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

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

The Ole’ U.S. of A., 2019

In the chair of our home

Sits the man deemed as unworthy.

And down a narrow road,

One only finds no mercy.

For our home has fallen

Into the grasp of another

Controlled and utilized

For a purpose unworthy.

Aye, the road ahead

Shows a slight glow’a hope,

From the cries of the innocent

Who seek justice for those who don’t.

Yet as the nights grow longer

And the years as well,

Our home lies in shreds,

From the man who still dwells.

(This sucks as a poem, I am so sorry your eyes were cursed to read this. I just can’t write poetry.)

-Jody Omlin

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



Olvera Street, 2019

Inspired by William Blake’s “London”


Step by step each brick which lay

in the street, where vibrant mariachi music does flow

drifts away the brown, sun kissed faces who built La Plaza

now bob downstream in a sea of selfie sticks.


In every cry of every vendor,

in every flash the camera fades

the inner mythical voice of Estrada

as the Avila Adobe crumbles with the LA flood.


How the cry of tourists crowd that of the natives,

blackening the steps of the Catholic church

where musicians and dancers only perform

as the dollars trickle into donation buckets.


At night she returns to the street I once heard

a chant for equality, for freedom, for life,

only to begin to plea against

the impending change of gentrification.

-Xotchitl Garibay

The Presidency in 2019

Ugly Hoe.jpg

A position that was once respected

Is now held by a carrot that needs correction,

Every day he gets rejected,

As we now wait for reelection.

For all the people that he has lied,

And all the promises now missing the mark,

He now has to swallow his pride,

For his followers can do nothing but bark.

A position that once held high,

Is now a comedian’s standard punchline,

We hope and approach to say goodbye,

To a president that did nothing but bitch and whine.

– Stephen Muñoz


America in 2019

I have recreated Percy Shelley’s sonnet “England in 1819” to fit today’s American society through our current time, space and circumstances.

“America in 2019” 

An old, orange, ignorant, and Soulless President;

democratic or republican, the illusion of a democracy, who enslave

Through mind control, – dirt from Mother Earth’s soil

Rulers who use others to See, Feel and to Know,

But they claim they worked for it themselves

Till they begin to die, to burn alive, without a fire.

The sensitive and the innocent abused, tormented and sacrificed;

An army of mental slaves, mindless and controlled

humanity on our current timeline controlled through

anything that alters our current state of consciousness: music, movies, drugs, and sex

anything that limits how much we See, Feel and Know;

Makes a double-edged sword, laws like Karma coming back

Mind control that cannot be seen with your two eyes – Karma coming back.

A democracy, Time’s best illusion, unveil –

Zombies from a glorious Phantom

Bursted, to ingest the demonic parasites through the

subconscious programming of your mind.

Karma coming back – Wake Up.



  • Brianna Barajas


Friedrich’s Romantic Art

After reading The Mad Mother, one could say that there is plenty to interpret. After first reading through the ballad, readers may be confused as to what the purpose of the work is, and what the meaning behind it is.

After reading The Mad Mother myself, I decided that the ballad’s topic was the idea of death, and how one’s death could push someone to an undeniable state of grief so terrible as to classify that person as “crazy” or “mad.” A few of the stanzas that stood out to me were Stanzas 70, 83, 89-90, and 98-100. Certain phrases such as “How pale and wan it [her son] else would be” (Stanza 70) and “My little babe! thy lips are still” (Stanza 83) give off the imagery that the woman’s baby boy is deceased, and that she is carrying around his corpse due to the fact that she is unable to overcome the truth that her son is dead, as well as her husband. “We’ll find thy father in the wood” (Stanza 98) helps the reader to believe that the woman’s lover had passed away and been buried in the woods; however, in her mind, he has run away into the woods, and it is her job to find him in order to fix their family.

The painting by Caspar David Friedrich portrays a sense of loneliness, much like the feelings of this mother having lost her family and being unable to properly grieve about it. The twisting of the trees symbolizes the mother’s unclear mind, or “craziness” as one may put it, tangled between what’s real and what is not.

– Jody Omlin

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.