"lamb" poems
Speaking of broken hearts
and mended fenced in mem'ries
I am painting skies
of tangerine, saffron
& an illuminated lilac hue
against the starkly contrasted crisp cornflower blue, stretching canvas that is
along with all the
other blindingly beautiful colors of a twilight sky
And those dripping cotton candy stratospheric clouds
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers
..I hear them whisper, "hello"...
Blinding beauty
through unadulterated sunlight
I am fleeced like a lamb
watching in awe,
..in wonder
then stomping sounds
of coming thunder,
Finding depth and height
out in the stratosphere
Blinded by the
After Light
or afterglow
affected by the amount of haze
I'm in a daze
...as I am reaching
High above the fading light
of a brilliant early fall sunset
I take a big breath
of that sumptuous air
and twirl my skirted legs
my painted toes
where I know
I am back
to solid ground
Appreciating the last time
I say sleep well
to you my dear
summertimes sweet mem'ries
and the fun we had this year.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
Lord, Lord,
Why did You make me Black?
Why did You make me someone
The world wants to hold back?
Black is the color of ***** clothes;
The color of grimy hands and feet.
Black is the color of darkness;
The color of tire-beaten streets.
Why did you give me thick lips,
A broad nose and ***** hair?
Why did You make me someone
Who receives the hatred stare?
Black is the color of a bruised eye
When somebody gets hurt.
Black is the color of darkness.
Black is the color of dirt.
How come my bone structure's so thick;
my hips and cheeks are high?
How come my eyes are brown
and not the color of the daylight sky?
Why do people think I'm useless?
How come I feel so used?
Why do some people see my skin and think I should be abused?
Lord, I just don't understand;
What is it about my skin?
Why do some people want to hate me
And not know the person within?
Black is what people are "listed",
When others want to keep them away.
Black is the color of shadows cast.
Black is the end of the day.
Lord, You know, my own people mistreat me;
And I know this just isn't right.
They don't like my hair or the way I look
They say I'm too dark or too light.
Lord, Don't You think it's time
For You to make a change?
Why don't You re-do creation
And make everyone the same?
(God answered
Why did I make you black?
Why did I make you black?
Get off your knees and look around.
Tell Me, what do you see?
I didn't make you in the image of darkness.
I made you in the Likeness of ME!
I made you the color of coal
From which beautiful diamonds are formed.
I made you the color of oil,
The black-gold that keeps people warm.
I made you from the rich, dark earth
That can grow the food you need.
Your color's the same as the panther's
Known for (HER) beauty and speed.
Your color's the same as the Black stallion,
A majestic animal is he.
I didn't make you in the Image of darkness
I made you in the Likeness of Me!
All the colors of a Heavenly Rainbow
Can be found throughout every nation;
And when all those colors were blended well,
YOU BECAME MY GREATEST CREATION.
Your hair is the texture of lamb's wool
Such a humble, little creature is he.
I am the Shepherd who watches them.
I am the One who will watch over thee.
You are the color of midnight-sky,
I put the stars' glitter in your eyes.
There's a smile hidden behind your pain
That's the reason your cheeks are high.
You are the color of dark clouds formed
when I send My strongest weather.
I made your lips full so when you kiss
the one you love they will remember.
Your stature is strong; your bone structure, thick
to withstand the burdens of time.
The reflection you see in the mirror...
The Image looking back at you is MINE!
-by RuNett Nia Ebo
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach . . .
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.
You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
You would burn it all.
To do a dance,
To wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
To look in a mirror . . .
To tell an image, that it’s anything but you.
And it is in that moment, that you'll find
You’ll tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed
Your own obliterated youth . . .
To feel, and then
to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
You would find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
Back to you.
To betray, and to amuse
Alone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.
And maybe, one day, one will choose
the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
until they find there’s nothing left.
To feel the flame within its breath consumed.
Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
And die a death,
Whose dance you six-times misstep
And on the seventh, betrays you.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:46 AM UTC
*Isaiah saw the LORD on high
with seraphs 'round Him praising
and knew that he must surely die
but for God's altar brazen
If not for Jesus Christ the Lamb
we all would face hell's woe
but by His grace alone I am
made holy head to toe
So now my life is not my own
but purchased by the King
to make His gospel message known
and His glory forever sing!*
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
And so the lion fell in love with the lamb
She thought she had the upper hand
But fate got in the way
And the lion had nothing to say
So they began a lfie together
Determined to last forever
For their love was stronger than you would believe
So intense it almost decieves
But the lion couldn't overcome
All the obstacles to be with the one
He left the lamb with tears in her eyes
And wouldn't return despite her tries
Now the lamb couldn't comprehend
Why the lion wouldn't spend
A life time with her by his side
**** the lion and his stupid pride
But the lion soon came to regret
The fact that he could ever let
His precious lamb get away
And now the lion knew what to say
He needed his lamb and needed her bad
See he missed the love that they had
But the lamb did not forgive
All that the lion did
But she loved her lion, she couldn't deny
Even if she couldn't explain why
And so the lion fell in love with the lamb
Stupid lion, stupid lamb
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 7:17 PM UTC
You howl like a wolf
Yet I hear the bleeting of a lamb.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
I write my identity in gluestick and markers
I am a lamb raised by wolves
swaddled pulsing cosmos girl-child
My limbs are rebuilt like a 7 year old birdhouse
with garish colours and bubbling pride
I am pouring glitter onto my future
the kaleidoscope cannot exist inside
In the end I think there would be
no nobler cause than to
have a life worthy of taping on
the refrigerator that I can
swell with ever-young joy to know I
have created with
trial and forgiveness.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 2:26 PM UTC
He came to Jerusalem mounted on a donkey
People went out to meet him,
Waving the palm branches they bring
And hailed him as their king.
Yet, people don’t know the sorrow
The coming week would bring
Soon, Glad acclaimed will give away,
To jeers and mockery.
In God’s redemption plan,
He’d be condemn to a cross on cavalry
But he knew that he was a sacrificial lamb
To die for the sins of man in misery.
Today is the day when Jesus will passed
Give praise to son of God,
Shout the benediction of his name
From the sky and to the sod;
Hosanna to the Highest!
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
Who believes what we’ve heard and seen?
Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was ****
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn’t say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten ****** for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn’t true.
Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.
Out of that terrible travail of soul,
he’ll see that it’s worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
will make many “righteous ones,”
as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I’ll reward him extravagantly—
the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn’t flinch,
because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
he took up the cause of all the black sheep.
~ Eugene Peterson
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
I'm scared to see
What lies beyond these doors
The gate to my future
Whats in store?
I'm scared to let go
Of my high school freedom
Graduation is near
Times passing like the seasons
I'm scared to know
What reality has to offer
I'm not at all prepared
I'm like a lamb to the slaughter
I'm scared to find out
Which of my friends will stay
Who are the real ones
And which ones will fade
I'm scared to hold
All the power of my life
Making such a crucial choice
Cutting through me like a knife
I dont want to be scared
Of what I have now
I want to enjoy life
I'm not exactly sure how
I'll think about my future
And all that is to come
When reality comes knocking
By then I'll be done
Change will happen
Slowly throughout time
I'll take it as it comes
Dont stress in the meantime
I won't be scared.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
*"Claim me,"
she whispers in a plea
"claim my soul as I wilt"
Crimson lips parted,
head thrown back
in ecstatic ache
jugular bared
she needs to feel
that sharp -edged love,
skin and barriers broken
as she melts into
the underworld
of a new grace
a magenta cry into
the inky sky
sacred silence penetrated
as only gasps are heard
milky ******* decorated
with red liquid ribbon,
his nourishment,
her demise
******* pierced with
beads of her sunset life flow
as he ***** and bites...
and howling
into heaven's delicious gate,
she writhes
Her soul dissolving
into his night
and as his spirit
absorbs her vermilion soul
their power rises,
black as coal
…………….
your lips
stick black
sanguine smile
tremulous murmurs
oh happy blood blossom of deaths surrender
sacrificial lamb
cats sparrow entranced
thighs on fire
sobbing from a thousand needled kisses
******* tearing blood
each wound a weeping mouth licking
milky white alter of cold stone
saturated alizarin rust
legs wide
feet and ******* trussed
in chains and drenched rags
for cruelties arrow
o crimson queen,
pomegranate half eaten
mouth smudge black
agape
snake tongue dancing
through cherry lips twisted
darkened eyes of fire and blood
a wash in devils incense
beloved veiled
in evils cradle
bind not the demons kiss
then face down my love upon the crypt of mist
black heavens gate
pupa
vampires bate
a blood moon shaking
a scourge you are now
goddess of pleasures wretched
in the Tuileries of the abyss
consort
your every piercing fang
duck tail ****
a boiling cauldron
desire
spills out
dark cupid witch
legs tied to throat
devil ***** twitch
******* in a mote
ive got the itch
feet scorched in rope
hot ******* *****
hells dark pope
vampiress *****
dark girl feeding
the sun is no more
loves the bleeding*
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
Lions do sleep
On the opinion
Of sheep
Act as though
Unaffected
But deep in their
Slumber
They do solemnly
Wonder
If those words
Are too,
Unexpected
For sheep are
Wise
Of a Lion's true
Pride
The doubt that resides from
Within
The lion
The lamb
They've given
A ****
Only to be
Misdirected
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
What is a Father?
Is he a Person?
A Thing?
Or a Feather?
What is his Life?
Is it Carefree and Spontaneous
Or Tormenting and Strife?
Who is he in which a Person could know?
What are his Abilities which only he could show?
Does he Work, for the sake of a Family?
Or sleeps and pigs around, being a Menace and Lazy?
Who could this man be, to the Eyes of Children,
A Hard Rock or a Soft Leaven?
Does he Pile over Everyone
And takes Control?
Is he the Eagle, the Head of the Nest,
Playing a very important Role?
Does he impersonate Father Christmas
With all his Treats and Gifts?
Is he a Lover, with a Strong Heart for *******
Hugging greatly and giving Love-Lifts?
Does he Pray,
Or Face-Religious?
Or a Braver,
Or Spontaneous?
Is he a Disciplinarian
Wherewithin all Members under him
Are tuned to his Command?
Or a Freester,
Who gives his Kids their darling Freedom
Without any Demand?
Does he care,
For the People and Loved Ones around him?
Is he Provocative,
Uncaring for Anyone behind his Dim?
Mostly, he is the Grass,
Herding the Future for his Offspring?
Or the Lamb,
Stubborn and very Unwilling?
And so, whatever he is,
Or does,
A Father is a Father,
Anonymous or Specific
I wouldn't mind.
Just as long as he has
HEART, STRENGTH, FREEDOM and PROSPERITY,
KINDNESS, BRAVE, PROTECTIVE
And RELIABILITY.
I'll be Glad and Content. As any Son should be.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
I'm so bored
tell me a story
play an online game with me
someone text me
buy me a lamb
make a new tweet
take me shopping
buy me a wii u
I'm so bored
everything's so boring
I have no games on the wii
so I am bored as can be
someone post on instagram
something saying "yeet"
get me pizza with lots of toppings
is anyone else bored, too?
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
Amazing Grace: your gift for all. So amazing your grace that you would die for us sinners on a cross in shame and agony though sinless yourself.
How Sweet the Sound: to hear "your sins are absolved"
That Saved a Wretch Like Me: Compared to your perfection and glory we are truly wretched. All blackened by sin, but because of your death on a cross not by water or blood, but by water and blood we are saved and washed clean and white. The only chance we have of getting into heaven is by your gift of Amazing Grace.
I Once Was Lost: like a sheep who strays from the flock and wanders off
But Now Am Found: I am safe and sound in your arms once again. You rescue me from danger and bring me back safe and sound.
Was Blind: because of sin and my faults, wrapped up in a blanket of hurting and lies.
But Now I See: the magnitude of this gift you give and because of your death, the pure spotless lamb, and the cleansing blood you shed for me and for many that sins might be forgiven.
'Twas Grace That Taught My Heart To Fear: fear you in a deep respect for your power, fear of not having you always there and fear of satan and the cost of sin.
And Grace My Fears Relieved: I used to fear what would happen if I sinned and I still fear as I should always, but I take comfort in the knowledge that when I sincerely repent, do my best to sin no more, and to avoid the things that lead me to sin I will be forgiven.
How Precious Did That Grace Appear: It is by Grace and Grace alone that we are saved and indeed how precious, how special Grace was as it appeared to me
The Hour I First Believed: The hour I came to believe in you Jesus my Savior who shed your blood, died and rose again that I might live!
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat.
The fat
Sacrifices its opacity. . . .
A window, holy gold.
The fire makes it precious,
The same fire
Melting the tallow heretics,
Ousting the Jews.
Their thick palls float
Over the cicatrix of Poland, burnt-out
Germany.
They do not die.
Grey birds obsess my heart,
Mouth-ash, ash of eye.
They settle. On the high
Precipice
That emptied one man into space
The ovens glowed like heavens, incandescent.
It is a heart,
This holocaust I walk in,
O golden child the world will **** and eat.
8k
The cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, in full bloom.
Below the koi fish swim round, round in circles.
The sun reflects off silk kimonos with a shine radiant, dazzling,
With red lips against painted white skin, blindingly beautiful.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
And hair like ink, bound tightly a few strands bound for escape.
Untouched skin tainted by stares, clipped wings useless for an escape,
Freedom comes in the hope of riding a cherry blossom, swelling in bloom.
The leaves swirl to the ground, spiraling in nature’s ribbon.
The glares of tigers ********** her, kimono falling to her feet in circles,
Eyes of blue, green, never turning away, trapping those beautiful,
The nature of a hidden world, shaming and stunning, confining yet so dazzling.
The snap of the gold-trimmed fan weaving in and out, dazzling
The crowd with effortless twists and turns; clenched tightly, no room for escape.
A dance of untamed water in a disturbingly beautiful
Unity of desire and fright. A young bud not on the verge of bloom
Thrown into a crowd of tigers to be spun in uncontrollable circles
And entrapped by the unflinching gazes in silk ribbon.
The game is simple: mesmerize a pack with grace of ribbon,
Attend engagements that ask for a dance, tea pouring, but never dazzling
That pure smile too brightly. Fool the ***** tigers to follow in circles,
But never trust a tiger that promises a chance of escape.
Never fall for love’s first bloom,
Never become the next to lose the light. Stay pure and stay beautiful.
A kimono is only as pure and as beautiful
As the woman underneath. By cutting the ribbon
Of virginity by a friendly lamb, instead of tiger’s bidding for the bloom,
Only leads to the fall of a shooting star, gracing the sky with its dazzling
Beauty, and the hope and wish of an everlasting escape
Is crushed by the weight of a soapy rag, washing away the hope in circles.
Though the pain of the cage binds the mind in endless circles,
Though tigers ignored the aching backs and blistered feet, staring at only the beautiful,
It is better, safer to stay in the hidden world, banishing all thoughts of an escape.
Keep the tigers in a tight ribbon,
Stay young, fresh, never letting the mind wander away from dazzling,
And never fall like a cherry blossom after its first bloom.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
The sun reflects off the silk kimono with a shine that never ceases from dazzling,
And forever watching the cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, fall in full bloom.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
7.6k
#Ogun owed Oxun for the fee he paid
to divorce Yemayá in the watery deep.
Babalu Aye‘s messenger delayed
(no *** in the bargain – price too steep)
until San Martín, divine caballero
deceived the third wife of el Indio Guerrero.
(Obatala‘s beats got lost in transit
the rhythm robbed by macumba-bandit.)
Eleguá cleared paths for He Who Opens Pores.
Black roosters smoked puros at midnight. Outdoors,
Santa Muerte was asked to turn down the noise
so Nana Buluku could get some sleep.
As she gathered Ashé, reduced to a heap
of Yoruba fool’s gold anointed with blood
Oduduwa pretended he understood;
but his mother-in-law knew he never would
until Olódùmarè returned from the feast
having sacrificed roosters while facing east.
The santero drew me a pictogram
to protect me from forces my poem conjured
but the blood of a sacrificed perfect lamb
affords more protection, I knew. He wondered.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).
Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.
All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.
"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!
She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
I could never know just how dangerous being a lamb is until I fell for the lion.
He could easily snap me in half, mentally, emotionally.
He is all predator, cool calm and collected.
All harsh lines and sharp tongue
All confidence and cockiness
But the way he moves, so beautifully
It breaks my heart.
And I am the sick ********* that can't bear to let go,
I would run if I wasn't so busy being caught up in him
So busy wanting to put him back together
Because he wasn't always a lion, wasn't always this.
He was a cub once, a smaller version of himself now
Lesser and more
But I will fall asleep tonight thinking of his roar
And what it does to my heart
Not afraid, but utterly transfixed
Stupid, stupid lamb
For falling in love with the lion.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Book of life brings various mysterious chapters,one such spells my visit to village..
It was so awe aspiring, but no man's clock can be rewinded to bring that timeless age...
I shouted in wilderness like the way toy means to infant's rejoice...
my words couldn't jump over the peaks, bouncing back my voice...
I was panting and cramps got better of me,pushing me to rest on flat limestone...
But enjoying every bit of that pilgrimage and witnessing melodious chirping tone...
I resumed my journey upwards but soon grey clouds triggered the quenching rain...
Closing my eyes,i opened my arm,kids with cherry cheeks called me tenuous insane...
It seemed as if almighty took me to the heaven, being surrounded by the flowery and green hills...
In the east breeze those school kids were skidding down the slope with their paper windmills..
An aged shepherd was looking for some shelter,not for himself but for his lamb and sheep..
Such care, such love,that's why the wool machine searched the banyan where her master could sleep...
Some urbans haven't travelled to such pictures just because of it's tech- remoteness..
Wish i had my own hut in the vicinity of woods giving utmost peace,but I'm hapless...
Darkness is floating through narrow lane yet eye catches only citylight..
But wish i could dream again in countryside under shiny moonlight..
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
Give him a skinhead, insignia, boots
Less scruples, a swagger-stick, crowds, money.
No black shirts visible. Just business suits,
and pride is restored: tragic but funny.
Proud like a skyscraper, godless as sin
Babylonian promises, towering lies
Reality shows when plutocrats win,
Their rhetoric raining from empty skies.
She-wolves, elected by uninformed sheep
behave predictably, eyeing the flock
Their wool (and the lamb-chops) are hers to keep
Grazing voter—this should come as no shock.
It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried)
So shall we now be ******* or Hillary-ed?
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC