"lustily" poems
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.
There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.
On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.
Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.
"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.
And how those two leerlumpaloomped!
They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.
Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.
As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.
*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.
Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....
including those with two lumpalots instead of one.*
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone
past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.
A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots
Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past
the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while
Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.
The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and
deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Lazily, a boy with silvery hairs muttering requiem aeternam
lifts his neck at the piercing radiance skimming off the eyeglasses rim,
and there looms the glory, the spotless sea of blue,
varnishes of spring gloss fuming out of the French coronation robe.
The still-brisk branches hung bent at the weight of vivacity,
sight of maidens whose eyes and grace bath in the full warmth of light,
the kisses on the face of the river by the shower of half-bloomed petals,
just as the stillborn thrills of the beating heart to the splintered fingers of Moirae.
The time of adieu,
the season of life.
The mourning procession amidst the lustily caressing May breeze.
-Primavera, thou name be the sweet irony of the dying flowers
The evening wades in, and the coy face of the mountain blushes;
Thence strides away the man whose gaze speaks of premature nostalgia
Here the wind whispers the rosy delirium from the sakura tree at the far side,
the faintness lushly hazed away by the cloudy veil of bittersweet grey.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
My superman, my duke, my demigod!
Ahh your visage was absolute perfection!
"I'm in control, you're in my world now"
I chanted in my thoughts many times -
I approached you with so much confidence
Femininity was my golden armour
Seduction was my double edged sword
Slowly, lustily, hungrily - - - -
WAIT!
**** This dream was my realm
Then why was she here with you?
I gulped down my surprise because
You stared and smiled at me gently
"Oh, my prince charming" I thought
You nodded at me and said respectfully
"My fiance & I would like to order our lunch..."
I didn't hear you because I fell on a black-hole!
I suddenly woke up with tears on my cheeks
I didn't know which was worse actually
My dream last night about you and her or
The reality that you will never be mine - - -
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
Rise softly, rise gently, waking dawn
And let the drowsy sun yawn a while
Beside me, my love sleeps in peaceful bliss
With crescent eyes and a crescent smile
The morning breeze may tease the blooms
That wait to unfold with the sun's blush
- But softly, blow gently, oh morning breeze
Let the wind chimes be still, quiet, hushed
Rest your melodies, singing birds and bees
And cease the fluttering of your wings
The hum, the drone, the medleys
Quiet the rustling and the whispering
Why gurgle so loud - river- change your course
Flow far away, past the mangroves
For how lustily you gush, bubbles and froth
Shhshh...love sleeps - eyes closed
But alas - the river stays, making its music
The birds from their songs shall never cease
And the morning breeze breathes free
Tinkling wind chimes, hustling leaves
Rise - the sun shall and burst in gold
And the world'll be in daylight's warm embrace
My love will waken yet I still revel -
For sun lights the grace of my love's face
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
Leaving Son’s Fatherless, Wives a ‘weeping,
Men must leave on quests for Honor’s keeping,
Galloping on to where so few return;
But who for love go on, t’is death they spurn.
A hope is all he leaves before he parts,
Hope of return, a lamp in swarthy hearts.
One, all, wields his strength for his home and land,
Battles can bring out more than just a man.
Wayward men, mother’s sons, lustily go,
Armor, their pride, hides the coward below.
They, forsaken, shall sleep entombed
For glory and its gold were heroes doomed.
If, when near death, the will never tires,
Man’s love is forged in unquenchable fires.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
Curious lovers venture within, to the very darkest strands of the spiders ties.
Willingly they are seduced there; wrapped, by the temptations of Bliss.
Gossamer perfections of silk enchant them to search deeply inside.
Beholden eyes lustily devouring Her bejewelled fragile abyss.
Revelling in such perfect beauty, they sigh.
Weaving amongst silken pleasures, tender touches spin their sense modality.
Held in perfect lofty abandonment, they sway entwined, with lips open in whispers calling.
Cocooned unison becomes entangled as the softest breeze sends them falling;
Earthbound, ignoring the deadly poison of their reality.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
Hans was outside himself. Perched on the edge of a daydream, he looked below, distantly aware of his bustling dinner table. How casually they live, Hans thought; with what feigned clarity they can connect and understand. There were his brothers and sisters; his aunts, uncles, cousins and ah—there was his father. Look at him personifying repugnance, locks of hair falling clumsily on his tattered shirt. Look at him! (Hans could yell only in silence.) Look there and see him cloyingly preparing his knife to hunt, to tear, to slice yet another hunk of meat for his own gluttony. With what excitement—what vivid, forbidden ecstasy Hans would take his father’s knife and turn the hunter into the hunted.
Somewhere in the cluttered abyss there was a sound followed by a warming light. Hans was entranced. And again, a gentle thunder followed by a thread of heat connecting for a moment earth and sky, father, family, and son.
It was goodness and caring, it was a mother’s voice. It was this graceful fluttering in the medium of time that awoke a primitive yearning in Hans, grabbed his throat and stared him lustily in the eyes. What could it be? Hans wondered aloud, what could it be that she desires, for he already knew that he had to be the one to deliver any object she longed for, to slay any beast that tormented her—it had to be him, to be Hans, to be her son.
Please, she said; can someone please pour me a glass of water. Oh how Hans was enraged to find that this whim had not been made solely of a son. It was his right to quench his mother’s thirst; it was his place within the natural order to satisfy her needs. What cruelty and ice! Hans said, but also felt; and in an instant returned to himself below, tumbling violently from the high canopy of his trance to the sight of his father’s filthy hand reaching for the water jug.
In base impulse, Hans jabbed at the jug, forcibly pushing aside the carnal hand. Upon contact, Hans felt an overwhelming calm, an absolute peace. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. At once he was joyous, he was spent; he was adrenalized and gloriously dominant. He would be the one to tend to the maternal flower, supplying water for a thirst that he prayed would always be there.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
Curious lovers venture within, to the very darkest strands of the spiders ties.
Willingly they are seduced there; wrapped, by the temptations of Bliss.
Gossamer perfections of silk enchant them to search deeply inside.
Beholden eyes lustily devouring Her bejewelled fragile abyss.
Revelling in such perfect beauty, they sigh.
Weaving amongst silken pleasures, tender touches spin their sense modality.
Held in perfect lofty abandonment, they sway entwined, with lips open in whispers calling.
Cocooned unison becomes entangled as the softest breeze sends them falling;
Earthbound, ignoring the deadly poison of their reality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 5:26 AM UTC
Your skin as soft as mine
Your sweet lips touching mine
Your touch as lustily as mine
You're *** the same as mine!
Two girls falling inlove
I had this dream
It was about you and me
I could not care
If the people had to stare
It was as beautiful as could be
Someday they'll understand
I do not care if they think its wrong
Just because you are the same *** as me!
Our love is pure
Its our hearts' desire
As girls we understand one another
We were made for each other
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
autumn had been only imagined
lurking in small cracks between days,
paving heaved from fat roots underneath;
its arrival seemed improbable
in summer's heat
vernal green leaves grew only deeper
in generous sun,
promising some future harvest of fruit
far off distant, but sweet,
certainly, when it would come
cool, now, faded mornings break;
the pursuing season
sheds desires wizened,
of pages yellow-brown and finger-worn,
already memorized
as if being is cast aside in a child’s game
of loves me or loves me not,
youth’s clothing otherwise unneeded
they were, maybe, sins of greed
befallen all new living things
seeking moments owed but soon forgotten;
the scent of pink spring blossoms,
or how the peaches blushed in bunches
before we ate lustily from supple branches
how soon this winter comes
a tree’s hard woody bark will bare to needs,
extend dark arms, spindly, old
to splay against a field of gray
declaring stark existence to a callous sky
that stings with wind and cold
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:01 AM UTC
#Anonymous (1730s ?)
In good King Charles's golden days,
When Loyalty no harm meant;
A Furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd Preferment.
Unto my Flock I daily Preached,
Kings are by God appointed,
And Damn'd are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's Anointed.
***And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my Dying Day, Sir.
That whatsoever King may reign,
I shall be Vicar of Bray, Sir!***
When Royal James possessed the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The Penal Law I hooted down,
And read the Declaration:
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my Constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.
And this is Law, &c.
When William our Deliverer came,
To heal the Nation's Grievance,
I turned the Cat in Pan again,
And swore to him Allegiance:
Old Principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive Obedience is a Joke,
A Jest is non-resistance.
And this is Law, &c.;
When Royal Ann became our Queen,
Then Church of England's Glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional Conformists base
I Damn'd, and Moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such Prevarication.
And this is Law, &c.;
When George in Pudding time came o'er,
And Moderate Men looked big, Sir,
My Principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, Sir.
And thus Preferment I procured,
From our Faith's great Defender,
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope, and the Pretender.
And this is Law, &c.;
The Illustrious House of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I lustily will swear,
Whilst they can keep possession:
For in my Faith, and Loyalty,
I never once will falter,
But George, my lawful king shall be,
Except the Times should alter.
And this is Law, &c;.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
I was the daughter of winter
when you began to whisper
in my frigid ear. I lifted two
snowballed hands and chiseled
through the solid ice; bitter
words pierced the raw mist
surrounding me, but you were
not disarmed. I tried to stop the
thawing, dreamed lustily of a
rapidly approaching sleep,
that deep freeze and muffled
silence. You stayed, shivered,
and I was suffuse in tender
sunlight, for you were an
Indian summer, a falsehood
by very nature—false hope,
false promises, false warmth.
Your lilting birds and sultry
air enchanted—I was dizzy
and drunk, melting slowly.
You sang in the soft breezes,
danced frantically in the wake
of falling leaves, and swore
with each delicate blue sky:
It will always be this lovely!
But you were just a charade.
I was no more than a pool,
heated from the diminishing
glow of your fervor’s twilight,
and Autumn waited, patient,
as the mask finally slipped.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
The dark purity of the night, I lustily sought,
to juxtapose it with the exhilaration filling in me
seeing her lush,nude body's eager anticipation.
Each cell comes alive, in her libidinous embrace,
Her erogenous silken touches,blends with the satin sheen
of sheer black cover darkness unfurls one end to the other,
the dreamy lighted spots, embellish the nightscape's opulence.
Night, anointed us with the fluence of love, when our supple bodies,
entangled in the bed till we drunk slept, blissfully lost the world.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
No more time for pain.
Tear stains.
Or sobs.
Shrieks at the top of your lungs!
Frustrated fidgeting,
Or furious dialect.
The true depths of sorrow,
unreached yet,
Shall remain unexplored.
The heights of fury and rage,
Shall be another days venture.
(Or hopefully never).
Visions of disliked visages,
Traitorous touches torturing the thoughts,
Lustily leaving lover and friend
Twitching,
Writhing,
Boiling,
Melting,
Rotting,
And congealing into a puddle of humanity
at the knowledge of their philandering.
Numbness sinks through the dermis,
Hiding hints of heartbeats,
Silencing skins sweet sensations.
Breathing,
But barely.
No time for sensation,
Emotion,
Expression,
Interest,
Thought,
Muttering,
Mentioning,
Murmuring,
Meditating.
Reform some semblance of humanity.
No time for languishing,
Luridly,
Lethargically,
Liquefying.
Only enough time for a little poetry.
And then,
Hopefully,
Life.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
The wind, swooping down the hills,
through the deciduous forests
lustily hiss, the beat of the drum
they both hear above that sound, puzzles,
was it her heart or his, both perhaps
they pretend not to hear
They fell in to the spell of the lake
eerily rippleless, for the moment.
The luscious curves, of lake,still was swelling
in his brooding psyche.
He hasn't make up his mind,
though much bewitched by this witch,
yet persisting doubts ask,
take a step forward or to turn back
the cool breeze that caressed the curves
now the lake revealed, embraced her from behind,
she snuggled bit closer to him
her body twitched in a way suggesting
that she'd expect such a prank from him.
She sat as if frozen to touch in another time
it was getting late,the persistent witch
would she be smelling blood,
the hills show a dark face,
she looked up for the moon's solace.
alarmed he perked his ears,
did he hear the howl of a lone wolf?
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Perhaps it was her voice itself, clear and simple,
Unalloyed by any classically trained fol-de-rol,
Or possibly the nature of her faith
Displayed with such clarity, such transparency
By that very instrument,
But in any case, she had utterly bewitched the populace
Of the place known as Ahwaga by her distant cousins,
And when she stood on the Delaware & Hudson platform
The next morning, they had cheered her lustily,
All but begging her You must return to us,
But the train had lost its footing on a sharp grade
Mere hundreds of yards before making the station at Deposit,
And she was lost in the carnage and conflagration.
The townspeople she had said her farewells to that morning
Were distraught, their feelings a mix of grief
And an odd sense of culpability, a nagging misgiving
That perhaps this was an omen, some augury
Denoting that their own faith was not up to scratch,
And so they had taken her back to their own burgh
To bury her in a manner befitting her piety
(She had been travelling with siblings,
But they acquiesced to the plan, though how willingly
Not wholly apparent at the time,
And made no clearer through the ramble of time)
And so she was laid to rest in a plot
Surrounded by ornate fencing, her grave marked
By an obelisk pointing unambiguously to her Heaven,
And it is said that, on autumn evenings
When the breeze rustle the dying leaves just so,
You can hear the spirits of her Mohawk brethren
Come down from Quebec, murmuring songs
Telling of the spirits living in the trees and hedgerows,
Spoken in the ancient tongue
Of the languid, unhurried Susquehanna far below.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
* * *
I just want to fall from the heavens into your heart
rush through you like a torrid river and wash you clean
I want to get lost amongst the dream stars in your eyes
seep into you and become one glorious love
and passionately explode our happiness upon the gamut
of all creation and lustily devour all that is in being.
***
Folder: beauty in the tip of my inked tongue
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC
And know that these streets are irresponsible,
and that you are too. And that no matter
how bright your eyes and headlamps may be
you will always find something you didn’t
see before. Life will always be throwing at you
curveballs. And car insurance. And the ungainly heft
of police officers leering in lustily at the watch on your
wrist and the hollowed, hungry eyes of your companion.
Do not answer them, I beg of you, when they ask
you too for your name and your father's,
for they truly care not to hear
its sound. They only want to add to the noise -
continue living beneath its dins. Not after money but the
fear, the control that from you stem. Now, yes
I may be over-exaggerating (after all, it was but one
slight dent in the bumper of the car, but
there is no exaggeration to the voicelessness of they
who queued before me, no companions guiding them,
no voices shouting for them.) He, they, there, by the streets,
only has in his hands a car horn. And so he honks.
And so the siren wails. And so the chaos reigns.
And so do they - officers - living silently beneath it all,
urging us onward to yelling and screaming and shouting.
And yet we can’t. And we don’t. And we won’t.
And yet they, for all their damages, do not - scratch,
refuse not - to do so.
They only can look down at the pavement,
dotted yellow, black and white dashed.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
Up past the clouds
Up beyond the sky
I lift my arms
My hands on high.
My fingers jump
My fingers prance
Up in Heaven
My fingers dance
Lustily, merrily,
They roll down the strings
Strumming and plucking
Each one of them sings
Sings with voices
Angelic and sweet
Trills and chords
My joy is complete.
Dec 16, 2009
Dec 16, 2009 at 4:05 AM UTC
We walk with pride, so what if, in hell, we ride.?
We live with love, intermittently fighting, we ourselves feel disgust.
We are our own demolishers and, widout oxygen mask, try to face high tide,
We build up life in here too, known as diversely robust.
Affection we all do have, but somewhere our ego ruthfully slays,
We speak always truth in here, and mostly we lie, eh.!
But still there hope for us, for the sight of unity is always shown,
So what if the dividing strength amongst us is grown.?
On one side we are creative but on the other we destroy our world,
Anger is filled like hell in us, to bring guilt with the cold.
Spiritual rivers spread peace among devil's in this beautiful creepy land,
Fire of Hunger is soothed by the waterfall of diverse recipies, bring on the pan.!
Strength of ours comes in various types and brands,
So what if our tears flow sometimes, our hearts are soft as sand.
Our own siblings are slashed and ripped, then like a drama, we inspect,
Our sisters here are lustily slayed, and guess who's the suspect,
Music explores our minds to reach its every string,
Explodes the energy out of us when dance and music ming,
It was us who concatenated words and forming a tone we sang,
What ever we have now, it all started with a big bang.
May it be Science, Religion or Creativity, Our blood contains them as heritage,
Every knowledge is adored and then here it mutates, may it be of the time of stone age.
We are selfish, greedy, sinful and want to win, images of us all in fear,
But kindness, help and purity's also there in us, loves flows in here like-oh dear..!!
Emotion we have upto brim, but dare you mess with us,
We can be on the top of everyone, except some ***** cause the trough.!
Beauty lies in us in all aspects, come and do explore,
Nothing in the world can beat the sinusoidal graph of HUMAN Lore.!
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
If I loved lustily like a man,
I'd strip it all down.
I'd take away her oohs and ahhs until only her yeses were left.
If I loved her like a man,
I'd remove her woman's mystery.
I'd tell her she was doing it wrong and show her someone who did me right instead.
I'm glad I don't love quite like a man
Some days, it's easier being a woman.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 1:22 PM UTC
*eerie plover cries
and night jar acrobatics
in broad daylight
were a sign of something amiss
especially coming so soon
after a barn owl
had pecked his fruit bowl at lunch
and a crow had sat on his head
and cawed lustily for an eternity
it's *** for tat from nature
when we think only of ourselves
without doubt we demean our stature
when we upset nature's designs
one of these days an ape will come visiting
and help himself to the fowls*
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Will they say I lived all my life
On suburban roads
Not of the city or of the country
But a place in between
Will they say I never took any risks,
Never had to hack my arm off in extremis
Never eating anybody's cousin in desperate straits?
Like millions I struggled from one pay day to another,
Trying to stop the haemorrhage of money through the bars and pubs of the town...
Trying to keep up, to keep the income over the outgoings.
I don't care what the Joneses do.
I long for the wild places without fences or walls,
Where the birds wheel and the wind blows lustily,
Where the sound of the sea is never far away
Where the shores rustle their greeting to the waves
And the driftwood tumbles up and down the beach.
I long to run without worrying I am going to break a knee or hip,
Long for those days when I didn't know what I had, who I was, what I was going to be.
"Youth is wasted on the young," said my grandmother, and I protested, but I didn't understand
Until now
How little I appreciated my youth while I had it.
Will they say I had talent but I
Frittered it away on unfinished projects
Neither brilliant nor awful, but somewhere
in between?
Will they say I never took any risks,
Never embroidered all my lovers or
Revealed my innermost self?
Like millions, I was always writing my book, a novel or
a handbook or an autobiography.
The truth is, I started too many times, and finished
Never.
I long for a place of my own, a library
A place to keep everything that means anything
A place to watch my family on the wall, laughing and smiling
While I write or sew or research or simply read
A place for being and a place for remembering and everything in its place.
I long to write without worrying about the consequences,
Long to say what I think
A place to scour the corners of my memory, to see the pattern of my life.
Will they say, they hadn't realized I was still alive?
Will they say, I never kept in contact, which is true
I have tested my ability to live without them all
And I can.
What will they say about the person I have become?
What can I say? I tolerated difference and saw none.
I loved the people I loved
Did the things that I did
And I am not sure what sort of future I made for myself, or what past.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 7:10 AM UTC