The Right Person by Vibhuthi Semsetti / Sunset To Die For by Mahimn Dave

“Sunset To Die For”

Mahimn Dave

“The Right Person”

Vibhuthi Semsetti

love love love
a beautiful thing we long to experience
it can be wonderful
or it can be painful
it’s a forever kind of thing
with the right person
it makes us stupid
it makes us happy
nothing will change that feeling
the feeling love gives you
but with the right person
if you’re lucky
you’ll find your person
the right person
i found mine
one in 8 billion
you feel happy, loved
something i’ve longed for
you feel emotions you never knew existed
all for one person
the right person
how could one do that to me
i was cold hearted
just how
could one person make me crack
but in the best way possible
thats when i know
he’s the right person
the only right person

“Untitled” by Yassin Hag-Elsafi / “The Flower” by Jakob Womer

“The Flower”

Jakob Womer

yassin hag-elsafi

“Painting a Dream In a Night”

After “Awaking in New York”, by Maya Angelou 

The traffic light yells a

paralyzing, hallowed shriek. 

Cars stop parallel, 

simultaneously in front and behind one another. 

Some don’t

as they look up, seeing past the mechanical lives of 

Blue, Yellow, and Green.

Blue? Nevermind it.  

Passing the yellow light with just a second left

so they can view the constellation of stars, 

billboards, for half a second more.

The vastness of the night sky only competes 

with the radiance of a City enamored with dreams.

Color the stop signs a sunflower yellow

Or perhaps a boring, 

bland beige.

“May There Be No Rain” by Porter Ninstant / “Untitled” by Carl Warren

Carl Warren

May There Be No Rain

Porter Ninstant

Born innocent not knowing right from wrong

I was naive

A child in my thoughts so pure but can’t perceive

As I grew I knew the sky was blue with trust all round

But as I flew I saw reality for what it is

IT made no sound

Any place I looked it seemed so safe so free

Yet every year that changed life swallowed the dream

That same dream that gave US speech

not just a voice

it’s pain that we speak 

Pain driven by in-difference 

Pain rectified and availed to win wars with 

Pain is all we know

NOW…no more of this

I wondered for a time where do I go from here

The times of woodchips and bruised knees is far from near 

Childhood memories achieved through innocence

A cold world brought up between lust hate and Ignorance 

Will not blemish the signs of change 

that we now live with

Suddenly change will be upon us

wanted or not we must see the past that haunts us

I don’t believe history will repeat 

Only we can overcome us

Only we can stop the light from burning at the end of that tunnel

Only we can keep that flag waving in support of not

 who we are 

who we were but

 who we will be 

It is every I us and them that needs to see

That it is we not the individual that is free



No more

My heart began to change and views seemed surreal

OUR vision saw the ugliness of what was truly real

Why did this happen

Why is there fear

Why so much anger

What is it that we’re doing here

WE will make the difference and let the whole world see

My hope is that’s tomorrow 

though I doubt that it will be

For now I’ll make truths and strive to do my part

I’ll fight and search for hope in the dark 

May peace reign

May we feel no pain

May there be no rain

May we feel no strain

Make US great again.

“Stroll Through the Street Market” by Cindy Yoon / “Untitled” by Ammara Nazir

untitled / Ammara Nazir

Stroll Through the Street Market

cindy Yoon

Singapore awakens to the call of the Myna birds.

Their song 


welcoming a new day.

Aunties and Uncles roll up their stalls,

Revealing a plethora of goods underneath.

The pungent odor of durian

The sweet scent of bak kwa

And the fiery aroma of chili flakes

Dance around creating a unique scent.

A scent special to Singapore.

The endless summer sun beats down,

upon the sea of people.

Women in Baju Kurungs, Men in Dhotis, Girls in Qipaos.

All from different cultures,

United together with delicious food,

A quiet but loud harmony.

To truly see Singapore’s hidden beauty

You must stroll through the street market yourself

“Stage Fright” by Lucy Beyer / “Float” by Ansley Teal

float / ansley teal


lucy beyer

I could hear laughing like being held underwater by playful waves crashing down on my head laughing laughing laughing me under.

It’s like being wrapped tightly in a blanket composed of your own thoughts. Except the blanket gets too tight and starts to suffocate you.

 Like an anaconda and it’s prey,

my thoughts and me.

I’ve fallen prey to my own thoughts and it’s slowly killing me. No matter how hard I try, the screams of self-doubt and anxiety run wild through my brain. No matter how hard I try, they’re too fast for logical thinking to catch up. No matter how hard I try to remain still and calm, the real me fades away as I’m left in the dust, and soon there is nothing but fast heart beats, and sweaty shaking hands.

No matter how hard I try to take deep breaths, 

no matter how hard I try to lower my ever increasing heart rate,

 no matter how hard I try to focus on a single person in the crowd,

 no matter how hard I try to steady my hands,

my thoughts are too fast for me to catch up.

I stare at the audience. They stare back. I feel frozen in time.

I could hear laughing like being held underwater by playful waves crashing down on my head laughing laughing laughing me under.

*Italicized text from Jason Reynolds’ Long Way Down

The Mask by Olivia Stein / Untitled by Bridget Monro (Fall 21)

untitled / Bridget monro


Olivia Stein

The Mask
Mask of light and color
Hands painted silver
Wood swords and costumes,
playful performances on the cushions.
Running in the garden.
Boundaries are blurred into a vibrant versatile world.
Then comes the shadow,
It meticulously watches your actions.
The garden has died.
Costumes hidden in the cupboard.
Cushions are just a place to sit,
Hands are dull.
And its gone,
The Mask


Denver by Annabella Britt (Senior Edition)


annabella britt

I dream of the dusty mountains ways away.  I wonder if they look the same after all these years. To see the burning sun and get the chance to reintroduce myself after all I’ve grown.  I want to paint myself in the colors of the sky, but I’ve grown weary waiting in the grey that surrounds me.

My memory has dulled what made it the most beautiful.

 I’m afraid I’ll forget its name, or for it to become a muted image in my mind. 

Stuck trapped on a fence between my interests and my cynicism.  Maybe in old age, I’ll visit again, but time passes so quickly here.  There is no use trying to reinforce tracks that won’t stay.  I’ve made them too strong against the ways of the world.  I was told to follow the future everyone seeks, but I am too stubborn to follow that cycle into death.  Instead, I choose to call out to no one, cracking my neck to watch the stars.  Please don’t forget me, as I once did you.  I settle for watching you in a quiet space with closed eyes.  I lay on the mountains, shining alone amongst the vacant sky.  

12:13 A.M. by Alyssa Turcotte / Untitled by Della Wirfel (April)

untitled / della wirfel

12:13 A.M.

Alyssa Turcotte

I settle into bed, but I can tell
from the thunder booming outside
that I won’t soon sleep.

A warm yellow glow
filters through my window,
the bright midnight light
creating slats on the floor that illuminate
the papers strewn across my desk.

I’m in the eye of the hurricane,
enjoying the moment of calm before the storm.

In the distance, I can make out
the rumble of trucks
thundering down the street,
endlessly sweeping its predecessor’s mess.
I hear it shudder and crawl
closer until its growl is almost unbearable,
the storm just outside my window.

the harsh metallic clang of lightning
striking the ground pierces the night,
ripping away the peace I had known
just a moment ago.

But then I hear it fade. I’m left with only
my yellow sky,
always one moment away
from another wave of the storm.