"quelling" poems
There was a tiny tea light somewhat hid and tucked away
Was lost; To be forgotten in dark corners of my brain
The other day you called me breathing into it new life
A weak and dying flame now once again stood strong and bright
Tried quelling it with reason; Doused with plenty rationale
No matter what I threw at it would not leave or dispel
Use thoughts as tools or weapons; They are thrown out by the mind
Attempting to slice through the bonds to flame the heart did bind
But no where in my cognition is something quite that tough
In any way could **** that flame or from these bonds be cut
This statement even would be true the weakest of its days
But as I'm talking to you with each word you fan the flame
Was living out a lie and yet was unbeknownst to me
I thought my love for you could die if left and just let be
However, now I know too well this lasting present truth
My eyes saw you and ever since, I've been in love with you
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
Serendipity.
You ******* what!
What you saying, pal?
Serendipity, oh aye, all right,
Aye, seren-fuckin-dipity; whatever!
Tell it to the raggedy soaked-wino,
Look into his rheumy eyes, really look,
Want to kiss his toothless grin, eh? Do you?
Feel his sore-ridden tongue searching you out,
Nay, I thought not, anyway, he hears nothing,
Nothing except the rattle of change.
Tell it to the punctured ****** go on,
Cold body on a cold linoleum floor,
He can’t hear you either, maybe though,
Maybe, slipping away on the last tide of life,
Do-gooder, maybe he will hear you call,
‘Serendipity’ and wonder: what the ****
Until blackness closes in, blanking the stars.
Tell it to the Fourth Bridge jumpers, go on,
Always falling; to them, falling forever,
In hearts and minds, the event horizon of death,
Trapped in limbo, leaving unbearable hurt behind,
Along with serendipity and bad choices.
And the young, oh they need serendipity,
Cruelty of life glittering in furtive wary eyes,
Old already, far beyond halcyon blue-skies,
Used and abused by those closest, the shame,
Erosion of trust and sincerity completed over night,
Christmas ghosts: slovenly laggards by comparison.
Resilient youth! Yep, they ******* need to be,
Grinding machine of town-life hunting them,
Scouring dark corners, gnashing jaws growling,
Crunching down darkened alleys, feeding,
Lapping up the young blood of runaways,
Slavering maw eating them alive; laughing.
With serendipity, they can lie low, maybe hide,
Dream of escape, for they all want out,
Putting misery behind them, quelling cruelty,
After all, they live in a lucky ******* town,
So escape is not impossible, no,
Unlikely, yes, poor wee ********
Serendipity should shout a loud warning,
Run, scrawny urchins, run if you can,
Run for your lives, the rest of your lives,
Town-life’s grinding machine awaits,
Watches for you, so keep running,
Never stop, never look back,
Not ever, not ever,
Serendipity.
©Paul Chafer 2014
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
Arriving, a frenzy of possibility
where river find seas,
the torrent in blossom
quelling winter wind
with swells of bloom;
lost too soon.
Seconds last,
comfort past
and broken compass glass.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
The whirr of the rush hour in the morning
and the lack of human sounds outside my door
reinforces that I'm alone.
It was a noise similar to my usual routine,
of quelling needy pangs of connection,
with what is always plugged in.
You had slept with me on this bed twice before
and you were unaware that on it,
I numbed myself quite frequently.
I reprimand myself to let go of expectations,
they have long become pipe dreams and idealism,
and would be foolish to follow still.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
The Ravens
On a rainy night so boring
I heard Munin soundly snoring,
I grew tired of my poring
Perched above Valhalla’s door.
“Munin!”, screeched I to the ceiling,
Sending the poor fellow reeling,
“Let’s deal out a joke to Odin,
One that he’ll be falling for -
Just one joke, and nothing more.”
After barrow ghosts-invoking
Odin entered, wet and soaking,
And I started with my croaking
From the dark above the door:
“I’m the first and oldest Volva!
All my secrets I could tell ya,
For the right price I might sell, yeah”,
And I cawed, “Would you know more?”
(He is crazy about lore.)
“What!”, cried Odin, “Quick, be talking!
At the price I won’t be balking.
Searching wisdom, I’ve been walking
Wandering from door to door.
Let my need for knowledge reach you,
All my own skills I would teach you;
Tell me all now, I beseech you!”
Quoth I grinning, “Nevermore!”
(Just a jest, and nothing more.)
Odin with frustration sputtering,
Munin laughing, wildly fluttering,
I was dead-pan and kept uttering
Nonsense about hidden lore.
For his need he found no quelling,
All Valhall woke from his yelling –
Oh, the fun to keep on telling
Him that one word, “Nevermore!”
(We thought it was a joke, no more.)
In the morning ceased his raving,
But that did not end his craving,
And we saw our master waving
To our roost above the door.
“Friends”, he said, “Now I will ride out;
Over Midgard you shall glide out:
Seek the Volva in her hideout!”
- Then it felt a joke no more.
(And Munin, to this day, is sore.)
Every day we must keep flying,
Always for that “Volva” spying,
Acting as though we were trying;
Well, the joke’s on us, for sho…
To escape a rightful chiding,
To this day the truth we’re hiding;
By this tale we are abiding,
And we’ll tell you nothing more!
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
i search, i look
for sublime touch,
of meaning in
the dirt and dust.
a shred, a crack,
a false perception,
scrying clues of misdirection:
more to life,
greater meaning,
imagination quelling reason.
yet, as always, in conclusion,
symmetry
it slays delusion.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
#*
Holi
It is an emotion
Sung upon the winds
Youthful songs of spring
Vivacious emeralds
Colours of the shade, Jade
Fields of verdant green
Mother earth bestows
Upon us her finest hues
Let’s embrace in gratitude
Reverently we circumambulate
The Holika, seeking felicity
Quelling the evil and granting peace
Imbued with the crimson
Under the blue skies of eternity
May the festival bring mirth
And lasting harmony*#
Mar 6, 2023
Mar 6, 2023 at 11:19 AM UTC
Beautiful lady
Look into my eyes
Look deep in my soul
And see how it cries
For the love that you offer
To make us two be one
Quelling these yearnings
We both have begun.
To end this desire
That fills up my heart
To become something larger
Of which we are both part
A mach made in heaven
Is what some might say
But it is much more
If I have my way
T’is to sail on the oceans
Of clouds high above
To fulfill every dream
You ever thought of
Let me hold you tightly
Please won’t you be mine
And I’ll give to you my love
For the rest of all time.
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
Living a life from moment to moment
Devoid of feeling and shame. A person is fervent
Full of passion and craze,
That life holds no meaning and phase.
In stochastic rhythm, embedded in wit,
One finds a serious hymn, that life has bit
In illogical fit, from the **** of reason and fate.
Fate where man loses his name,
To a more sinister and manipulative beast,
That seeks to tame his composure;
And quell him with an abundance of exposure
So the soul of the next can feast.
It is not radiation or something of ill will,
But a being more accepting, that eats the source of thrill.
For what is the beast, but the evolution of progression
The child of reason and though. That brings evolution
To the forethought of man with intent to pursue in full
The need to place ban on the will of human
So that the transition can be quelling and soothe.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
Dogma and doctrine only hide the Truth
that is our birthright since the time of youth.
We have all been led to believe the lies
which the authorities show to our eyes.
The passage of time often does the rest
and makes sure curiosity fails the test
to uncover the truth that's been hidden
by all this dogma and doctrine ridden.
Ignorance is a strong, powerful force
that stalls investigations in due coarse
when people begin to suspect the wrong
they have been subjected to all along.
Authorities try to keep their power
with the dogma and doctrine they shower
onto the people who look up to them
quelling the light of truth that they condemn.
Nowhere else does this happen as often
but in religious faith which can soften
the hearts and minds of people to believe
that something else is just there to deceive.
A sad case of the blind leading the blind
which is one of the follies of mankind
who are led to believe what they're given
is the truth being like victims driven.
This doesn't mean that something else is true
unless it has been proven so by you;
through personal experience that stays
in your heart or mind and the doubt allays.
Take for example those few converts who
formed the body of the early church new;
what kind of experience each one had
making them join up and feel very glad.
_________________
Jan 31, 2022
Jan 31, 2022 at 4:29 AM UTC
whelming-
evening silence
-soothing quelling dwelling
a much quieter song
- moon pulls the tide along
singing of the sea
sun slides down-
the stars align
exactly as they should-
and shine
rest, earth-
breathe deep-
-we sleep.
r ~ 9/27/14
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
self importance he did relish
therein lay a swollen ego
was inflated of embellish
all this being held as a cargo
therein lay a swollen ego
so monumental the extent
all this being held as a cargo
of the largest conceited tent
so monumental the extent
it could not be denied at all
of the largest conceited tent
he finding joy in his own thrall
it could not be denied at all
ever putting one's self up first
he finding joy in his own thrall
was no shown quelling of the thirst
ever putting one's self up first
all this being held as a cargo
was no shown quelling of the thirst
therein lay a swollen ego
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 6:48 AM UTC
Atop a clam, divinest pearl!
invites me to peer, enchanting girl
eyes fluttering and beckoning
casts sweetest spell, magic, enchanting
a magnificent array of colour
ripples through her enveloping aura
towards her my rapt mind swims
in her sight my spirit chimes
throughout the days and hours
Mermaid makes the heart gestate
Makes my spirit feel elate
I want my heart to waltz with hers
Out of its spiritual bars
Upon the shores we'd frolic, play
Soothing, quelling fear, dismay
With her I am engorged on bliss
Touched by the light of luck's kiss
All throughout the day
O Mermaid Queen, they doubt thy truth
A kind of beauty rare, forsooth
But rainbows shine in spite of faith
Suns blaze in spite of eyes embrace
The world is good (and good is true)
And more good for the life of you
You are a beacon of hope and joy
Could inspire the rise and fall of troy
With heaven's light imbued
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
There is a certain art in relinquishing your spirit to emotions quelling from the breast
Stumbling haphazardly through the hallways of an academy surreptitiously pristine
Encountering locked doors, painted walls, lowered eyes and agony
The menial labor of a janitor picking up after the crowd has released every last yelp
And the pain
Of a boy stooped in an empty corner
Old enough to be a man
Helpless as an infant
Too poor to enter, too meek to escape
Trapped in the corridor between sunny landscapes and dimmed memories
Struggling to hoist his frame up from its stupor
Afraid it may just as well falter once restored
And hoping someone may notice
There is a certain art in relinquishing your spirit to emotions quelling from the breast
Sincerity and compassion need not be amongst them
But, just as breath escapes, so do tears
Splashing from the drowning pool in which the soul thrashes
Bending, grabbing and tossing
Discard,
Discard
Stoop
Obtain
Discard
Each day a variation of the past
Unique in subtle differences imperceivable to visitors
You’ve seen the man, the child, the infant
Tear down the fourth wall
Walk in his corridor
I implore you to bend, grab and discard
Your thoughts of superiority
Take your mud stains and apathetic steps
Carry your able body to a place more receptive
More deserving
Less reflective
And gleaming
Remember the path I made for you in my corridor
It mirrors your face, ambivalent
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
I always carried the pain with me ever since
From broken furniture thrown by a screaming man
From promises wept by a shattered woman
I always carried the pain with me ever since
Because I never really knew what love looked like
I can only hear curses and threats
See only half-hearted embraces and silver edged kisses
It didn’t feel good to look at them
Those broken trusts and heavy hearts
It didn’t feel good to not know what love looked like
I felt afraid
I thought I had it once
Though his hand in mine didn’t fit
His grips got tighter when he found my waist
And I was put down too often
I thought I had it once
But his eyes roamed like a cat
On another woman’s body
And tasted lips like beer bottles
It didn’t have to look like love
Because it didn’t feel like love
I felt afraid
I felt lost against all the lights
I felt lost against his words
Of “Never Will I”
And I found you
You looked like trouble
You were going to pose me like a trophy
Just like the other boys with lion eyes
And I was going to let you
Because I never really crowned myself
But then I sang to you my sad song
And you didn’t pose me like a trophy
You posed me like a muse
And I felt afraid
Your lion eyes went away
And blossomed into suns
With the warmest colors
But I cried a lot and had a lot of nightmares
You always ran to my side
Whenever I called your name
I hurt your heart more than twice
You went away
And I felt afraid
I wanted to heal you
Even if I wasn’t all healed myself
From thorns in my heart
And choked screams in my sore throat
I wanted to heal you
And you let me
Your arms around me always felt like towers
Protecting me
I was your muse
You became my strength
Your words lit me to flames
And the aching I carried seemed to go away
I felt afraid
Because the agony was all I’ve ever known
I felt afraid
Could this be the love they say?
I felt afraid
One night the fear came back
With hotter flames and it burned me deeply
I tried washing it away, but not with water
I cried a lot and felt like a nightmare
Your lion eyes came back
And I felt afraid
You saw me as a wreck and not your muse
I sang you my sad song
And you built your arms around me once again
Quelling the flames
Although from self-hate, they still ember
And they hurt as smoke flows through my eyes
It fanned a demon
And it broke down your arms
I broke you again
To a point that you don’t believe
Much of my sad songs anymore
And I felt afraid
I want to sing a song once more
But the melody gets clogged on cries
So I’ll just tell you a little story
Of a little girl that never knew the face of Love
She was posed as a trophy for her pretty face
But never for her thorn heart
She felt afraid to anyone who exposed their heart to her
Fearing to only send curses and broken furniture
Because that’s all she’s ever known
But this time, she’ll strip for you
The insecurities, doubts and pain that was wrapped around her
Just so she could unmask you purely
Let the lion eyes roll back
See the face of Love
And never have to feel afraid ever again
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC
- Joseph Childress
Absence makes the heart grow
Fonder for most
Somber for some
Odd of others
The presence of love
Is the foremost force
In the divorce
Of reason
Attachments
Magnets
Victims of attraction
Repel
Then make tractions
That keep the world
Moving
Rebels revel
In revolution
Worshipping
The great changing
Like crescent moons
Before the new
Each phase
Relays the latest trend
As love, hate and sin
Blends in a cocktail
Of delusion
Drunkards play martyr
In the extremist
Conditions
Relentless systems of belief
That leaves relief
For the reliving of death
The children witness it all
Imitating
And coming up shorter
Than expectations
With each generation
Alternating ideas
For alternatives
Altering native ways of thinking
Beings battle for correction
In facilities
As others rights
Squander
In the quelling of dissent
Fighting fear
Is dear
To the hearts of trendsetters
Setting the standard
For the new age
New way of thinking
Off to Walden’s Lake
For the Great Disappearance
Dissing appearance
For the sake of absence
As absentmindedness
Watches from afar
Don’t worry
I’ll return with enough
Civil disobedience
The laws will have to change
In our honor
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
Application of misinformation
Falsify a failed nation,
Eradication of all creation
Misinterpretation
Of representation
Deny the station
Granted by occupation
And the inhalation
Of justification
No prerequisite information
Just accumulation
No moderation,
Their determination
Through stimulation
Cultural ************
Communal degradation
Societal desecration,
Dehumanizing revocation,
Worldly humiliation,
Mortal sterilization
Never achieving mobilization
Lack of communication
Excelling in vile persuasion,
Proponents of procreation
Birthing digitization,
Destroy civilization,
Indications of adoration
Isolation in delineation,
Irrational indexation,
Fluctuating indignation,
No innovation,
Divination
Retaliation,
Immolation,
False ovation,
Lacking limitations,
Contextual intonation,
Divine fabrication,
Private publication,
Evolving fornication,
Give me extermination,
Notwithstanding annexation
Of dismaying oxidation,
Of valued perpetuation,
Global mass-castration,
Redundant rhetoric, dictation,
A donation, a dilation, a fixation,
An annotation of fibrillation,
We are personification
Of Contamination
Through globalization
Praising idolization
And finalization
Through **********
No pragmatic exoneration,
In all frustration
We see not utilization
Nor stabilization,
Fearful implications
Of wayward stations,
Surplus mutilations,
Seeking militarization
Of worthless nations,
No conservation,
Just excavation
Of the population
******** on education,
Spitting on graduation,
No validation of aspiration,
Indoctrination of baptization
Mitigating litigation,
murdering habitation,
Quelling all vegetation
We will end in radiation
Through faulty navigation,
Abdication and abnegation,
All worldly agitation
Leads us to expiration,
Self-made annihilation.
There was never an end in sight,
We’re lost, and hope is a lie.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
Days of angst
Pursue me through
Awkward moments galore,
The hangover to my prior life.
Middle school bells ring
In the corridors of my mind,
Harkening back to a time
When sharpened pencils were More important than rent.
High school bells bring me
A cold comfort I can't explain,
I guess not enough time
Has passed for me to smile.
If only these tears
Could be wiped from my face
Without the slow hand of time
Quelling my soul's embrace.
Perhaps I'd smile with heart.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 1:01 AM UTC
When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with slanted eyebrows and stiff, silent upper lips. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we’d never really had to do the holding before and, as far as we knew, this is how men mourn.
We dusted antique left-behinds with delicate, moth-wing hands that fluttered here and there and never stopped trembling -- dead giveaways that within the corridors of our arms our heartbeats went stampeding, arrhythmic. We couldn’t quite bend them into the proper shape for prayer, so instead we ran them, with touch somewhere between float and feel, along every ashtray and age-stained picture album. In that moment I think we each wished that memory read like braille, but no one ever said as much. Because this is how men mourn.
We honored our patriarch with whiskey, hidden away for what must have been twice my age, between the carved out pages of old stacked books.
We drank like secrets. His portrait played witness.
We promised between our teeth with tinged lips tight, keeping words in that might otherwise crumble us like great ancient empires.
We singed and smoldered in a burn that coated our throats, quelling a choke that kept climbing its way up from a chest that never quite stayed sunk. Boys grow up loving the clinking twist of unlocking deadbolts but men peek through keyholes. Because this is how men mourn. Silent and straight with head only slightly slanted.
But when my father betrayed his rigidity with words that clicked clean like unfastening locks, we traded this stale air in for wind laced with the electric taste of thunderstorms. We forgot how men mourn.
When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with lightning behind bleared eyes. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we have umpteen days left to dress in bittersweet vestiges and, as far as we know, this is how men live on.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Pretentious youth--
Fervent sapling, impatient
In your early hours;
Whimpering, persuading
Premature unfolding;
Quelling such desperate hunger.
Perhaps you dress so quickly
In fear that canopy elders
Will flout your need and
Consume all of your pledged sun.
Pliable and shallow rooted,
You elope toward unobstructed light;
But are remiss of your future.
Bent, curved, blossomed--
You will feed well
As the banquet is first set.
Yet, Summer shall find you
Strained within the shade;
And only narrow filaments
Flowing between green cloaks
On which to feed.
The advent of Autumn’s wind
Shall press firmly against
Your crooked breast; and
Displace your sipping feet.
You will flame quickly, blushing--
Then disrobe amongst the clothed.
Naked and unable to suckle
the sweet reserve
Ahead of Winter’s frozen grasp.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
A prophesied alarm ticks away,
As sobering faces make their way.
Welcome oh stranger, to the land of the learned,
A trip from a ticket handsomely earned.
Watch your crooked tongue,
Forked and twisted in a manner wrong.
For here there be beasts and creatures,
In the midst of dreams and futures.
Through the air drifts the scent of a fanciful tonic,
Quelling instinct, and suppressing the panic.
Walk past the snappy ladies and lads,
Peering at screens for the latest fads.
Watch their suits emanate regality,
Killing the scene with sheer brutality.
See through the pores of that fine fabric,
And you'll find the remnants of a familiar trick.
Not unlike the wisdom of the wizened,
The words of the victorious, the echoes of the poisoned.
Underneath it all, see the truth,
Strip away the puffed, monstrous brute.
It's a dainty little feeling, fear they call it,
On their faces, clear and large is it writ.
They turn from the brave to the meek,
Everyone caught in this noxious reek.
What they ought to have predicted,
Is that this reverie is self inflicted.
Sullen cheeks, and drippy noses abound,
Waiting to be addressed and found.
This place is a walking minefield,
Of broken bones and souls to be healed.
But its not their fault, I can't complain,
Because all they feel they don't feign.
As in the midst of this perennial parade,
I find solace in the friends I've made.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
Fraying portraits of empty souls
Give menacing insight through cold staring eyes
Smoothing skin tones are left
When painters discover
The life in you
Compare the fraught days of flightless birds
making their paradise equal
With men who stalk their ways
In earnest and determined manner
Silently they ensure the vision portrayed
Has no more mileage. But fresh eyes
Must be used to stop contamination
From one to another
Paint and ignore why plenty seem stiff
Even parched from lack of considered input
Each brushstroke emptying their blood
Of many elements, even quelling their breaths
Simply see and lay on..
Don't make it up or smooth that cheek
Give colour and step
The right to be there and develop it
Under the warmth of your love
For this creature
Demonstrate how features can be strong but hold
The famous creations that grab the essence of joy
The grains of lust and manic musings
Lament those days of bored faces
Rejoice as carnage can be raised from modern living
The edges and the softness of found and lost
Will always win through when artist is determined
To give life in paint.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
the countryside is covered
in a blanket of smoke
bush fires are burning
around the Guy Fawk's spoke
some thirty thousand hectares
of land has been fried
farms and parts of the national park
burnt from side to side
fire authorities are working
day and night
to encircle the flames and embers
which so searingly bite
slowly they are winning
the protracted war against the flares
their fire fighting equipment
quelling the inferno's chilling nightmare
within the next few days
the fire shall be extinguished and put out
then the countryside wont be covered
in the smokes choking tout
the air will be as clear as a bell
and less smokiness will stand
all the ashes in the bushland
shall bear testament to the fire's brand
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC
Sauntering casually,
jostled by shoppers,
teatime bargain hunters;
curses of common folk
ringing in my ears,
out of tune with
the cries of the traders.
Two for one here!
I say, two for one here!
Embattled in the
throng of a slow
moving crowd, shoulders
heaving, swaying to an
inaudible beat. Tired
faces marking time,
quelling inner frustration.
Get a move on!
Please, just get a move on.
Now it’s raining,
incessant needles
prickle my face.
Suspended water droplets
dangle from striped
awnings, reflecting
trapped, busy, images.
Caught in a moment.
Spattered, in a moment.
Then I see her,
the fruit-stall girl,
her words and gestures
touch me like music
rippling over my skin.
Secret caressing fingers,
bringing me to life.
She doesn’t see me.
No: she doesn’t ever see me.
I’m almost mesmerised,
by the light catching
the white curve of
her neck. Her hair,
like spun gold, dancing
on her ruffled collar as
she serves with a smile.
Your change sir.
Don’t forget your change sir!
I turned for home,
head bowed, shoulders
stooped; no crowded bus
for me with standing
room only. A slow
solitary walk, past
dark, dripping gardens.
Her face for company, how
strange: her face, for company.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
Blazing bold bravery,
********* catechism;
A girl stands strongly alone;
Her life, society’s atavism.
Quick quiet quelling,
Demonic agapism;
A girl and her sword stay unknown;
Her dreams are those of meliorism.
All acts agathusia,
Concomitant heroism;
A girl who will **** to atone;
Her objectives and body in schism.
Hard headed heartfelt,
Quick with an aphorism;
A woman searching for home;
Her true enemy nihilism.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC