My Favorite Color

Roses stand out and with their potent red hues.
Flushed faces when attacking opposing views,
My heart swells with the revolution’s call,
With red flags fluttering, strong and tall.
How can one not be enraptured
By red, the color that captures
Every bold and fiery being and ideal?
Even without sight, red is something to feel.
But steady, my affinity for the color starts to crack
As my teacher sadly hands my test back.

Post written by Franky Padilla

All for the Love of Annabel Lee

Edgar Allen Poe’s “Annabel Lee” told from the perspective of the angels

We looked down from the heavens,
At the kingdom by the sea
We looked at the love
The love of Annabel Lee

We looked down and were envious
For no one had a love greater than we
But the love of Annabel Lee

We sent a chilling wind out of the clouds
And the chilling wind made us proud
Because it would be killing
Killing the love of Annabel Lee

The chilling wind killed Annabel Lee
But the love did not die you see
For this love was more than the love
The love of Annabel Lee

For it wasn’t just Annabel’s love
It was the love of the man that she loved
And even though we killed Annabel Lee
The love lived on in the heart of the man by the sea

Now the man wishes for his own chilling wind
So that they might reunite again
But if he should die we know what he’ll gain
Thus endless nights at her sepulcher, distraught and in pain
We gave him the curse of eternity
All for the love of Annabel Lee

Post written by Jake Carlo



His suitcase was worn as I remembered
And scuffed on its corners
Inside, I see what I have never known
His jacket smelled like music
And unfamiliar perfume
With a crumpled ticket in the pocket
And the last letter I wrote him
It is wine-stained but
Beneath the jacket, a journal
Its entries are
His words quiver and bleed
A pair of boots, laces tucked in
I rub the toes, which have walked
Ancient city streets
They should have gone
Hidden in the corner
Tucked under a knitted sock
A pearl earring, but
I don’t know
Spilled ink stained my fingers
And I wished I didn’t have
What I was looking through
Because they found his suitcase
But they never found

Post written by Anna Johnson

Duchess of Cambridge Road

With a glancing glimpse, you recognize her,
Yet you do not know her name.
She subtly grasps you, be not bitter,
Her face hints of some unrealized flame.

Her body varies deeply in color, shape, size,
But her familiar soul is the most delicate prize.

Her sweet smile is an intoxicating lure,
That for millennia has been lonely man’s cure.

There is nothing quite like her laugh,
Such a joy, you are compelled to gaffe.

Plentiful as dirt but treasured as gold,
The Duchess is true beauty to behold.
Fate is the officiant of the encounter,
Always destined yet never assured.

Post written by the Duke of Cambridge Road

Smiles | Dreams


A real smile, it’s in the eyes,
It makes you feel like you can touch the sky.
Like snow in July, and the twinkle in your eye,
Your smile makes me feel like I can fly.
And,  I never want to say goodbye.


Sky is the limit, they’re infinite,
They start as seeds, then flowers,
Hope makes them indefinite,
She says they’re flawed,
I say they are real,
And like the stars.
Nothing stops my zeal,
I stop and stare….
I am finally there.
The moment is here;
Years in the making.
No one can jeer.
I am on top of the world.

Post written by Carole Beckhorn




early on, billy joel streaming through our old honda odyssey.
my dad and I humming along on the way to kindergarten;
my mom wouldn’t let joel in the house — said he was overplayed.
the whole minute-long drive was summer, highland falls, and angry young man.

later, 99.5 was the order of the day
or 94.7 or 107.3, whichever one my sister felt like.
sitting in the backseat, all the controls were too far to reach.
a time pre-bluetooth and a world less designed for ourselves: the tone of the day set by a random radio dj’s particular whim.

then, fingers smudging the residual condensation on the windows, gazing at the endless greenery blending with suburban scenery,
in an ever-changing, ever-static landscape.
a dissociative state in which time and space faded behind notes and lyrics

eventually, your first clumsy drive,
clammy fingers gripping the steering wheel and jerking the gears; not quite sure how a steering wheel works.
right is right and left is left and simple as that? not quite, you learn.

that time before you knew what the anti-frost was,
frantically swiping at the moisture accumulating on the windshield
the whole forty-five minute drive home populated with a subtle panic; the hand smudges visible the next few weeks.

music floating through the car, your out-of tune voice its accompaniment, blinding sunlight pouring over the dashboard — almost burning your face, notes filling the empty space around you, for once not occupied by people, a singular time, one with no silent specter of authority.

the smooth operation of sliding into the car, pushing down on the brakes, the engine coming to life,
a syncrasy of countless drowsy morning drives and late night rushes
of hitting the brakes fast and adrenaline pumping to your heart
of long gazes at the road unfurling before you.
i still play billy joel sometimes.

Post written by AnneMarie Caballero


When I’m leaving
I’ll think about
The people I didn’t touch
By not talking too much
Or just by not being a crutch
When needed
The people who I wanted
So badly
For our hearts to be near
But the love was never seeded
When I set sailed on my journey
I left those people at the pier
And I never took a second look
back to see
The people swimming after me

But right now
I’m thinking of
The ones I took and will
take along the way
I hope they have my love
And when I’m gone
I hope it remains there still
And the people who have different
I hope it’s there to this day
And that they pass it, carry it on
to whatever locations
they may be
We’ll meet again; you’ll see

Post written by Thomas Tran