Featuring the Best of Visual, Literary and Performing Arts.

They call me the Ratrunner, I've been here for quite a while now, In this sewer in New York City, It's full of rats here, They're dirty, nasty, stingy rats, A few of them probably have diseases, These rats, they are very hated by humankind, I am one of them. In fact, I'm the biggest, baddest rat here, Or so I would like to think. But the fact is, I'm just a human, Ostracized by society for being different, I came here some years ago, To this sewer in New York City, I was looking for a home, a place I could be unseen to the humans, And so I decided to settle when I found this place under busy New York. Once in a while, a human would catch sight of me and be scared out of his mind, But after long years of being seen and rumored about, I sort of became a legend Tales ...

I want a butterfly, mother, A beautiful one that follows me everywhere, When I go to the park, it'll fly after me and protect me from all the bad things in the woods, I want a bumblebee, mother, A nice little one that will follow me everywhere, When I go to the garden, it'll fly after me and protect me from all the bad things in this world, I want a turtle, mother, A hard-shelled one that will follow me everywhere, When I go to the lake, it'll swim after me and protect me from all the bad things in the waters, I want a frog, mother, A majestic green one that follows me everywhere, When I visit the ponds, it'll hop after me and protect me from all the bad things in the swamps, I want a phoenix, mother, A fiery one that will follow me everywhere, When I visit my dreams, ...

Rap isn't gibberish, it's a form of art, Poetry of the streets, they call it, It's a way of expressing oneself, Rap's not about guns or girls, Flying bullets or gangsters with mullet cuts, It's about letting your emotions flow, Pouring your heart into the beats and lyrics, Letting the music be your voice, Rap's about making a choice between life and death, It's about the strifes growing up in an indifferent world, It shows the courage of a human to fight against the odds and succeed, It's about the seeds planted for the future, Rap shows there's a cure to even poverty, There's a way to end the misery if you just believe And allow the lyrics to flow for themselves, It shows the stealth of a race to fight for hope, It's not just about dope or 'shrooms or coke, Rap's more like a window into the souls of those still in suffering, It's the only ...

There's no such thing as Red-bridge, you fools. You've all just been tricked by the evil witch who wishes you ill, I, for one, do not believe in such a place, Even if you walk for ages, you still won't get there! It's just ridiculous, to believe in such raucousness, You old people are like little children, Believing every single thing you're told, It hurts, I know, When you find out the truth, Red-bridge is just a tale told to comfort the weak in times of hardship, There's no such thing as a place where there's no pain and suffering, The little witch just wants you all to die, But I shall save you, fools, Do not walk that road or you'll regret it, I shouldn't be saving such pathetic people, But I'm a good guy, I know, You'll thank me later for saving you, From that evil witch who wishes you all dead.

There's a road somewhere, A tiny road that leads to Red-bridge, On it are many travelers, carrying many belongings, They're headed to Red-Bridge, The wind is gentle on this road, The sun is warm and the skies are at rest, The travelers are quite content, And when it begins to darken, And all seems to be put into the world of shadows, The moon comes out and lightens their path, The stars smile upon them, They'll guide them when there's no other source of light, Because the Road to Red-bridge is long and arduous, ... They've been walking for quite a while now, the travelers, A generation has passed, The sun's flare is much hotter now, The wind isn't as gentle, and the skies seem to coil with anger, The road to Red-bridge no longer seems content, When nighttime comes, the path to Red-bridge darkens, And the travelers can only sense where they're going now, The moon refuses to come out, ...

I still Remember that sorrowful Monday... The last words we Shared, I regarded them with a light attitude As if we'd see each other the Next Day, Though Knowing - That might be the Last Time I stand in your Presence. Will I start to forget You as I continue Moving On? Will someone else Replace your spot? The returning Memories give me Hope. Yet impossible Dreams are sad And I Cry Knowing their limits

Intelligence sources have confirmed that Russia has built a self-activating doomsday device that cannot be destroyed. America and her allies live in constant fear of a preemptive strike from the USSR, and Russia is constantly beleaguered by the American B-52 bombers all situated 200 miles within striking distance of their targets (Dirks). Compute this all, and it equates to a world in peril. This is the reality portrayed in Doctor Strangelove. The two superpowers vying for ultimate power within the world will use any means necessary to achieve their ends, even if it means putting everything else at risk. The tensions are high, the people are worried, and the leaders are in constant fear; a false alarm, a technical malfunction, a disorderly chain of command—any of this could potentially trigger a nuclear war between the United States and Russia. Doctor ...

Dreamtime, the word, or should I say, the sentiment that it carries, still resonates in me each time it comes to mind, like a gust of wind chimes tinkling through a forlorn evening, or the celestial sound of a flute whistling across the lavender sky. It brings to mind a mystical period in time of blooming flowers and floating rainbows, a time of creation. The Aborigines of Australia greatly revere Dreamtime and believe it to be the birth of existence, and they express this reverence through a ceremony dubbed “Corroboree.” As I set foot on the northern islands of Australia, native home to many Aboriginal tribes, the atmosphere around me tenses, not because of anxiety, or fear, or uncertainty…but because of the mystical aura that engulfed me; an aura that grabs you by the collar and thrusts you into a ...

If given a thousand lifetimes, I would choose to spend them all with you, Even after the many millenniums have passed, I'd still be waiting at the water's edge, Where the seemingly green grass is crying through twilight. As the wind howls ceaselessly through the night... My heart whispers the unforgotten memories...Of you and me, Now turning into a love story. I wish to relive the days, With you by my side. Together, we ride the tides of affection, High into the sea of love... Text_JINHEE

Throwing Everything Away Making Everything You Own Take Off Like A Blue Jay To Force Everything You Cherish And Love Fade Forever Just Like A Bird And It's Fallen Feather Killing Your Body And Your Soul Just So Others Can Have Things In Their Bowl A Decision That Comes Deep From The Heart That Tears Everything You Had And Dreamed Of Apart Text_ANONYMOUS

A disappointing fate deals the card of an ironic life. An irony that comes with a smile, A smile of which is upside down, accompanied by tears. A life where everything held dear is meant to be broken, For the amazing love once felt now escapades its way out, Trailing behind it a presence of remembrance, A sense of mesmerization in time. Immunity is now a fleeting object. The words, "It'll be okay," is now simply a far-fetched dream, One to which is so superfluous, so redundant, I now know it was a dream from that of naivety. Because a cup once full, pieced together does not attain. For fate gives no comprehension, no explanation. It employs no warning nor forethought, Attains no emotion nor logic, It does not reward nor punish accordingly, For fate is merely a randomization to which has no control itself. Text_NGOC-NHI PHAN

The sun is slowly rising, The sea is sadly singing, The birds are anxiously chirping, And I’m sitting there watching, As the world takes on a new fashion, And America takes on a new passion, As a nation we are moving on, Labeling what’s behind us as gone, And what’s in front of us as beyond, The human imagination, A creation of fascination, A nation of weapons of mass destruction, A time indefinite to reconstruction, All notions conceived as irrelevant deductions, Nuclear weapon’s our seduction, Where there is trepidation, America’s there to ease the apprehension, Where there is rising tension, With the mention of goods, America’s there ready to trade blood, No matter what the cost may be, We’re always ready to defend liberty…liberty. Text_ANONYMOUS

It's raining in my heart. The tears won’t stop tonight. In the end we both left each other behind. Two pride enveloped fools. It's like the short lived, forgotten memories, You last left behind for me. Like forever - I am missing you The world without you will be full of darkness. Many times I wished it was all just a dream. Day by day I live expressionless. Though I want to see you I’m afraid of what will happen. The reason I can’t meet you, Is because I don’t want to hear your goodbye Don’t cry anymore, These days you’re always so sad, Are words said so often now. But don’t you know? The heart cries even more with separation. Your playful eyes, That were covered with tears of your own because of me… Even that about you is so sweet. I can’t bare it if in the future its, Someone else wiping your tears. I love you. You’re unforgettable. Your scent from ...

I suddenly think of you when the leaves begin to change color, Autumn is here, the stars are beginning to disappear, shying away under the gathering clouds, An army of dismay is marching through a world already in despair, Where have you gone, when the rays of hope have stopped shining, The silver breezes of wind are beginning to push against the gusty moon, And the twinkling trees are deflecting images of the swaying stars, Autumn is here…where are you. The summer sun evades the final moments of demise, My love rises high in the twilight sky, Like the heavenly ball of fire ready to elude the torrent of rain, Only to fall into an abyss of darkness, darkness, darkness.. Darkness carries me into another world, another world, I am there, and you are there, and no one else is there, Twigs crackle with each footstep we take, Leaves ...

The deceitful summer tricks the trees, roots, and animals into momentary prosperity. Later, leaves yellow, then leap from trees in a tumbling lamentation at green's going off. Winter pales and shrouds the gladiolas from witnessing spring's demise. Twilight mourns the bright, babe of morn with a black cloak. Yet the moon remains hopeful, bearing a light in hopes of a Lazarus effect. Curious stars come out to see what foolishness the moon reflects. Lo, the sun lays on a catafalque below the horizon, a deceptive tomb. Meteors streak about in desperation to lend luster to the commotion. They too burn out. Then the stars, one by one, take their candles elsewhere. Still the moon radiates faith in the day, that it might rise like a crane in the East. None understand this steadfast paraclete making only a muted, creamy stain in the dark. A celestial body might stave off pending doom, ...

His dark, sleepless eyes squinted against the sunlit horizon as he softly gasped for air. Each breath of the filthy forest oxygen he inhaled caused his stomach to quiver, but he seemed indifferent to it. The intense summer sun smoldered the diamond-cut sword against his thigh, but he could not move for fear of being noticed. A flash of motion caught his attention, and he cautiously reached for the hilt of his blade, his eyes flickering back and forth. His enemies were bound to find him, he thought. The plausibility of a safe escape was next to impossible. He softly gulped and took a small step to his right, entering deeper into the forest. Dry leaves crackled with each pace he took. Sensing another movement, he halted and positioned himself against a thick, old tree, hoping against hope that the ...

After reading “Once More to the Lake,” I noticed E. B. White’s adverse perspective towards new inventions and changes. “Peace and goodness and jollity. The only thing that was wrong now, really, was the sound of the place, an unfamiliar nervous sound of the outboard motors,” emphasizing his hatred towards technological improvements. Further supporting his point, he added “But now the campers all had outboards. In the daytime, in the hot mornings, these motors made a petulant, irritable sound; at night in the still evening when the afterglow lit the water, they whined about one’s ears like mosquitoes.” He seems to dislike new things. I have to say, I don’t share his thought pattern and mind set. Technology has been changing our lives every second time passes. Without technology, we would be far behind even compared to the Dark Ages. The ...

A speck of snow slowly descends from the sad sky, gracefully landing on a mound created by others before it. A brief breeze carries the next set of snow off course, and a new mound is generated. I sit by the crackling fireplace anticipating a day’s fun outside. Closing my eyes, I imagine all the exciting activities my friends and I would soon do, from making snowmen to sliding down steep hills. My heart hammers with hope and happiness. After a moment of fantasy, I gradually open my eyes, expecting to see more snow swiftly swirling from the sky, but to my disappointment, it has lessened. My heart whimpers. I frown and rush to the window, hoping against hope that my eyes have failed me, but no. The snow has ceased to descend, and my spirits continue further down the ...

Nostalgic Green, the color of youth and hope, Deflecting images of the past into the future, Mounds of history covered in green, burnt to ashes, Oceans of fire burning the flames of hope, Against the emerald past, Pushing the future towards nostalgia… Looking back at the good old days, Too far to remember, too close to forget, But the color remains as the world moves on… Through the supernovas of creation, Through the flames and ashes of oblivion, Nostalgic Green lives through it all, After the ages of dinosaur domination, After the ages of human in habitation, And beyond the creation of imagination, The emerald past remains… And the green future thrives, When time destroys all… From one race to another, We all coexist with the color of nostalgia… Looking ahead, the mounds of history Waiting to be uncovered, covered in green, Inspiring images of yesterday to live in today’s reality, Reality in a world surrounded by green, nostalgic green.

You can hear a round of applause, When a gallant American soldier falls, Deep down the dark halls, The applause amplifies as time stalls, Everything is quiet and still, Even in the midst of a painful shrill, Even in the Midst of someone being killed, You can still hear the thrill, Screaming and yelling so loud, Each one saying, "I’m so proud," I sit there and I’m like wow, Look at the time now, somehow, We have been here for a hundred years, While American Soldiers are out there shedding tears, But do not fear, Because they're fighting for freedom's sake, dears, So do not shed any tears, The end is near; look it's almost here, But when is almost, someone asks, Almost is almost, was the reply, Almost is when we can no longer try, When man can no longer cry, When we can no longer ask why, Almost is when we can only sit and sigh, When ...