"tradition" poems
Haven't made a heart to heart blog post in a while..
So recently a friend of mine messaged me on kik. We kinda drifted apart, but all the same we drifted back again .. You know that feeling?
She's asked me about how I was and what new things we going on in my life and then out of know where she asked me how I got into what I do, that , for those of you that don't know, is makeup.
It a happy, funny, weird story all at the one time.
As some of you already know, when I was 5 my parents died and I moved to Paris with my nan (<3) and she always wears red lipstick, even to this day. Lipstick , red lipstick to be more exact, was only worn by the higher class women and was generally quite expensive. Us Dean family have a ... Tradition I suppose. When a mother gives her child her very first red lipstick it means that she, in the eyes of the family, has matured and such not blah blah blah. Anyway. I didn't have my mom to do that ,so my nan took that role instead.
At the ages of in and around 14 I started wearing makeup, but never in public, my nan wouldn't allow such things. I always tried to copy her make up , because she was the only female figure I had as a child , and the only person I ever respected. Even to this day my makeup is still like hers , she notices that ever time I visit haha ~
I started posting picture of my makeup ideas on my old facebook about 3 years ago and one day a represtentive from Lancôme called me and asked me to work for them , I said yes. I told my nan that day and she gave me my first red lipstick and I still have it to this day
je t'aime Nana <3
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
Sons of the soil.
Daughters of the soil.
Wake up and rejoice, for its the day of your heritage.
Celebrate your culture, for it is your privilege.
You are Africa, Africa is you.
A nation so diverse and true.
A real rainbow nation.
Deeply rooted in our tradition.
Nna ke mo Tswana, ebile ke motlotlo ka bo Tswana bame.
Nna ke mo Pedi, ebile ka ikgantsha ka go nna mo Pedi.
Mna ndi ngum Xhosa, ubona nje, ndiyazi dla ngo buXhosa bam.
Mina ngi ngum Zulu qobo, futhi ngiyazi qhenya.
On this day, remember who you are.
On this day, commemorate who you are.
Take pride in your true identity.
Let there be peace and serenity.
In South Africa our land.
Together may we all stand.
Le ga ole moTswana wa Afrika.
Noba ungu m'Xhosa wase Afrika.
Le ha ole mo Sotho wa Afrika Borwa.
Are rataneng. Masi thandaneni.
On this day, speak your mother tounge.
On this day, sing your clan song.
A moTswana eme a kgibe.
UmXhosa maka phakame axhentse.
UmZulu maka sukume agide.
A moPedi a emelle bine.
Sons of the soil.
Daughters of the soil.
Wake up and rejoice, for its the day of your heritage.
Celebrate your culture, for it is your privilege.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 5:57 AM UTC
I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.
for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?
the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.
no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.
so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.
hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.
instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son
I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
No accounting for taste.
What you dislike
and called a waste
is what I like.
You call cheese,honey
I called it bitter pill.
You prefer a monkey
while chimp makes me chill.
You like worshipping sun
I love worshipping God
It really fun
you called mine odd.
I lived in tradition
You lived in modernity
But in addition
I lived in christianity.
You urged me to study biology
I urged you to learn Shakespeare
You want me to live by astrology
Let poetry be your spear.
You prefer winter
that is your choice
Mine is summer
when I'll rejoice.
When you lay on your bunk,
you hear the music,rock
but I listen to punk
who should be given a sock?
You love a black lady
with long dark hair
I love a white baby
to be my heir.
You desire democracy
as system of your
government
I desire theocracy
it had the best management.
Let us be a union
Let there be chaste
Let's tolerate each
one's opinion
for no accounting
for taste.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Men were considered to excel in education,
But now women are taking up the tradition,
Excelling in arts, science and commerce,
Women have really made competition fierce.
For household chores,
Women were considered,
But now you see,
Sunita Williams flying high on earth.
So let us all bear in mind,
That women are never behind,
They can conquer any situation,
By showing sheer determination.
Educate your girl child,
So that she can fight her right,
Make her very strong,
So that she can distinguish right and wrong.
~Farheen zehra
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Society sells beautiful lies,
Emphasis on the beautiful,
They sell you the definition of beauty in
small pictures,
small ads,
small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
They've got us all fooled.
Telling teens they don't need to eat,
"Skip the food today,
be beautiful tomorrow".
Selling the idea that beauty can replace sorrows.
Society sells the idea that beauty is empowerment.
Society sells the idea that if you are beautiful,
then you could have the world on a string.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray.
Sell us the idea that if we are beautiful
today will be better than yesterday.
But the empty promises lead us all astray,
Abandoned on street corners begging for scraps,
because we didn't think we felt empowerment.
Society sells small,
Society sells beauty,
Society sells small.
Small models,
Small manikins,
Small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
Society sells the idea that the size of your waist,
defines how beautiful you are.
Society sells the idea that beauty
is empowerment.
Society sells small.
Society sells the idea that if you are not small,
you are not **empowered,
ugly,
waste of space.**
Society sells small.
Society says beauty is empowerment.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray,
Too many teens today are to prone to facings their problems with razor blades,
Because today was not better than yesterday.
Then tomorrow won't be either.
Society sells small,
small pictures,
small ads,
small manikins.
Society sells protruding plastic ribs,
ribs sharp enough to cut paper.
Society sells the figures of the sick and dying.
Society sells small.
Small enough to be drop dead gorgeous,
Emphasis on the drop dead,
Society sells women who are severely underfed.
Society sells women suffering from malnutrition.
Since when did this become tradition?
Since when was fragile stature empowering?
Society sells skin and bones.
Society sells so small,
women are literally dying to feel beautiful.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
Christmas is traditions
some last and others die
some leave you feeling fuzzy
others leave you asking "Why?"
There's rules that must be followed
And most of them we know
About gifts and cards and Christmas trees
and then there's mistletoe....
We all know the tradition
We all know what it is
You meet under the berries
And then you both must kiss
But, there's etiquette surrounding
The dreaded mistletoe
And there are things you aren't aware of
And I thought you all should know....
Always kiss your Aunties
Do it quick and on the cheek
Their lips are full of slobber
and sometimes they just reek
Grandmas, get a quick kiss
And ignore the sounds they make
Don't hug Grannies too tightly
They are brittle and might break
Avoid the pervert Uncles
With hands and eyes that roam
They act one way at Christmas
And another way at home
The little kids, won't kiss you
So, it's fun to give them chase
Make sure there's lots of slobber
So, they can wipe it off their face
Make sure kissing Grandad
That he has got his teeth
That they're not somewhere in a glass
or worse, smiling from a wreath
Always kiss your Mum though
Beware, Mums will always cry
and they will get you going too
No matter how hard you try
Kiss the one you came with
Let them know just how you feel
That your love for them's eternal
And your love for them is real
Kissing is tradition
and at Christmas can be great
But, don't kiss all the women
And forget about your date
The most important rule of all
If you don't want your bell rung
When kissing 'neath the mistletoe
DO NOT USE THE TONGUE
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
I use technology to take me to a time when it only half-existed. In a blue-shell room of mega-pixel photographs and rolling news feeds, I can put on my headphones and disappear into an instrumental Sunday.
There are stamp collectors making their lazy way over beaten roads and disused railways. 'Surrender' only means to fall asleep and to leave your book as a hut on your bedside table. Where war may still go on and on,
but at least you don't have to hear about it. Show me the place where pine-cones fall and women stare across the river. Where coffee is for taste, and not self-medication. I want to walk bare-foot and feel thorns
toughen my heels, infect my blood with Earth or God or Any Other Name. We will **** in the bushes, singing those fragments of Leonard Cohen lyrics that we can still remember from times spent smoking in my room.
I can almost feel that pointless happiness. That location in a canopy to retreat when the bills are due, when the walls needs re-painting. When the neighbour strangles puppies and all you do is complain about the time.
I use new music set to old sounds: freed slaves living in the cross-hairs of tradition. White lovers breaking their hearts over guitar strings and harmonies, always a semi-tone apart. I find your hair on my pillow.
There is no technology in the world to distract me from that.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Hello friends & wishing you all a very
An auspicious & prosperous DIWALI.
"You aim always for a new glow for a whole year;
Hard work glows your day for the time
Likewise Light is a glowing nature
It is a hope, faith and light shine in your life,
A Candle glows for an hour;
Matchstick glows for a few seconds;
But a wish glows forever.
Here is my wish for a glowing Diwali and glowing year till next time....
..............HAPPY DIWALI...............
On this auspicious festival of Diwali
I wish & pray that, may everyone Life filled with a Sparking color of happiness & Light of Prosperity. May this world & people of this country live with a calmness & Fortune for love.
Diwali is one of my favorite festival & it is also the festival of light where houses are decorated with candles & many more things, making it a perfect festival, it is also one of the most beautiful festivals celebrated around the world through Indian culture, it seen a metaphor instincts for self-improvement and as well representing for a new beginnings. It involves a strong belief in giving to people in need, and performing every ritual by traditionally, a time for new clothes to be worn & Indian sweets is seen as a varieties of colours and flavours are eaten during the celebrations.
So wish you a happy diwali & May this writing platform of hellopoetry continues as the same mark of living, an originality of making a talent into a magic light.
Again, like every festival I use to mention to invite from my heart to all this cheerful people so I am inviting everyone to be a part of Indian festivals and culture... everyone is most welcome to India..
India is Country to experience different Tradition, with a beauty of joy, beauty of passion, beauty of love , beauty of art & beauty of everything that you have never experienced before...
reality is the real life.. ....
Thank-you..
-Chirayu!.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Netted on the outside
Dreams pass through the inside.
The good dreams seep the center,
The bad dreams are caught: DO NOT ENTER!
The sleeper with eyes shut,
Protected by the dreamcatcher
And selected by the buy-snatcher,
Slumbers in peace
When all is at ease
Around the dreamcatcher police.
Reality is still
But the mind is awake
And sleep is at stake.
Eyes cannot detect
What the dreamcatcher does,
It only sways in the midst of a glance.
But the dreams that pass the glass dividing atmospheric gas
Cannot be seen, touched, heard.
Dreamcatchers have a radar
That no being does.
The dreams charge at once!
WOOOOSH.
Not a dream is heard
Caught in the dreamcatcher grid,
But the good ones
Keep clean the REM zones.
Native-American tradition
I will surely petition.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
Ah, the season of gifting.
Antagonist of year-long thrifting.
Tradition sadistic,
Materialistic,
Four quarters in pockets worth sifting.
This year I hereby proclaim
I shan’t be consumed by the game.
Cycle of curse
Purpose perverse
The namesake, an oversight became.
Christ’s birth did in fact begin,
Holiday distracted by sin.
Misguided it be
To forget idly
The sacrifice He made for all men.
We naively regard generosity
As holiday’s behavioral piosity.
But if dollars and cents
Are the tools of offense
Over shadow favor luminosity.
Water in Africa is *****
American child in poverty.
Politics aside,
Convenient homicide,
To enable the ills of society.
In the global economy we flaunt
Wealth by comparison, bitter taunt.
First world problems abound
Pass the turkey around
Central heating and air, what a jaunt!
What if this season we decide
To extend two palms open wide?
Sacrificing ourselves
Rather than stocking our shelves
Dying whispers echo true: “we tried.”
Don’t spend your money on me this year.
Not iPhones, not tickets, not Blu-ray or beer.
Instead know you can
Distribute more than
A snort, a lie, and a tear.
(optional conclusion to assist interpretation of last line)
Snort of derision,
Lies of provision,
Tears, even true,
Hardly subdue
Anguish deprived of tradition’s revision.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
1736
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can’st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!
10.6k
Hello friends & wishing you a very auspicious & prosperous DIWALI..
..............HAPPY DIWALI...............
On this auspicious festival of Diwali i wish & pray that, may everyone Life filled with a Sparking colors of the happiness & Light of Prosperity. May this world & people of this country live with a calmness & Fortune of love.
Diwali is one of my favorite festival & it is also the festival of light were houses are decorated with candles & it is one of the most beautiful festivals in Indian culture, coincides with Hindu New Year and is seen as a metaphor for self-improvement and as representing new beginnings. It involves a strong belief in giving to people in need, and is also traditionally a time for new clothes to be worn & Indian sweets is a variety of colours and flavours are eaten during the celebrations....May this writing platform of Lettrs continues as the same of making originality of marking a talent into a magic light... so I am inviting everyone to be a part of Indian festivals and culture... everyone are most welcomed to India..India is Country of Carnival with different Tradition, different culture , with beauty of joy, beauty of passion, beauty of love , beauty of art & beauty of everything that you have never experienced before... ....Thank-you..
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
See how this Trodden Commoner invites
With his Self cheers the Hero on the Board
As he predicts his proven Time and Sights
Another Inscrutable Win absorb
So much so it becomes the Nation's Theme
With Married Saints you dear Prince do us Proud
Even if your Light condenses to meme
At least those close to you will share your Cloud
I would only wish for your Halo's Morn
That a Wee Signature you could offer,
Poking your eyes from Dimensions and Form
And just see the Heart which knows no other.
Yes, I know. Seven-by-Ten Digits speak same
Most by Tradition. By nature are Dames.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
It's nice to feel the warmth
The weather's never bad
Living surrounded by the wai
And by the sweet sounds
Of the ukulele.
Many people live aloha
Living proud of their culture
And friendly to another.
Ohana is important
And friends are part of it too.
A beautiful tradition
Giving of leis
To someone special
On a special occasion
Or just any given day.
It will be sad to leave one day
There's so much sunshine.
The mainland's all the same.
Here there's so much diversity.
I think I'll miss the food the most...
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
The table is set for our thanksgiving feast
and all have taken their place
The meal of the year, is finally here,
and oh, how great it will taste..
Potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce,
and rolls that are made fresh and hot.
Turkey with stuffing, right out of the oven.
Pumpkin pie that hasn’t been bought.
Our family is anxiously gathered around
in a circle of love hand in hand.
A scene reminiscent of thanksgivings past.
A tradition we all understand.
Dad offers a prayer of thanksgiving to God
for abundance of blessings we share.
Tears touch his cheeks as he humbly gives thanks
for much more than the food that is there.
Though stomachs are empty, each heart is full
while united as family we pray,
Thanking dear God for His wonderful love,
and our blessings this Thanksgiving Day.
When this day is gone and life carries on,
may gratitude live on in me.
Lord help me, I pray, to make every day
a day of thanksgiving to Thee.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:40 AM UTC
I am from New Jersey.
From the paradise of small towns
And the inferno of concrete jungles.
I am from truck tire playgrounds,
Porch Clubs, and the whistle
Of the Riverline.
I am from divorce.
From alcoholism and denial,
From broken doors and hearts.
I am from next to hell.
From pouring out full forties
For one's homies passed away.
From too many candlelight vigils
And sidewalks littered with fourth grade pictures.
I am from the garden state.
From cows, corn, and Clinton,
And tractors in the parking lot.
I am from tradition.
From pasta and seven fishes,
From "Mafiosa!" screamed in the streets
And "No WHOPs" pasted on storefronts.
I am from love.
From three parents and four siblings,
From six dogs and duplicate holidays,
And the smell of tulips and holly.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
Why I Always Carry Tissues
To My Children:
I'm laughing at myself,
As I am prone to do because
Why I Always Carry Tissues
Is the title of a poem
I write for you.
There is a story here,
Of parenting, and responsibilties
That transcends yourself, defines me,
Vis-a-vis you,
then and there, and maybe now.
When you were small,
I took you by the hand,
The cement canyons, trails & rivers
of West Eighty Six Street,
Together, we would ford.
Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do,
Your hand, from my hand,
I would release
So you could fall down,
All on your own.
It bemused me that I could see
Three or four paces ahead of thee
Exactly which crack,
Upon which you would trip,
And come crying back to me.
Back-to-me.
That was then.
And now,
Yes, no more,
Back-to-me.
But I always had tissues
to dry your eyes
And no surprise,
I still do,
Always will.
These days, they,
more likely used to dry mine,
As I have forded that Styxy river,
When crossed, you spend more of the day,
Liking Back more,
Then looking ahead.
No matter, by right and tradition,
It is still my mission, that
when you need, when you bleed,
as I know you surely shall,
These pocket tissues will be there
Ready, willing and able, fully capable,
of snatching away your tears.
**When you need,
When you bleed,
And you surely shall,
These pockets of mine,
Of tissue made,
Are waiting for your tears,
And you, to fill them,
For without them,
Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.**
These used tissues are my history book,
Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life,
Of tears and hearts,
And concrete spills,
That need knees to be complete.
That is why you will find me, without fail,
Ready, willing and able, holding my
White Badge of Courage at the ready,
Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed,
Missions known as parenting schemes.
The scheme is clear, even if
my tissues you no longer request,
You will let your own babies
fall n' fail, then take their tears
Put them in your pocket,
keep them forever wet,
Like my memories of you
the ones I cherish best...
Perhaps a tradition
We will start,
Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear,
Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors
Removers of our dear one's fears.
If we are truly wise
Those tissued memories
We will keep,
Die among them contented,
Knee-scraped deep
When tears fall...
2008
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
*
How many times we starved ourselves
dreaming something that we can’t have…
How many times we deprived ourselves
from wanting the life we wanted the most
just because we lack something or
having the practical mind that it is not for us…
Sometimes we starved ourselves to limit our flight.
Bound by rules, responsibilities, duties,
or even culture, tradition and religion…
Despite all that, we balance everything
for what’s right, what feels right
The Weighing of the Heart ---
*
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
The Atlanta Falcons , defender of the city in a sport of the passionate ! A longtime cold weather tradition of the Peanut State with youth , high school and university alike ......Memories that conjure Van Brocklin , Nobis , Humphrey , Van Note , Bartkowski and Ryan . Fall is for dark green numbered fields , pageantry , struggle as tactician , athlete and opponent mired in battle , bestowing honor , emotion , and pride in the warriors of yesteryear , locked in the spirit of competition , sportsmanship and Georgia folklore !...
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
The invisible scar
Of the patriarchy
Hangs over us
Masked by the shadows of tradition
Concealed within
Dazzling bursts of color
Billowing skirts
And spirited dancing
Hot acid flung
Scathing, searing, scalding
Because weak men
Cannot handle rejection
Wed the one you love
And bring shame
Upon the family
Honor killings
Does ******
Bring Dignity?
#JusticeforNirbhaya
#JusticeforAsifa
And now #JusticeforAiman
Our only crime
Is being female
Yet fingers are still pointed
At us
At the length of our dresses
At the makeup on our faces
At the way we smiled
How long
Until we are finally fed up
With a society
That would rather
A corpse
Over a girl?
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
This specific autumnal celebration is characterised by throbbing obscenities, where a masquerade of piety resembles the trembling jester as he performs before medieval royalty.
Oh, to witness the salmon run in Northern ecosystems where the caniform classification stands in a dominant stance at the edge of the falls.
So, my independent and competitive contemporary, let us bow with sober reflection at those anthropological schools who swim upstream in this spiritual river in the vain pursuit of unattainable freedom.
Today, on this second Monday of October, the name of the game has been brutally ***** by propagandist salesmen.
So, at this juncture of existential consumerism, we stand within the jaws of our ever-smiling aristocracy. But, if you dare to open your eyes, my friend of unfathomable denial; you will find that the tradition is called Thanksgiving.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Words are often left unspoken
amongst the mangled and the broken
words can heal, but instead silence
while we tolerate the violence
on our bodies/
in our minds
a tangled web,
we dare not unwind
to ourselves
-and one another -
we've been unkind,
though we are lovers.
Ponder this questionable existence
where there is an abundance of resistance
to be ourselves and feel the love
constantly searching for a reason above
instead of reaching out and extending our hand
to our neighbor, our brother, "some kids in a van"
It's funny how we land here
in this position
abandoning our families and breaking tradition
to learn about the world and the way that it works
some people have kinds souls and others are just jerks
One day you ask an old man
"Sir, may I have a dollar?
I just want some food, maybe a water."
His reaction could be harmful, harsh, judgemental
the skill that needs building is very fundamental
"You'll spend it on drugs! Get out of my face!"
Discouraging words spoken of the human race,
"Sir may I have a dollar or some food? Maybe water"
Another man approaches as he walks with his daughter...
The daughter tugs this man and she slips him some change
How smart the children are.. Isn't it strange?
with one small glance of the smile in this exchange
the man understood, the answer was plain.
Now you have a dollar, although not enough for food,
inside you feel a warmth and a change in your mood.
The youth can inspire every second, every day
by giving out love hoping that the idea will stay.
"Some kids in a van" were once your sons and daughters
when people realize this, they seem to have a few more dollars
words are often left unspoken
each and every day-
If you extended your heart and hand,
that pain is sure to run astray.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
An absence reversed
Beheld
Belonging
Fuming lush greenery seemingly
Between the frothing
Soup and lather twinkling
Speaking
"Tradition may act dishonestly"
All and sundry
Trails along merrily
For traditionally
All is how it should be
Belonging to one and only.
Binding
A trade between the thin lines
A baking sheet made sprayed messy
Artists in threes
Shakers of mountains for invisible ease
The truth is simply
Things done traditionally
All-in consuming historically.
Flesh
Released
Is fresh
Relief
Hidden in the fabric's sleeve
A gaping passage of air and breeze
Racing electricity
Breathtaking silk from worms
And worms eaten by birds
Tradition
Sewing the dresses of Empress the third.
Halt
Her plea worth salt and sugar
Still
Like the skater's
Minted odour
Hope
Distances the valleys low dipped to the everlasted rivers
Where a time arrives for eternal celebration.
The embellishments of
Unwavered tradition.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC