Amazing Art in the City
By Tatyana Dobay

Beep Beep the taxi's talk
Whoosh whoosh the wind blows
Click clack the people walk
Squeak the subway goes
The city so loud
Brightness fills your eyes
Anywhere you decide to go you push through a crowd
Looking at the building your head will rise
Cars and taxis with no time to wait
Always rushing to get to where they need to go, not seeming to witty
So make your leave five minutes early for your date
Cause there's no time to wait in the big city

Clock Melting Clocks by Rachel Macmann

I'm melting.

Time is running out.

My big hand has slowed

My hour hand has broken down completely.

Half of me lays here, the other half trickles off the edge of the block I rest upon.

My gold frame liquidates

My glass case liquidates

My numbers slide through the goo that was once my strong body.

I see the silver clock

As he, too, melts away into nothing,

Flimsy and broken as he sits on the branch beside me

Looking like nothing more than a pancake.

Another falls over an old, unwanted blanket

Her platinum circle dripping onto the sand of the beach,

Her hands melting into nothing

And she no longer is able to tick-tock or keep time.

Our time to keep time has timed out

And we are now nothing more than melting clocks melting.

The Beauty of Night by Kelly Young

The town right below,
does not know of the beauty;
the beauty of night.

The cool wind travels,
like waves crashing to the shore
continuously.

The stars hovering,
like angels over the town,
brightening the night.

Alone to the right,
stands the moon watching over
the sleeping children.

The church stands tall,
its point facing the black sky;
all the town's center.

The trees act as guards,
protecting the citizens
from evils of night.

All is safe and sound,
no reasons to fear the dark.
Everything is calm.

The town right below,
does not know of the beauty;
the beauty of night.

Within by Mary Campbell

I want to create
Something no one understands
That holds a meaning
That anyone can structure
By their personal opinion.

They will search for hours
For what's lying within
And when they conclude
What they think it really means
They won't be settled for now.

It will make people
Look and it will engross them
Whit the colors and
The techniques I have mastered
They will look for what's within.

My Last Dilemma

Original work and translation by Laysa Bulhões

No quadro eu pinto o que é dificil expressar
O que não consigo identificar
Suas palavras eu tento entender
Mas com seus atos, só consigo sofrer
Minhas lagrimas se secam sozinhas
Porque você não se importa
Um homen que já não conheço mais
Agora me perguntas, “Qual é o problema?”
É você, meu primeiro amor
Me último dilema


On the canvas I paint what it's hard to express
What I can't identify
Your words, I try to understand
Your actions, only make me ache
My tear dry by themselves
Because of your neglect
A man who I no longer know
Now asks, “What's your problem?”
It is you, my first love
My last dilemma

A Story of Love

Original work and translation by Anna Eliza Pereira


Não sei usar uma expressão
E as palavra se perdem na trauçãu
Estão tão perto e me sinto tão longe
De onde guia o coracao

As palavras diminuem o que eu sinto
Não sei qual é o meu destino
Como o mundo, minha cabeça dá voltas
Como o vento, a emoção não volta

A lua me levará
A um caminho que se realizará
Um sonho do coração
Uma história de paixão



I am out of expressions
The words are lost in translation
I am so close, but feel very far
To where the heart guides

Words diminish my feelings
I don't know what my destiny is
Like the world, my head is spinning
Like the wind, my emotions come and go

The moon will take me
To a road which will fulfill
A dream from the heart
A story of love

The Game of War

by Dan King

To play MW3 or not to play MW3--that is the question:
Whether 'ti nobler in the mind of suffer
The bullets and grenades of tormenting twelve year-olds
Or to take the controller and mic against Elder Scrolls V,
and by playing, enjoy it. To deathmatch--to lag--
No more; and my campaign we do away with
Makarov, and the world war he left
That the earth is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly praised by many. To spawn, to die--
To spawn--perchance to get a killstreak, aye, there's the fun.
For in that game of war what chances may come,
When we turn the corner to the other team,
Shall frighten us. There's the killcam
That make disgrace of so good a player.
For who would bear the kills and airstrikes of newbs,
Th' newbs' idiocy, the pro's frustration
The pangs of despised teammates, the lag's delay
The inaudible voice of the child, and attempts to mute.
The lacking merit of th' underage child
When he himself might be made of of,
quit and lag the entire game? Who would play?
To spawn in die under a weary cycle
But that dread of a different game,
The undiscovered controls from which,
No one truly understands, puzzles the mind
And makes us rather bear the ills of COD
Than to the others that we know not of?
Thus, COD does make cowards of us all,
Our natural curiosity only extending to MW4,
And enterprises with great games and fun,
Ignore their games and turn awry.
And lose the name of gaming.