News

Launch Party at Adobe Books

SO I know I said that I’d have this post up “soon”. A week is “soon”, right?

Anyway. We had some really great moments at the Launch Party. Many many many thanks to Adobe Books for being fabulous hosts. Thanks to the Forum Staff who came early to set up (and to Jeremy Williams, who organized the whole thing). Thanks to Jackie Davis-Martin and Saramanda Swigart for beautiful featured readings. And gigantic thanks to everyone who read, and everyone who came!

Look at all these beautiful, amazing human beings! I hope everyone who came left satisfied, and everyone who didn’t have a chance to come can come see us at the next event~!

Poetry: Like a Laser by Kerry Luna

Like a Laser

by Kerry Luna

I limp my way from a
Gimped-up Beat Bar
And find enough time
To spit on a Barbary Coast Plaque

“Like bronze cow-pies,” I blurt in
BOOZY defeat.
“Enlarged and flattened for la
touriste’s sake! Der BLECH!”

All ready, the aching
Knocks
On my frontal lobes

Like a broomstick neighbor
Hammering his hermit’s discontent
On the ceiling of his zoo cage
No escape but baying for peace

The sound of howling magical dragon heads
Still twirled in my psyche
Blue-Red-Blue-Red
Like the typical traveller’s trips and stumbles

Those noises I wished to drown
Like worms in the black hexagonal
Mausoleum of lawyer’s storms
Never wishing for repeals

My feet stumbled away from that
Dim little place of antlers and neon
My stomach ached like an old ship
Creaking and groaning at every strain

The hollering of other drunks
Eilled me to Posturpedic Tarmac
Car horns endlessly honking
For me to bury myself

Then, again, the pounding
Within my head returned

Within a few steps I
Was blasted with ultrashort
Pulses of light against
My hallowed, echoing chest

The little dull white
Rays of the welcomed attack
Eased my feet.
Her neighborly warmth arrested
My defeatist ills.
“You look like you need a cup of coffee.”

Kerry Luna is a graduate of English with a focus on Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in 2014 and is slowly set on getting published.

Forum Magazine Spring 2017 Launch Party!

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Forum Spring 2017 Launch Party

Adobe Books
3130 24th St, San Francisco, California 94110
May 24, 2017 from 6 PM – 8 PM
Free and open to the public!
Facebook

The CCSF Forum Magazine invites you to the Spring 2017 launch party. The night will have readings by contributors, local poets, and an open mic. Copies of our new spring issue will be available for purchase!

Forum Magazine is a student-produced publication of the City College of San Francisco which publishes quality non-fiction, fiction, poetry, and visual arts from across the Bay Area and beyond.

ANNOUNCING! Art and Fiction Contest, Forum 2017

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Forum, City College of San Francisco’s literary magazine, is holding two contests!

We’re looking for Visual Art and Fiction submissions– the winning submission will be published and the two winners will receive $50 each! All submissions will be considered for publication.

Submissions are due by Tuesday, February 21st 2017

Submission Guidelines can be found here

We are also looking for creative non-fiction, screenplays, interviews, poetry, and other literary work, so please feel free to submit your work!

CCSF’s Creative Writing Program Presents: Q.R. Hand

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Poetry Reading by Q.R. Hand

Rosenberg Library Room R305
February 21, 2017 12:40-2:00
Free and open to the public!

Q.R. Hand, Jr. Originally published in the 1968 classic, Black Fire: An Anthology of Afro American Writing, he is the author of three poetry books, i speak to the poet in manhow sweet it is and whose really blues, new & selected poems . He has recently been anthologized in The Outlaw Bible in American Poetry, An Eye For An Eye Makes the Whole World Blind, Poets on 9/11, and New American Underground Poetry.

This reading is being sponsored by the Concert and Lecture series as part of the African American History Month celebration.

Forum Online– Fall, 2016

We are pleased to announce the winners of the first annual writing contest!

Poetry: Gloria Keeley for her poem, “Billie”

Fiction: Chandler Vannasdall for his story “End of the Line”

Click for more poems, stories, and photos from our fantastic Fall, 2016 authors to the right–under Who We Are!

And the amazing photo above, “Fall,” is by Suzanne Notario.  More photos by her appear in the genre sections!   Suzanne’s  first photography course was in Fall 2013 at City College of San Francisco. She discovered a whole new world of creativity, and has been taking photography classes here ever since.

 

 

 

 The winning poem chosen by Cullen Bailey Burns

Billie

By Gloria Keeley

Thelonious played Black Crow

low and slow

strange fruit still echoes

blackened in the cold hard sun

night fell on

the slip knot of moon

color lines drawn on

the maps of trees

roots unaware

magnolias budded white

sway with the gentle breeze

music of washboards and harps

far from plantation mansions

in the backwater’s dark strut with

the taps of shoes

before the wolves hunt,

the black locusts buzz

gospel singers tune

their collective voices

the fruit gathered neatly

beneath the darkening shade

headed toward heaven

the horns blow Dixie

And the winning story chosen by Jackie Davis-Martin!

End of the Line

By Chandler Vannasdall

Rambert sits cross-legged near the back of a crowded city bus. He dreads the long commute home, because after this bus reaches its final destination, he still must catch two more crowded busses before he can rest. He takes tiny sips from his flask, hidden in his sleeve, in order to ease the stress of his workday. Rambert looks up from the newspaper he just struggled several minutes to fold in the perfect shape for reading the article he saved to read last.

While carefully observing the long dark smudges of ink on his left hand, he notices just beyond his focus sits an elderly lady. She is sitting with her arms crossed over her chest under a faded pink shawl, her mouth tightly pursed in a scowl, and her hair curled up like that of a dainty but dedicated 1940’s housewife.

Rambert stares at her and begins to imagine all the horrible discomfort and displeasure that this old woman must feel, cramped into the same mechanic cage as he is. He begins to imagine how she must be so disgusted by the harsh reality of the four young school boys, giggling, huddled around looking at nude photos of the same celebrities in the same teenaged TV shows they will undoubtedly watch with their siblings when they get home. He imagines how her soft ears are getting bombarded with brutal words. People forming phrases so profane, and so near her head that she is forced to imagine the kind of violence these young people speak about to one another as if commonplace. Rambert wishes he could kick everyone of these people off the bus for the way they are behaving in her elegant presence.

The bus clears out some, and Rambert now lowers his newspaper without reading the article he had saved previously, uncrosses his legs, and with a sharp exhale begins to carefully walk towards the front of the bus. He glances a little longer than normal at each disappointing group of millennials as he passes them, believing that if he could position himself nearer to the old woman and match her disapproving scowl he will be able to save her from the struggle of her commute.

He finds an empty seat and carefully slumps back down into the hard plastic seats as he takes another sip from his flask, and crosses his other leg. Rambert is now so dialed in on defending the honor of the lady now just a few seats away; he notices a very young couple standing a block away on the bus route. The couple is smoking the end of a joint and caressing one another with glazed over eyes, smoke stained fingers gliding through one another’s hair. Rambert now sees that the young man is covered in piercings and tattoos and the girl is not covered in very much at all, and he now wonders what the sweet old woman must be enduring. Her feeble arms suddenly unfold and he shares his disapproval of the couple’s demeanor, because Rambert knows that the elderly lady stuck on this circus of a bus would never have tolerated this kind of public behavior and never stood for this grotesque display of mutual disrespect if only she could even still stand on a moving bus.

The same young girl, although at this point in the ride there are many empty seats, sits on her boyfriends lap. Rambert stares coldly and starts to even feel embarrassed for the old woman and her honor, as the young man sticks his tongue down the throat of his girlfriends and slowly slides his hand up her shirt. The old woman’s pursed lips now fall agape, in the uncertain shock and disbelief that Rambert feels he fully shares with this woman by now, and uncrosses his legs to match her physical response.

The bus is now approaching the last leg of the long route out of town, and the last of the rotten and unforgivable proprietors of these so-deemed public atrocities exits the bus. Only Rambert, the old woman, and the insistently unbiased driver of the bus now share the silver space. With the departure of the deviants and the last sip of his flask, Rambert is now able to relax. He uncrosses his legs, stretches his arms, picks up the treasured article from his perfectly folded paper and his eyes slide across the gray page in the total silence of the once chaos-filled chrome coffin the two quietly endured for over an hour.

Rambert begins to pack up his briefcase and buttons his brown jacket, noticing the bus slowing to approach the first station in his travel. He stands and walks past the woman. As he is passing he leans his head down, smiles sincerely at his stranger-friend and nods his head. Rambert steps carefully onto the dark wet cement, lights a cigarette and begins to walk to his next bus stop six blocks south.

The old woman is still sat on the bus Rambert had left moments ago, and is not moving even one of her meek, little muscles despite the once silent bus driver now shouting “Everyone off!” for the third time to an otherwise empty bus. The driver, now in her full state of frustration, walks back to the woman and begins to nudge her right shoulder, still speaking loudly at her “Excuse me!“ the old woman now slumps over onto the linoleum floor as cold as her flesh, eyes wide, and mouth still stretched open, and the bus driver’s mouth finally opens as wide as the woman’s and screams.

The ambulance arrives in a storm of red steaming mist, matching the brake lights against the fog on the back of the bus. A young man in all white is sprinting up the steps of the bus, skipping half of them and leans down immediately to remove the woman’s pink shawl and examine her. With water in his eyes the young man glances up at the bus driver and now softly speaks through his teeth, “Dead…for three or four hours”. And Rambert removes his hat and steps carefully onto his second bus, crossing his legs in the dotted reflection of the next ride’s rear window.