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

San Fernando 2019

Lended through a municipality’s streets

Parallel to impoverished groans

Sun dried faces burnt and disheveled lead treats

Worn complexions, aching bones

In every hand a dried cement

In every house an apathy erect

In every voice; every individual lament

An entombment of unreleasable debt

Lessened patrons pry

As collapsing residences imply

And unfeasible mortgages rend dry

Flows downturned to an ashy sky

But a forsaken railway astray

A pittance of commerce

How graffiti would incur everything stray

And trapped in an economic hearse

-Kevin Martinez


I wander through each lonely street

Near by where Bear Creek flows

And mark on every face I meet

Marks of despair, marks of sorrow

In every cry of every creature

In every students cry of fear

In every voice in even pictures

The pleading cries for help I hear

How the Students bawl

Every TA disappointed but unsurprised

And the professor whose seen it all

Allows all the chaos and havoc to rise

The silence you hear at midnight

How the older ones regret everything

And the younger ones want to fight

And perhaps graduation gives all these warriors some light

Diana Moreno

San Francisco, 2019

San Francisco

Inspired by London by William Blake


I wander through the eclectic streets,

Where one can find a battle of wealth and poor.

Past the building that drives people to Tweet,

While dreams are abandoned on the floor.


In every cry of every local,

In every student’s plea for change,

All people need to come together and be vocal,

For the city’s becoming too strange.


How the faithful teachers cry,

Every bus driver’s wail,

While millionaire techies look up to the sky,

And the homeless are thrown into jail.


But the land maintains aesthetic appeal,

As shown by the rise in prices.

The neighbors are never given a good deal,

And no one will look up from their devices.


-Abe Alvarez

London 2019 or “The London Eye”

attraction black and white black and white buildings

The London Eye

By Christopher Ingle

Inspired by William Blake’s “London”

I sat upon the river Thames,

A wondering tourist was I.

Though Frommers often does condemn,

I gazed upon the Wheel’s Eye.


This Eye I gazed was everywhere,

Its stare was cold and bleak.

Its watchful gaze was full aware,

To protect the helpless and weak.


“It brings us peace” said men in blue,

“a triumph of near perfection”.

Yet deep inside I knew it true,

That few had brought objection.


This watchful eye in London town,

Its gaze is long and broad.

For it sees the common and the crown,

To fight unjust and fraud.


Though the eye is always gazing,

as far is left as far is right,

I feel my mind slowly crazing,

As the eye watches into the night.


I know not who can see me now,

and yet upon the London sky,

hidden cannot be my face and brow,

from the ever watchful London Eye.



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

Merced 2019

This is an imitation and modern adaptation of William Blake’s “London”:
I wander thro’ each smoggy road,
Near where the specks of dust do flock.
And mark in every bag I load
Marks of aches, marks of pocks.
In every car of every lane,
In every driver’s cry of stress,
In every mind: in every pain,
The overwhelmed schedules, I digress.
How the workaholics yelp,
Every morning appalls,
And the hapless slaves receive no help
Feeling trapped within occupational walls
But most thro’ morning streets I see
How the youthful students also tire,
Blasting through each day, each tree
Also blight with plagues just as each new hire.
–Jose Ramirez

The Sorrow that fills the Pavilion

I wondered from one station to the others, looking for a place to eat

Near where the two of you have stayed

And mark in every place there is a seat

Marks of pain, marks where my rage was laid.


In every register I use to charge

In every spoon I use to serve

In every small, medium or large?

The mind hopes you get what you deserve.


How the chemicals will never burn it all away

Every blackning dollar we work to earn

And the wishing for it to already be May

Runs in and around you with every turn.


But most of all how you ruined my favorite place

How each false assumption made me think you cared

Blasts the water in my face

And blights the moments that we shared.

-Alina Cantero

Atwater, CA, 2019

Driving through the town,

Next to where the buildings end

And where the land becomes green with brown,

There are traces of sweat that drip down from the bodies that bend.

The hands have scars from the labor,

The workers know cries of pain,

But being able to rest is not something they favor

Because they’d lose a workday’s gain.

The workers begin to sigh

As they look down on their stained boots,

But there can be no tear from any eye

Because they are their family’s roots.

Most of the time they are tired,

But they continue to go back to the fields.

They cannot afford to be fired,

Since to their children, they are their shield.

-Maria G. Perez (William Blake’s “London”)

Laura Romero “The Field”


I wandered through chartered streets

near where the charted Fairfield canal does flow.

and mark in every face I meet

marks of stress, marks of depression.


In every cry of every man,

In every students cry for help,

In every voice: in every sob,

the mind deteriorating stress I hear


How the STEM majors cry

every professor laughs,

and the helpless TAs sigh

runs in tears down the financial aid office walls


But most through 2 am streets I hear

how the oblivious first years curse

blasts the incoming freshmen hope

and infects with depression the GPA average.


-Oliver Briggs