me realize how beautiful I am and not destroy myself.
5. I can’t imagine eating anything, there’s nothing I’d like except maybe chocolate ice cream and strawberry wafers. Only desserts could ease my protestation, while I’m still young, 23 spoonfuls of sugar for the seducing rush, and how could any one fathom submitting to its unbridled passion and understand why roses sob in pairs at the sight of plucking a rose petal by petal for vain love.
6. I paint this picture without knowing what it means, if it does mean something, could it be something, I paint this picture from my skinny life form to avoid slumber and exile hunger. I am nothing but a waitress in a swamp city.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
I remember the first breath of life
the blinding light of an innocent world
and the warmth of love and endearment.
I remember the first wobbly steps
through gurgles of a language only I understood
and the toothless smile reflected off my twin on the wall.
I remember the first spark of friendship
when I laughed and you laughed
and we smiled as the red string around our fingers tightened.
I remember the first pounding of my heart
when I locked eyes with smiling eyes
and I swore my heart was racing with the winds.
I remember the first ***** of betrayal
with screams and stares of hate and anger
hands trembling as we cut off the tied red string on our fingers.
I remember the first swell of pride
when I presented a night’s worth of work
and was showered with praise and adoration with smiles painted everywhere.
I remember the first door to literature
with the intoxicating smell of ink and weathered down pages
and lives spoken through words and feelings.
I remember my first shattered heart
frozen and numb with shock and acceptance
with thoughts only on why?
I remember the first light of love
through hugs and accepting smiles
adding to my growing smile and happiness.
I remember the first heartfelt separation
with happy excitement and tearful goodbyes
as I left without looking back.
I remember the first new beginning
as I stared at the foreign neighborhood
and wondered about the million possibilities that laid within it.
I remember the first dawning realization
when I stood alone and clueless
and knew that nobody would come to help me.
I remember the first timid attempt
as I spoke up and tried to connect
desperately clawing myself out of my protective hole.
I remember the first true smile
laughing and giggling and chuckling with friends
in the open air of freedom away from the confined hole.
I remember the first repeats into my shell
when being brave and assertive was too much
and the hole seemed so much more than just a jail.
I remember the first self-hatred
with fear imprinted in my eyes
and how could I let myself continue this way?
I remember the first new change
from the moldable girl who lost her way
to the fiery girl who decided to carve her own path.
I remember the first self-love
when I looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch
as I saw a beautiful girl who worked for what she wanted.
I remember many things,
many firsts of my life,
many positives and negatives,
many unforgettable moments,
which still continue on within a girl;
on and on until the end of time.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
CLOSE SHAVE
Always her fascination
with me
shaving.
This her early morning ritual
observing each action
as if it were
holy.
I hide my face
in foam.
“Santa Claus! Santa Claus! ”
she chants
winces with delight
as the razor
(she gulps)
goes over my bump
without slicing it off.
The shaving uncovers the me she knows.
“Soft…soft! ”
“Mr. Daddy Soft Soft! ”
she gurgles
in a lather of laughter.
“Me now…now me! ”
she pleads with me.
I take the brush
coat her reflection with foam.
I shave her
with the tip of my little finger.
Her reflection sniggers &
she sniggers too.
Later, in the early evening
she appears
bearded in fresh cream.
She shaves herself
with a lollipop stick.
“Me... Daddy now...see! ”
I cha cha cha her
on the tips of my toes
as she clings to my
fingertips
dancing around
the living room.
One delighted
half shaved little girl.
One delighted
soft soft Mr. Daddy.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
The River Ice Has Begun To Vanish,
Famished, It Yeilds To The Sun,
Piece By Piece Its Body
Succumbs To Ripened
Heat; Slowly It
Is Devoured By
The Current
Until It Is
Gone:
Time
Eats Away
At The Winter's
Impending Hold
On The River's Bubbling
Laughter; Sought After Due
To Its Delightful Chattering
Which Gurgles Peacefully Within The
Tender Summer Nights Beneath The Stars
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
Such a tedious thing,
I sense our existence appears.
For my chest to breech to the sky,
A tightened blossom of whipping purity.
Then to sink towards such a vicarious engulfment of hell.
With each palpitating symposium,
My lungs waver.
To crust over,
and bless the,
upon gilded guffaws.
Perturbed of my ascension.
Or shall they sink,
Sallow under chagrined blasphemy,
My horridness inked upon
parchment seasoned skin.
Not but,
a child of bitter consideration.
I shall butter myself in ashes,
just to perceive myself a shadow.
For at dusk's beckon,
perturbed; to kiss the constellations.
Blemishes I conjured,
beneath a quavering lip,
a gentle crease of my nose.
I silence their whimpering of wrongdoings,
which I have failed to rupture.
To exhale,
in such a bubbling manner.
It gurgles at my lips.
Dribbles before me,
Whilst the sun blinks back a yawn.
Yet, upon a lunar serenade,
the talons which protrude from my veins,
writhes gruesome.
To my supposed
talents,
I see no anchor.
From them, to what lay before me.
To where I shall drift.
And good sir,
label my simplistic existence,
if you must.
Yet I shall soon die,
and so, you will too.
And by that flicker of seconds,
we should matter no more.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Harboring suspicions from blinded eyes,
Acid gurgles under sugary lies.
The stranger swaying dementedly to and fro,
On rocking chair thoughts, their mind on show.
How should you react when a dagger is drawn,
Neutral, or reveal a suspicion is born.
Eyeing the ranks of human heads,
Thoughts emerging from crumpled beds.
As you cannot see the source of the shot in the dark,
So you only hear the tune of the singing lark.
Consipiracy theories, click codes on the mouse,
As the snake coils into the empty house.
In an unreal life, nothing recognised,
A stranger lies, looking into a stranger’s eyes.
Steadily repeated stabs of deceptions,
From foundations, of fallacious conceptions.
Locked in a make believe play of doubt,
Interrogate the evidence, turn inside out.
Within delusory ink and pens that bite.
Making sulphuric phrases into tools of spite.
Elvis on the radio confirming your thought,
Suspicion in a tormented trap you are caught.
Eliminate subject and object, unravel the day
Anchor to a certainty and then drift away
For it has always been and will always be so,
A blind thought will return to the house of shadow.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
. . . says a twig to a stream, to a river to the sea . . .
“Why do you struggle so very mightily?
The ice grabs you like it’s beholden me.”
B
ut the water gurgles, below, unconcernedly.
“Once I bore a crown so light and green!
Where is it now? Only you have seen!
In the Fall I blazed the brightest red!
Now, in the Winter, I wish you were dead . . .”
The twig remembers that Spring comes again;
its leaves will be born and unfurl then,
“And Fall will give them to you to take from me!”
. . . says the twig to the stream to the river to the far away sea . . .
But the twig’s just a shadow the stream must pass through.
The ocean calls it home, so that’s what it’ll do.
The stream was born of a past Winter’s ice
and the twig’s just a shadow through which it must slice.
And . . . maybe it might bear a leaf or two
but it can’t remember what it might do.
An Ocean rages at the earth and the sky!
Rocks are torn to pebbles and mists flung to fly.
Then one day its water, as rain,
awakes the twig to leaf again.
And a twig looks down at the slice of shade
its leaves, once again, upon the stream, have made.
And forgets, come Fall, what colors there’ll be;
another twig is born of a branch of a tree.
One far Winter the water will freeze,
a cold dire wind will strip branches from trees.
One Old Twig floats down to the sea
and uncovers one thing a twig might be:
bright driftwood cast far ashore
and it’s not now a twig anymore.
A Flame spits embers at the dark, starry sky.
The children of its anger upon the winds do fly.
A tree gives those children a home in its leaves
as an iced over stream groans and grieves;
praying for safe passage through the Shadow of the Twig up above
. . . and so flows the circle of the cycle of the rhythm of Nature’s Love . . .
Time is but a moment that passes you by;
a stream of cold tears that others must cry.
Twigs glare darkly at other streams;
Life’s much bigger . . . and smaller . . . than it seems.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
A truck pulls into the driveway I'd just walked by, and
Three men, bulky, hat brims casting shadows over their watching eyes,
Three men clamber out, boots heavy, lips twisted into snarls -
Three men with meaty fingers, built with rusted screws and gnarled wood,
Warped as their rotted minds, full of parasites feasting on whatever knowledge once was consumed.
Dry wheezing breaths push out beside me from a bench I pass by, and
Two men, fingers cracking, gripping their canes with too much strength,
Two men, wrinkles twisting, grin with rows of yellow-brown teeth and black gaps -
Two men, hunched over, cloudy eyes pinned to my back, and
Wheezing grows faster, uneven, a croaking whisper of a snicker, a laugh, trailing after me.
Footsteps thunder behind me through the bathroom door, and
One man, teapot stout but not so dainty, instead gut bulging, too close,
One man, beady black eyes digging, gorging, his swinging belly gurgles -
One man with a squirming pink worm of a tongue, tracing engorged sausage-fat lips,
Fat as his constant hunger for flesh, full of grumbling cravings as he lumbers through the room, stalking.
I run, I duck, I hide -
Only my asthma chases me.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
The steady thump sounds dull to my fingertips touch.
Shadows bend silently towards the spot in which I stand.
Rooftop corners morph into reaching hands.
Bare treetops beckon me.
Tiredness engulfs me,
Like the setting sunlight silhouetting the naked trees.
The tectonic plates beneath the surface of my skin shift ever so slowly.
Allowing an ache to snake through me in whispers.
My blood gurgles in response to the changing sunlight,
To the rise in temperature.
My body ceaselessly remembers,
What my mind has tried so hard to erase.
So that I cannot pin the shiver that runs across my skin.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
a hammerhead percussion box:
an inert crystalline cymbalist’s gong.
a confession of tined tuning forks
of perhaps a familiar keyboard?
the siren sphere rings of a chime—
brittle yet consciously polite,
composed by nature’s ragged pen:
plinking injections; stymied to tin.
! let it all reduce the klang to mere cacaophony !
a descent of bells, i am in plume,
a riddle delivered in aged runes—
evenheaded shots of ******
cut by the lotto wanderlust:
fractal prism, stormy rhythm,
thunder’s din to rainy hymn.
up those tulip-eared scales, so brisk,
the glugs and gurgles of cosmopolis.
! let it all reduce the tolling to glorious symphony !
a vagabond melody, no metronome,
a metallurgist’s claustrophobe,
an orchestral performance at home,
where i am absolved in the entrancing drone...
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
her mind
wove assorted ornaments
of vivid hues
each stitch
an alternate reality
a story she wished she knew
her view,
a distant spectacle--
a casual onlooker
upon the lovely scene
emotions spin
making its own ball of yarn
a tight knot forms
she is
her own
great nightmare
distorted reflections
grimace in horror
her own doing
a black sea
bubbles and gurgles
liquifying sensual sins
beauty hides
the facade
of her own madness
(b.d.s.)
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
let me forget you.
take me to the drowned forest
where water gurgles from
descicated root-lungs,
preserving limpness in form.
where I can feel at home
dangling, the shadowed bats
swerve in overcast light.
here, I am caught
pretending that the ground
rushes towards me,
and peace is in my lungs.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
every evening i slaughter the sun.
every evening i cut her up on unforgiving mountain peaks
i dip her blood orange blistered flesh in saltwater;
i do this for the moon.
the sun gurgles as she drowns
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC