The Pride of a Harp

Poet Thomas Moore was able to exemplify the significance of the harp through his words. The frequency within the pride for his work is shown throughout each stanza. The first he admires the brightness it holds to lighten even the darkest of places, that the way it’s constructed holds underlying strength towards the significance of what he believes in. As he sets free the harp for others to see, he’s more than confident that they’ll be at glee.

The second stanza describes the sounds that the harp intonates within Moore’s ears. The sound keeps him full of love an warmth that not anything can be able to provide for his comfort. It gives him great joy hearing these sounds that are positive that for the others to have the opportunity to hear these sounds from the harp, it can cure the sadness that lies from within themselves and will provide them with the sensation of thrill and chills they so much needed.

Moore shows the importance of the harp and how delicate he can be when other approaches to it as we undergo the third stanza. We can see that Moore wants to be able to compel the perfection and wonders that lie within the harp. But it’s never meant to be touched by another individual. He expresses how it’s the “Harp of my Country!” But it’s immediately soiled if it’s ever touched by anyone other than him. It goes to show that he sees himself the only one worthy for such an object.

In the last stanza, I can’t be asked. Although beforehand he expresses the harp as the pride of the country and how only he was the worth for the emblem of the country. He later changes his mind and elicits that he only; “but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,  And all the wild sweetness I wak’d was thy own.” He shows that now no-one it worthy of such instrument and the so-called new emblem of the country is worthy to no one. Such a time waster Moore was in the end.

– Stephen Muñoz

Flint Michigan 2019,

A rendition of Willum Blakes’ “London” reflecting how well he capture the sorrowful streets of London.

By Ashley Jackson

Seek I search through each narrow lane

Near the hall of fame

Nay the frame of the fame, failed to persist

For the all left trying to resist


With every smack of the lips

Or beg of the babe

Through the dusted shadows

They all cry out in pain


Oh how the steam puffs nevermore

Even the priest have gone afar

In search of a whore

With a teat full of water


Blasphemy says the orange incumbent

While the children dent their height

Tonight no other shall rest

Till the will for well is recovered

sunset cup water drink

Photo by Meir Roth on

809 Clinton St.

(Inspired by London 1802)

Rise up to the heart that beat on 809 Clinton St.

To the house that gave home to any soul that roamed

In and out of chaos,

Up and Down areas of lost.

These streets know too much of me from you.

Sirens, Street Lights, Concrete Rumbles grow in your rear view.

Rise up to the life that lived in 809 Clinton St.

To the stories it fostered and the love it breathed.

I wonder what happened to the children who played,

Who grew up and grew out, there’s not much else I can say.

There once was a street with a house, that was a home.

Now there’s just a street with drifting memories that touch my heart in the cold.

To walk by is to see a world frozen in time.

Long live the lives whom on 809 Clinton St. would shine.

-Angelica Costilla


Merced 2019

I wrote my poem in the style of William Blake’s “London”.

I scroll through the headlines each morning

And my chest constricts with empathy

We should all heed the warning

The world is turning to one of apathy


Mothers holding their dead children

Countries going weak without water

There are more lives than 327 million

But most only care about a millionaire’s daughter


Conversations overheard hold no weight

Destruction and devastation happen everyday

Many it seems, have turned a blind eye to their fate

Soon, the repercussions will be at our doorway


The country is built on bureaucracy and hypocrisy

We hear the discontent; yet seem powerless

We have been reduced to Kakistocracy

People cry, people die, the world is not colorless

Sabrina Vazquez

Victorville in 2019

Reckless, self-centered, stupid president;

Celebrities, useless to mankind, who go

Through the public eye looking down on everyone as insignificant;

The government neither cares nor knows what we all undergo,

Yet they all depend on the minorities to remain significant.

One day it will all be gone, and everyone will just outgrow.

We see with our bare eyes people starving and dying;

The military freely seeking their next innocent victims,

And for anyone who attempts to fight back, there’s no winning.

Hopefully one day we can open our eyes and realize all the chaos.

Hopefully one day someone can help the helpless.

I recreated the poem England in 1819 by Percy Shelley.

Carmen Ibarra



Living On The Skids

Tania De Lira-Miranda


I wander thro’ each trash-filled road,
Near where the vagrant people rest.
And mark in every face that showed
Marks of dejection, marks of detest.

In every face of every person,
In every person’s talks of charity,
In every street, conditions worsen,
No sign of change or prosperity,

How the veterans panic
The user in withdrawal,
And everyone else frantic
Trying to keep or losing their moral

But thro’ midnight streets I see
How people try to sleep
Under awnings or against a tree
Before the street cleaner comes to sweep

SF in 2019


architecture atmospheric bay bay bridge

Photo by Pixabay on

LUCY LOO! How dare you,

SOMA hath need of thee: she is narrow

Of stagnant flutters: altar, sew, and fluidity,

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,

Have been sent down and San Francisco

Of inward peace. We are selfish women;

Oh! raise us up, return to us again;

And give us love, virtue, freedom, power.

Thy soul was crafted and dwelt apart:

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like a symphony:

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,

So did she travel freely

In happiness and in glory

The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

Now go get in touch of today.

  • Maricruz Solano

Wordsworth and Nature

In the poem “Letters Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth and in the painting “Landscape with an Aqueduct” (1818) by Théodore Gericault we see the love for Nature reflected amongst the perceiver’s perception of Nature and overall landscape. As done by various Romantic poets and artists, the love for Nature overpowers. The need to honor and respect the planet manifests from the fellow artist’s appreciation and admiration for Mother Earth.

Wordsworth writes about the bird’s singing around him as he sits in a small woodland grove and states:

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?” (Wordsworth, 1798)

the repetition of the phrase “what man has made of man?” refers to the author continuously pondering mankind’s impact on Nature and humanity. The poet’s analysis of all mankind brings sadness. Possibly because the poet is realizing all the effects of greed and violence that initially stem from mankind’s fear of losing power or control. Mankind’s need for power and control has significantly influenced our relationship with Mother Earth. Collectively speaking, our relationship with Mother Earth is lacking.

The poet ponders the beauty of Nature and the “pleasure” found in the “breezy air” and the “budding twigs“. The poet is returning to his pure and innocent state of being a human – but with an immortal soul – and realizing we are far more connected to Mother Earth as her inhabitants than we’d like to think. A connection beyond what could consciously understand. We are all currently living on this planet, breathing the planet’s air and eating her naturally grown produce. We must extend eternal, unconditional love to the planet by physically spending time with Her. Only by spending time in Nature are we able to truly witness and observe the beauty, therapy and “pleasure” of Nature. Nature deserves to be loved. She deserves to have our undivided attention. Similar to the poet Wordsworth documenting his intimate moments with Nature in beautifully written Romantic verses.

The artist Théodore Gericault does a good job of documenting the beauty of Nature. Shining bright, purifying Sun rays over the mountains is illustrated overpowering the landscape. We could see two small individuals having a verbal exchange. This painting illuminates how small humans are compared to how big the Universe truly is. The human race is one small portion of All There Is and yet mankind has created so much unhealthy impact on the condition and physical state of Mother Earth.

  • Brianna Barajas


The Maiden in Mariner

By : Maricruz Solano

Iron maiden is a well versed band in rhythm and instrumental functions. They can fluidly play a guitar to make it sound heavenly. The gesture creates originality and expresses forms of authenticity, I believe their music is a form of romantic poetry. Romantic poetry is confusing because at times I think it is only about romance. This is false because romantic poetry is an outpour of emotions. The subliminal messages in the song behind all of the heaval medal is a beautiful interpretation of god, nature, and creations. For myself it creates an emotional boundary that I can resonate with. Although heavy metal is not my choice of music, I can appreciate its message and form of poetry.

The poem itself is sick and twisted which is closely related to heavy metal in this sense. The Mariners dead crew, the rising of the dead, and the murder of Albatross. This is heavy and deep, just like Iron Maiden. The poem is not musically creative but its is interesting in its own ways. They is a storyline and plot twist which captures my attention. Both are different forms of romantic poetry but ultimately both share a powerful meaning in their own ways. This comparison is drastic but it makes sense.


99.9 Apess Radio – transcript –

 Apess Radio, where we talk about cultural differences, the morals behind sharing historical narratives, and which perspectives matter most. Episode 19 features very special guest, American author Mary Rowlandson,  best known for “Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mary Rowlandson” 

Transcribed by: Leena Beddawi

Apess: Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Apess radio! I just want to let our audience know that Mary Rowlandson is here, so we’re going to be asking a few questions and then continue with our regularly scheduled program. Hello Mrs. Rowlandson, how are you today?

Rowlandson: Please, call me Mary, and I’m doing quite well thank you!, I hope all is okay here as well!

Apess: Yes! We’re excited to have you on the show, and if you’re a new listener you’d probably benefit from knowing that both Mary and I have been in the public eye recently for reasons quite similar to each other, wouldn’t you say, Mary?

Rowlandson: Yes, context wise our stories are completely different, but the important parts are similar.

Apess: and what are the “important parts”, to you?

R: To me, what we have in common and what is most similar between us was the need to be understood, and the drive to write our respective histories down in order to one day be understood. I think I speak for any historical author in saying that we hope to one day be discussed in a classroom, perhaps even side-by-side, creating a discourse about what stories are worth telling and retelling.

Apess: do you find our stories to be of the same value or importance? You mentioned one day our stories could create discourse in a classroom, I’d appreciate your examination of that. I already know my stance and what I’d imagine would happen in a setting you’ve just described, but I’m curious to hear your take.

R: well, I have given it much thought, and being the author that I am, and if our stories were to be taken side by side, I believe the class of spectators would side with your piece being the most valuable, the story which deserves more readers.

Apess: I appreciate you saying that, I can’t say I disagree. I bring up questions for white colonists, like “Can you charge the Indians with robbing a nation almost of their whole continent, and murdering their women and children, and then depriving the remainder of their lawful rights, that nature and God require them to have?” Does a question like that make you uncomfortable?

Rowlandson: I can’t say I know what I would answer, because even being white, I had nothing to do with the torture my male counterparts put you through.

Apess: but yet you benefit from it.

R: Excuse me? Benefit from what?

Apess: your white privilege, the very skin God granted you and I, the hue is very important to your male counterparts.

R: ah yes, you’ve got that right. Especially when it comes to you folk,

A: us folk?

R: yes, I mean, Indians. Natives. The barbarians who captured me, for example, were dark as well, this is something they’d take into consideration.

A: the color or “hue” has nothing to do with anything, though. This is a where the discrimination began, with color being seen as a direct connection to worth. I also don’t want to ignore the fact that you just called your captors barbarians…

R: you know I went through too much, they were barbaric in the way they treated me

A: yet near the end, you were friends with some of these “barbarians”, thinking of them fondly.

R: that was the brainwashing, they prepared me all that time, to enjoy and sometimes even long for their company.

A: I see, wouldn’t you think, however, that all of this could have been solved if we were communicative instead of all the destruction and bloodshed?

R: yes of course! I think all of this could have been solved with some conversations akin to the one we’re having right now.

A: your story, our stories, do you think they should be taught side by side?

R: why not? It gives students both perspectives while also allowing Both valid and honest stories to be told.

A: thank you for joining us, Mary. It was a pleasure having you on the show with us.

R: thank you for having me.