Tag Archives: visual art

Sonnet 1: Lost – Gary Kwong

When we seek everything that we have lost,
Back traveling to old, but finding new.
Not knowing if those steps were worth the cost,
So slowly did Time shift our precious view.

Thine eyes do fail to see thy fated wrath,
As if the unknown would be obsolete.
The pain of loss brought by the aftermath,
That lovely sight so quickly gone–so sweet.

O Time doth grow, till all we know is true;
What has been lost by you is lost no more.
Till this inconstant stay like changing hue,
When all is done, Time doth ensure…restore.

When all is found, thou shalt hold true indeed,
All is returned: no more the need for greed.

Gary Kwong
Hi, I’m Gary and this is my first full semester at CCSF, and I plan on obtaining a degree related to mathematics. I would like to thank David Hereford who helped edit this, as this was my final project for his high school Shakespeare course.

Doorway
Photography
Matt Luedke

Matt Luedke
Matt Luedke is pursuing a Creative Writing Certificate at CCSF. You can often find Matt either hiking, heading up a steep hill on his beloved sticker-covered hybrid bike in the easiest gear, or bundled up at one of SF’s cold beaches with a notebook and pen.

into salt again – Katie Seifert

the love I know has tasted salt-

let it seep into its wounds.

sting until the burn is the same as it’s always been

recognizable, mundane almost.

I fear I will become an immovable pillar of salt among the waves

forget home

cease to hear the drumbeat on the sand

become a woman who no longer needs a name,

just strong footing.

evaporate into the very body that is meant to carry me to comfort

become everywhere and nowhere

like salt amidst the tide

stinging when I mean only to collect myself and shelter another.

left with no one to hold me

with nothing to hold onto

there is no road

only water

everywhere water.

I’ve no proof of life here in the middle of the ocean.

It’s here

among the thieving current that threatens my hold on myself that I must remember

that the women in my family are born of water

dripping in blue and brine.

circling ourselves

rock

salt

pillar

dehydrate. rehydrate. rinse. repeat.

tread.
tread.
tread.

we allow men to claw for us

attempt to grab hold briefly

while we sink into murky waters unmoved.

unafraid

I know have always known,

none of us are never not alone.

but we need to scream into eyes that are not our own

if only to feel heard to feign togetherness for a time

I find myself tossing in blue

always coming back to it

restless on land-

swollen and writhing.

water rising

throat rising

readying the retch.

wretched release of dryness.

expulsion

I am nervous that to expel anything

is to expose everything.

keep my contents within

me all water and secret belly.

breakfast behind my eyes

trying to escape

turning indigo to the attuned watcher

but no one sees no one plays the right tune.

so my hazel changes tone and my voice doesn’t tremble when I lie

I am okay.

just can’t taste anything anymore-

need to add salt

Katie Seifert
Katie Seifert is an Oakland-based writer and artist looking for the truths between the things we say. Her art focuses on the intersection of the beautiful and untamed, with an emphasis on the masks women are forced to wear each day. Her visual work can be seen at https://www.evilkittydesign.com/.

Primrose
Ceramic and Acrylic
Nicole Bosiy

Nicole Bosiy
Nicole is a ceramic enthusiast from San Francisco. Her interest in art began as a child, and she began fully exploring ceramics in high school. Alongside art, she enjoys working with animals, crocheting, and writing.

RIOT – Henri Jacob

We wrote a letter after he died
We made t-shirts as memorial
We began a social media campaign
We asked the murders to take an eye exam
We called our neighbors and formed a cop watch

No one heard us
Our efforts muted

We grew restless
We saw red
We marched
We had a sit-in

Still

Nothing

We unified
We protested
We rioted

They heard us then

We were meet with the same force that took his life

       “We are here to keep the peace”

Is what they said
As they pointed their pieces in our face & yelled

RUN!

Henri Jacob
Henri Jacob is from Placerville, CA. Poetry found him at an early age but his work did not begin to truly flourish until he moved to San Francisco. Most of his poems are written in Alioto Park of the Mission District. He has published two chapbooks of poetry, Poesia Libre & Poetic Tremors.

Dr. Joy Degruy
Mixed Media
Chiara Di Martino


Chiara Di Martino
Chiara Di Martino was born on January 17 1987 in Rome, Italy, where she spent also most of her life. Her passions have always been Poetry, Literature, and Art. Growing up, she put her dream to be an artist or writer on hold, choosing instead to become a Psychologist. In 2015, she moved to San Francisco to study English. Along the way, she decided to open herself-up following her old dream, joining City College’s Design Department.

“Taking Sides” by Roberta Moore

My left foot is a perfectly fine 72-year-old foot, with slender toes, a slender ankle and a proportionately shaped calf. It has a low arch, but an arch nonetheless, so it can enjoy any shoe style. It is the best foot that I put forward.

Its counterpart has a completely fallen arch. So much so that it actually has developed a callus where the arch would be, if there was one. The arch fell down in 1980, when I picked up my sleeping infant from a playpen and saw stars. I had slipped a disc and pinched a nerve. I was in pain for a year. It was further injured a few years later during an unrelated surgical procedure when the lymph system was accidentally cut.

Because of the cut lymph system, the same poor right foot also became swollen ever after. The foot is flat, the toes are fat, the ankle is thick, and even the calf is out of shape. It cannot stand on tip-toes, run or jog. My daughter has always lovingly called it “Mommy pig foot.”

For several years, high heels worked better than flat shoes, because they actually held the arch up into position. Even though the feet would have liked to take a long walk once in a while wearing athletic shoes, they were both happy enough. Over the years, as the right foot falls more and more, balance becomes an issue, and they now need low, block-style heels. The left foot resents this restriction, as it has always enjoyed styling in high heels. If I had two left feet, perhaps I’d be a better dancer.

These feet of mine are a constant reminder of the dichotomy of life; mine anyway. I think I’m a prominently left-brained person; fairly organized and methodical. I wish I were right-brained though; more creative and freer.

Choice or decision? Choice is no reason, just choose. Decision is with reason. Left brain is decision, right brain is choice. Putting my left best foot forward makes me think that I’m holding something back besides my right foot. I fear that I’m blocking my creativity with my stubborn left brain, and ugly right foot.

I practice a daily writing exercise because I don’t trust myself to let my creativity flow however it will, without a metronome in 4/4 time.

Roberta Moore
This is my first submission to any publication. Audrey Ferber’s class in the OLAD program has changed my life from a political junkie to a creative writer. I am endlessly surprised at what comes out on the page as I discover my own voice.

AkinEV1.12
Relief Print
PABS

PABS
As a Philippine-born visual artist, I continue to explore concepts of identity and of home through the lens of the Filipino diaspora. My work draws from Western art history, Filipino and American cultures, post-colonial life, and pop culture.