"raptured" poems
**† † †
A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.
A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.
A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance—yes sir.
A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)
A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.
A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.
A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.
A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle.
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.
All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.
I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.
We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.
Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
In the cove where the forest and seas met.
Lies a hut abandoned, but twas never forget.
The vines and moss that crawls and slither—
and the rust of chimes and roses that wither.
Two alike creatures’ dwell within the crest—
and can be found, broken epitaphs lie at rest.
Wings with tail as their ebony feathers trail,
—beaks like gold, a bond that could prevail.
Fly up and below in anywhere they would go.
To unglass windows, scratches on tealish walls.
The hollows of trees that covered with snow,
melts away to crystal-dew as springtime grows.
Rain came pouring, filling the tires off the roof.
Two had a dream, only to raptured by enmity.
With webs that weave the age of their misery.
Both resided the ceiling for heaven once more.
With growls of the wind and cold swiftly blows.
It came strong as the hut is almost unknown.
Both hold on to believe, but one choose to leave.
thinking of nothing, but its own selfish greed.
As skies were cleared onto a rainbow sheer.
Lonesome, broken, one black dove weeping ill,
Breathe, a voice came to the lonely dove's ear.
"Come fly with me, I am God—don't be feared."
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.
Why wilt thou go, my harassed heart,
What thought, what scene invites thee now?
What spot, or near or far,
Has rest for thee, my weary brow?
There is a spot, mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.
The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight's dome;
But what on earth is half so dear,
So longed for, as the hearth of home?
The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
I love them, how I love them all!
Still, as I mused, the naked room,
The alien firelight died away,
And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright unclouded day.
A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side;
A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.
That was the scene, I knew it well;
I knew the turfy pathway's sweep
That, winding o'er each billowy swell,
Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.
Even as I stood with raptured eye,
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,
My hour of rest had fleeted by,
And back came labour, ******* care.
3.9k
inception an idea implanted in past land
passed on dark wings to grasp hold fast
in sketched out morality soul aghast
push my copycat character past fracture
spiderweb cracks in arguments made
solely of self righteous closed minded glass
however deep these malicious tendrils
slip and strangle the growing tree of
a raptured unique individuality
with perverse views of gender love equality
and views with that they do not agree
that do not conform with their conhypocrisformity
i want to be free to be free to be me
i want to find my personality
i just want love, of self, of you,
agree?
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
Smooth midnight black
Desecration blues
Wandering down a desolated road
With my frenzied mind
Raptured, yet empty
Longing for the end of the night
Yet fearing the dawn
And the eternity of an existence
I may never know
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 7:53 PM UTC
And is it yet enough,
the raptured heights of love?
when love would break your heart
with it's coy, precocious arts.
Oft hope will soar you high
and fly with you for miles,
then drop you like a stone
all bruised and so forlorn
and then who is to blame,
but your own foolish, lame,
deceitful heart?
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
A confinement to the street,
I likened it to a bliss of pain.
Not extended like an overrun episode,
But the anxiety is sleepless,
When yesterday approaches,
I wrap myself in the ignorance,
Homeless, timeless,
It grows and defines,
Coarses through my fundamental
Lapses,
A boy becomes an atitude,
I wish i had these experiences in youthful insurgencies.
Its someday in the week,
I lose the raptured schedules,
To hunger is life.
To thirst is life.
The misled winter wraps itself
On my frozen life.
A faint emergence of time
Resumes,
There in the shadows
I once knew a man,
The visions of him asking to feed
My souless self.
Stretched by insistent graces,
In a road of certain contrasts,
Gentle into the street,
I laugh; the revolving doors,
I cry; what or who i never was,
A certain kind of grace to be
Within the containment,
the poor, the restless,
bleeding my facades,
Shredding the faces I once knew
Destroying my world.
Once I sat upon a throne
Lost in the decimations,
I dont know who I am.
Keep walking.
Telling myself as the night freezes
I will be just fine.
Keep walking
Telling myself in minced
Thoughts as hope flutters against
Nowhere to go.
Keep walking,
The sun rises
And blisters on my feet
Calm the night as the safety
Of day lets me rest.
I will bounce back tomorrow,
And the streets become a ripened spring fruit,
Losing myself
And the art of loss
Is no disaster,
Not unlike losing my keys,
Not unlike losing places,
Not unlike losing names,
Until i reconciled myself
At the fork of the river,
Losing myself is not an art:
The beauty was in finding who I was meant to be.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
Mother Nature is swaying in the breeze, her branches strong.
Her life full and alive she sings with flowers and dances with the bees,
But her mind is boorish to the oncoming threat of November.
The startling entrance of Fall is like fire to her leaves,
New electricity attacks her arm’s protectors; prepared with strong green shields.
Yellow, orange, then deep red bleed into a burnt, crackled brown and black ash.
As her melodic hum of green vanishes, a starling yellow spark leaps,
Ablazed chaos now runs on her twisted, knotted, and wise branch-arms.
Eruptions of heat and confusion Mother Nature is seen screaming,
Raptured coldly, her green peace is painfully and hollowly attacked.
Her first shiver yesterday revealed her weakness,
Her shade flees, no longer able to stand the icy-sharp stabbings of winter.
Her annual sigh of defeat inevitably followed, thus beginning her hibernation,
Her tired arms creak and break, letting down their burnt sheaths,
Slowly spiraling down, down, down to the hungry ground.
Closing down to mourn Mother Nature is unclothed and shamed.
Her once green body now dried, bare, and cracked.
Withering winter brings blue death and ice to her brown skin.
Naked she shivers and freezes for three months to come.
But Spring will bring her a new strength and humility.
Mother Nature’s momentary fall will only chill, not ****
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
*I guess that's the final straw
The one last time I see your brow
I guess that is the end for us
The end to this blessing of a curse
I should have seen it from start
One of us would end up getting hurt
I should have seen with my mind
Knowing love is heart,heart is blind
That's what one reaps when one saws
In a wrong field,hard blow to the jaws
Should have just told me you had him
Instead of letting me keep the dream
Should have said It's down the stream
Better than pain,massage and cream
Should have told me to man up & gym
Or walk away 'stead of causing steam
Explain,how you could face me & lie
Rather than watching you cry
You know I cannot stand your tears
I avoided them through the years
It's too late to cry, what's the point of it
He succeeded but you caused the heat
I hope he's better than me in every bit
I'll bury the hatchet, I concede defeat
I concede defeat, I concede defeat
I concede defeat because you
never thought me fit
I concede defeat, go on with your pete
I concede defeat,
**** I concede defeat
You've had my hopes punctured
You've had my jaws fractured
Had my bloating pride raptured
Broken my heart, cupid archered
Don't explain I'm so angered
It's me you had endangered
Dude is a gang member
With bullets in the chamber
Imagine he'd taken that shot
If I had retreated not
You took a chance with what we had
Didn't know forgiving could be hard
Guess all of it is charred
Whatever it was we shared
Cause if you had really cared
Couldn't have had me beat for dead
So I concede defeat, I concede defeat
I concede defeat
And I hope you find him fit
I concede defeat, I concede defeat
I concede defeat so I guess this is it*
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
cerebral collation,
the flesh of gods;
in amiable display
of communion.
communion of worlds.
raptured in a savor
of unity; unbounded
within our ceremony.
to unearth
the creed
of man
and beast.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
I dreamed a dream , inside the dream
It seemed to say , 1 more hit for one more day , heavenly maiden with devil like beauty , lay out your evil insnare the mind , so I can unleash the beast that sleeps inside , awake from this creative slumber to walk the hall and fantasize ****** , join my hand , witness the Christ the raptured being , from a golden cloud with life's hidden meaning , cancel my subscription to the resurrection , send my credentials to the house of detention , watch the alcoholic Navajo shaman fuel my soul , awake lizard king from your coffin of gold , Paris is where you lay while light my fire resounds on the surface above . My music lives on although I do not . Skin rots to wood , wood rots to earth , earth grows to trees , trees are cut to make the pencil , pencil writes these words taken directly from your creative soul , the lizard king is dead , so i am told
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
*Iridescent Charms & Atomic Raves,
Raptured Revelations In Her Bulletproof Grave,
Impassive Frequencies Of Her Reflections Engraved.
Ionic Ribbons Of Her Artistic Trance,
Neon Contrasts In Her Stellar Stance,
Starry-Eyed Rhapsody In Her Censored Glance,
Vaporized Fractals Draped In Her Past,
Crystallized Specters Sterilized To Last,
Perpetual Panic Triggering A Blast,
Sedated Phantasms In Her Paralyzed Voice,
Isolated Collisions & Distressed Noise,
Overrated Memoirs Of Her Tainted Reprise,
Liquid Shadows In Her Moonlit Dreams,
Theatrical Schemes To Her Grand Regime,
Enigmatic Queen Of Turbulent Screams,
Shipwrecked Effigy Resonating Duality,
Overtuned Spirits Illuminating Reality,
Metaphysical Anniversary Of Her Romantic Fatality.
- 04:28AM -*
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
** When we shall see the ransomed host ,
Oh ! what a joy unspeakable,
All nations gathered, kindreds , tongues
With God to dwell.
In a twinkling , in a twinkling,
Glory ! Hallelujah !
We'll be raptured , to His *****
Shouting 'Maranatha' !
Sweet voices blend with one accord,
To worship God.
The days are fleeting , end is nigh,
A precious thought to every saint,
We've waited long for that bright morn,
And ne'er did faint.
The kingdom cometh , reign of peace,
When God is King , then blissful mirth,
The saints with him as Kings and priests
Return to earth.
In days of yore the saints foretold,
That God would dwell with mortal men,
The earth restored , as Eden was,
For sons of men.
Then as the rose the deserts bloom ,
No maimed are there , no blind, no dumb,
When lamb and wolf with leopard lie,
Thy Kingdom come. **
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
~
gold-encrusted jewels dance
on sun-drenched ocean stacks,
his rugged rocks etched deep
by her waves from far beneath,
and Pacific’s gusty breath;
his wind-swept islets burn,
aflame in sunset's dying embers,
like a lover's siren call.
his chiseled keyholes waiting
for the ciphered piercing rays
to collide in rushing tidal spray.
unlocking sunset's golden hour...
surging forth then quickly fades,
as sunbeam fingers slowly slip,
beneath horizon's sultry lip;
dusk unfolds in magic hues,
molten rose turns scarlet blues,
night descends as one by one,
we raptured star-kissed lovers
disembark this ferris wheel;
the curtain falls again,
with sea and rocks
rehearsing lines
to play again another day.
this their theatre
of the night,
performed by two alone,
beneath the moon
and starry sky.
~
*post script.
our last time through in 2004 was a blur on our way through to San Diego, an exhilarating ride for certain, with all of its bends and curves experienced top down in a convertible, but hardly doing justice to Big Sur’s stunning scene in mere hours; we told ourselves we simply had to return.
it took eleven years, and this time we spent a full five days and nights along Highway 1, towing a camper and slow-driving south from Monterrey all the curves to Morro Bay, exploring just about every hike and lookout in between; and in so doing, validating our return in a most satisfying way. Big Sur is officially off our bucket list! her sunsets were particularly rewarding, especially two... one enjoyed at sea level, from the sand and keyholes at Pfeiffer Beach day use area, the other delighted us from high above the ocean waves, seated at the picnic table of our cliff-side camp site at Kirk Creek Campground.
a most refreshing time to recuperate and recharge our spirits; five glorious days of disconnection, reconnecting to nature, each other and best of all, life at the speed of sunsets and star gazing; evenings spent round the campfire with no cell, no i-pad, no laptop, only the light of the fire, the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes!*
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
I could never be Raglan the knife man
nor a slippery Thames eel.
I haven't enough apologies
that heed wings.
In the act of caprice
borne musket and grape
I floored Thomas Avery,
Tavern proprietor
who lay cold as ecclesiastical stone,
having raptured my Ussela
in cheery Bishopsgate.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
i.
The gloaming is soothing in her presence.
Forthwith, raptured by her glimpse;
I mayest be penurious by worldly
Standard, though with Yahweh
Next to me, and mine queen
Sent to me, I'm opulent
With none enemies
As tis mine soul is
Free.
ii.
None ill-will in me breed's, I've
Walked the path of native tree's;
Wherein the places I canst ramble,
Art not from men's thought's; thus where Lucifer
Gamble's, and soul's art cleaved.
iii.
Mine feet and toes, taketh me where I need
to go, as tis the holy ghost; that dwelleth in me.
The Trinity- "father, son, and holy spirit", whereinto
Jehovah's brilliance reflect's sky ceiling's. As mine Jane is
There in dark or bright-in wrong and right, when thunder strikes,
Or in the fog unknown, when mine heart's alone, and skin need's touch, mine Jane giveth me love, a love uncrushed. A love so much; God as her lead, she dances for me, with her angelic wing's
Inside mine sleep. Her pictures I keep alongside mine wall's, to remembereth the intercession, and the bestowal from God.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
when i met you
you were at the hands of ghouls
a gimping coterie of Satan's
who pleasured at the torments they inflicted upon your innocents
who bound your feet
bones in a vice
making you
their Chinese fantasy
a delicate *** trinket
a manacled smooth petite beauty
in agony
bending you into twisted branches
those heartless devils,
drinking red ice cocktails
you put your heel on their throats
by craving death
that will teach them!
gloating at your fear
filling their emptiness
with your trembling
your dreams faded
into the body of a wounded kitten
has God
given us the cold shoulder?
hacked angels wings to stumps
and left the doors to hell wide
leaving your soul a torn crag flaming?
little girl on fire
screaming in the cave of self
would he weep at your alter
and kiss your scarred tissue
begging your forgiveness
lamenting his snide toys of fate
sweet cursed apples
and sly snakes
twisting raptured seductions
your life, cross and curse
a burnt offering
a blood light blinking
with no fire escape
oh
Eve
blamed by the idiots of religion
for everything
only a child
who sank her pink mouth into a serrated moon
now always weighing death
bathtub ****** red ribbon glamour
dreaming paraphilias tide
eyes a ghastly vacancy
floating like a feather
mud,
tabernacles grave
a buoyant shell
sinking
in crimson clouds
a smiling dread
what does it take
for God to redeem himself?
must we storm paradise
before he fills you
with perfumes bliss
and effulgent lights embrace pours through your soul
like lanterns rose sky?
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
I am an old soul
I never asked for explorers to progress
I never asked for inventors to invent
I never asked for science to discover or scholars to detect
I never asked to go from Steamers to engines
I never wanted to trade vinyl for headphones
But I’d always trade city lights for a mountain range
A worn out skyline for an open plane
Why do we complicate our lives in attempt to make them simple?
And why has living simply, become to most something trivial
I am raptured in this soul that refuses to age
In times that are always persistent to change
"Old Soul" -JP
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
At the Biafran front, I fought
Tearing down Nigerians
With shots of guns
We fought like men
Defending our lands
But with risk and fear
As some went blind
Among our troops
Were hatred and envy
Tribalism of doom
Had taken over our army.
Alongside my brother
We triggered together
Tearing down men
Like pales of feathers.
As a boy of sixteen
I saw terror in fifteen
Behold dead men lay like weeds
Vultures had enough to feed
Among the dead people
I saw my old father, he died still feeble.
Turning to my right
Lay my mother, sister at flight
My hands became weak
And my heart did bleed
They were killed by the army
Which I fought that they live.
Biafra was in famine
As children starved to death
A thousand Igbos massacred at night
As our troops retreat to die.
Nigeria flew their jets
Bombing no one but children and old women
A grenade caught my brother
And I knew it all be over.
The seaways were surrounded
Nigerian Navy locked us in our grave
No weapon came to Biafra
Even our camouflage had become rags
Enugu; capital of Biafra had been captured
There's nothing left, except to be raptured.
Oron and Calabar fell
Nigeria sent us hell
So in battle front we had
Nothing more than matchets and planks
Our major had ran
And we were left, to die at our hands.
With fear, my fellows fell
The fear of death, none could tell
I ran through the forest
Finding way for my escape
Lo there was a tunnel
And so I escaped Colonels.
Fifty thousand fighters quite survived it
They were buried alive
In mass graves for their deeds.
Down in my tunnel of sleep
I saw my family in the deep
Papa, I called aloud my father
He said go for the war is over.
Biafra had surrendered
But I had lost an arm
Millions had died
Diseases did bade them bye
The war, famine did sail them high
Though a soldier I survived.
I had lost my home family and lineage.
What would I do with a withered arm?
Flies had really fed it by
As the last man alive, No one cared whether I die.
So I died a lonely death
With no one to cry
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
Enthusiastically drawing an electrifying first breath of air as the emotionally significant cut of the umbilical cord welcomes an angel onboard
Capturing the delicate beauty of invisible, energetic strings eternally connecting two highly raptured, earthly beings; breaking free of the chrysalis, a monarch joyously spreads its invigorating wings and zings through the air with entrancingly colored wings.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
Dark waters ripple thought.
horse drawn carriage tread
voltaic wires, throbbing brain.
lorn elation until osculation
of lips dreamt nightly.
nectarous skin float
between fingers raptured.
everlasting sand blown
from ashes wrought with
doubt.
paroxysm of senses like electric eels
wreck ties bound by vituperation.
Breath like honeyed vapor,
encased rouged cheeks.
savored time in bottles, minutes
turned to minerals mined.
hours of golden flecks
splashed in synthesized
unison.
New always, love evermore.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
Starry, starry night,
When I look upon your endless light.
You remind me of a time some ago,
When you were cold as mercury;
You were cold as snow.
A girl raptured with me, so blond and fair,
Grabbed me, kissed me until I fell.
Her eyes looked just like you,
I've never seen eyes twinkle so bright!
Her soul as deep as you are,
Endless as your night.
I was captured by her brightness,
Just like I am with you.
We fell for each other,
Just like a star you threw.
One day when I was falling,
The girl so blond and fair;
Stole my heart and flew away,
And left my soul a tear.
She flew up to the moon
To follow her beautiful light.
There she left my heart into,
Longing for my sight.
I watch for the girl, so blond and fair,
Nights when the moon is full and pale.
That one day she will return my heart,
And eternity we will sail...
by Sean Hovater 2/27/2013
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
(I. Summer ‘ 13)
Freckles clung
like manic-pixie stardust,
spackled whispers
an unfolding fractal
of brimming dresser drawers
old pictures and mix cds,
we could only ever do
what teenagers were supposed to.
Smushed crabapple handholds,
moxy and sadism hard-won,
no crash course in platonicness,
our stained glass eroded
into a beach
frozen in unsummer,
opiates dull senses,
a synesthetic void
exchanging echoes of echoes,
a cacophony of empty
distilling as it leaves
in whisks of 2 a.m.s,
honey-laced whiskey—
if the sky murmurs one
last love poem, it isn't
to us but our
moment of infinity,
of blind faith
irredeemably lost,
that forever of apex
where the line between
falling and flying
blurs.
(II. Fall ’13)
Spines and ribs
don’t do it justice
you raptured me
both ways to Sunday,
built me up to shatter jaws,
car windows—me
bar stool battered,
you my perfect carpenter,
smile with wooden teeth
(you made them yourself)
so stain me the color of
cherry trees
and unbliss my empty spine.
(III. Winter ’13)
Mildew clutched tight,
hollow-boned, manic thrusting,
marionette-faced, barrow-lunged,
nails to the bone-gristle,
lips raw with spit-polish,
redacted eyes, redacted eyes--
we are palpable creatures,
transient drifters of soulspeck,
one unraveling the other constructing,
sallow truth would dissolve skin.
founder a self, rusty copper
with adamantine eyes,
steel core unbroken by absence,
drown in opposite directions,
oceanwater salve, yes
calloused tongues jostle,
ribbed in salt and rust.
Unlaced corset,
striped sweater,
grunged trainline veins
run on endlessly,
a clock,
abandoned in the middle,
I think once
it very much mattered.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC