Poem: East Valley student reflects on childhood in Redlands


Home is like a charted map.

You can follow it room to room.

Discovering each memory.

Which lights were always out.

Where my brother dug holes to China.

Redlands, California.

A train ride from L.A.

The only place I have ever known.

Home is the smell of antique furniture.

An aged wood aroma.

The worn cracks, like hundreds of rivers stretching across the table tops.

Home is the smell of fresh brewed coffee before daybreak.

It’s the cold, slippery wood floors,

and sliding over them in layers of fuzzy socks.

It’s the chill of the worn leather couch.

Hummingbirds flying by the window.

Home is the sewing machine humming.

The sprinklers pattering against the window like rain,

as the dewy grass shimmers like glitter in the morning sun.

Each memory is like a blink.

Each so quick, but not complete. 

Poem: Memorable Goodbye


Memorable Goodbye

I fear to see the day when I say goodbye,

I fear to see the day when you might cry,

I fear to see the day when I leave all my friends behind,

I fear the day when I return and my friends have a different frame of mind,

I love the days when I see you smile,

I love the days when you ask if I can stay for a while,

I love the days when I can do nothing but laugh,

I love the days when we take that perfect photograph,

So while I’m scared to say goodbye,

And I beg you sincerely not to cry,

I leave this photograph to remember me by,

So that you can see time went by,

That photograph to remember where you were,

So that you can remember before life becomes a blur,

Remember the twilight night lights on the skyline,

And the breathtaking moments under the moon’s shine,

Remember me when I’m gone,

Those moments poetic as a black swan,

I’ll hold them dear to remember what matters,

And hope that it never shatters,

I’ll miss you all, it is all of you that matter.

Poem: “American Spirit”


“American Spirit”

We all began after cell division,
Eventually we would all gain our vision,
So one day we could make our decisions,
But that may be cut short by a gunman’s precision,
The younger voice being silenced,
But out and about are the unlicensed,
Seemingly only an American issue,
Seemingly deep in our nation’s tissue,
We live life tragedy to tragedy,
They say it’ll stop if we increase gun quantity,
“Take it from my cold dead hands” says the NRA,
But I ask “will I live long enough to get my MBA?”,
I getting tired of this argument,
Maybe we need new management, We act like ain’t nobody got the right answer,
They act like we’re trying to find the cure to cancer,
But with all the funds going to support cancer,
Sadie never had the option to grow up and be a dancer,
Let alone perform Swan Lake,
Get to see another damn birthday cake,
Never got to jokingly call her friend fake,
Never got to be with her mom and bake,
Seems We’re trying to replace God’s angels with an overwatch,
Counting gun after gun, more numbers than on my watch,
More numbers than the cost of my watch,
Sorry if I’m cynical,
It seems we reached a pinnacle,
But imagine what Little Vinny could do,
Imagine him in his costume on Halloween saying “Boo!”,
Y’all would probably freak and shoot him down too,
We’ve reached this sense paranoia, asking “what, where, and who!?”,
We have all become catatonic,
This issue seems to be very chronic,
“It is our American Spirit”, and I seem to fear it,
We all ask for help from Congress (Congruss),
But they are far from the heroes among us.

(Courtesy of BRANDON SAGLAM)

Blue and Orange



Hello blue and orange

looking down on me

Only able to see

The form of thee


With no eyes to judge

And no hands to grope

Looking up at the sky

I desire more than hope


With a tooth in grin

It’ll come to me

I hope to see

Who I will be


In the end will we meet?

Am I more than meat

To those above

Looking down on me?









Do you know what freedom means?





“The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.”

-Maya Angelou


I know why the player kneels

They kneel for freedom


I know why the person marches

They march for freedom


I know why the activists speak

They speak for freedom


I don’t know why the KKK marches

Do they march for freedom?


I don’t know why the president tweets

Does he tweet for freedom?


I know why I read

I read for freedom


I know why I speak up

I speak up for freedom

I know that my parents have immigrated

They immigrate for freedom


I know that everyone is not free

So we search for freedom.

A poem: Shoulders



Something magnificent catches my eye

Glistening in the distance

I am suddenly overwhelmed. Frozen.

It consumes me

I can no longer accumulate my thoughts.

I am fixated on them. They are beautiful, fascinating


I come back to my senses

How dare she expose these wicked assets

Something must be done. She must be defeated.

I cry for help

My heros dressed in vests and khakis arise in their golf carts

The defeaters of evil rush to approach the heinous offender

“excuse me miss…”

Just like that, the evil is defeated.

I regain strength and control of my mind once again