Arts & Culture

My feet pound a solemn heartbeat

Each step a heavy smear on the ground

Pulling myself down the orange hill

Painted by the lamps lurching above

Dandelions emitting a fuzzy hum into the still air

I am a pendulum

I rock back and forth to a lullaby ticking down the seconds I have left to live

Too little time to make something of myself but enough time to ignite my curiosity

Neon light paints the lofty night.

Romance crystallizes the murmuring breeze.

November shower arrives on the shores and

whispers on the ears of unholy graffitis.

Echoes of rhythmic clubs and million ambitions

It is 4 a.m. in San Francisco.

Deep night overwhelms the emptiness.

I would like to stay in this dark forever.

I feel safe here —

no one knows my skin,

no one knows my religion,

My first introduction to music was my Mom. Growing up we would always listen and sing along as she played through her repertoire, anything from classical piano to Ray Charles to the Yiddish folk songs she grew up with.

I grew up in the San Diego area. From a young age I was interested in the arts and in poetry. I studied fine arts in high school where I was exposed to drawing, painting, printmaking, fiber arts, ceramics and metal work.

Rushing over to Cole Hall after the end of a small group meeting in the library, I was initially feeling a little cranky.

It all started with some blank cards (28 to be exact), a trusty old gel pen, some watercolors, and a challenge.

About these pieces: Part of a pastiche of The Humument by Tom Phillips, these pages were altered from a 1932 copy of A Shropshire Lad by A. E. Housman, found in one of many collections of “Free Books.” Sometimes I feel a bit intimidated by a blank page or canvas, so this was a great exercise to just play with whatever was originally on the page.

Poetry for me is a way to retrospectively mine meaning out of seemingly-significant moments in my life.