Viewfindings 1+1<2

Viewfindings: 1 + 1 > 2

VIEWFINDINGS: 1 + 1 > 2 A PHOTOPOETRY COLLABORATION May 2021

Viewfindings: 1 + 1 > 2 represents a collaboration between David Oxton’s 26 Photo 1 students and Anna Finch’s 26 Sophomore English students. While the viewer may appreciate the paired photo and poem individually, considered together these works combine to blossom into an additional aesthetic experience where the whole becomes greater than the sum of its parts.

front cover photograph: Dominique Newell back cover photograph: Daniela Hamel

Photo by Elaine Ma

Brick Walls Katie Robey We were running.

We were running, and running, faster than anyone had run before.

And then we weren’t.

The concrete blocks reached out their hands, rested them gently on our shoulders to halt us.

So gentle we must not had noticed because our legs never slowed down.

We kept running even faster than before, but the heavy bricks stood in our way and we hadn’t even noticed.

Photo by Ted Justicz

Dead End Holden Symonds What does a dead end represent?

Could it be the eternal ending, Or the new beginning?

I believe it blossoms, Representing the start of something new Branching out Into beautiful roads Filled with memories, Good and bad Houses, filled with love and laughter A new beginning

Photo by Aidan O’Connor

Steps Forward Sadie Gearan Turning the page.

Closing the cover.

From here on is a new story I avidly begin to write.

Dark shadows disappear behind, For that is who I used to be Not who I want to be.

Unpredictable, yet Promising.

The future lies ahead As I take steps forward.

Photo by Bradley Byrne

Prints Albert Niu Folks in the academy say it is sentient.

It is the sentinel Of the woods.

But it seemed serene and still, slightly swinging to the serenade of the wind.

That’s why the young man ventured in Without hesitation.

He strided, printing his mark On the wet earth below.

Folks in the academy came looking for him, But he was already gone.

Half a footprint was found, barely distinguishable From the wet earth below.

The tides were cleansing, Wiping the last evidence of existence Of this feeble flesh In the world of leaves and thorns.

Folks mourned But they say: “he was warned.”

Many winters later Some folks returned Only to find debris and ruins at the bottom of the marsh.

They were the last bit of The academy’s print On this wild wild land.

The marsh seemed tantalizing, as it tangoed To the triumphant tune of the wind.

Photo by Christian Carretero

Standing Out Seti Capelli Lined up along the busy street, Houses stand side by side, feet by feet.

As people drive by, or walk by the busy road, Their eyes are drawn to the pretty home.

A purple house standing out amongst the others, Attracts the eye of people walking by.

They stop and admire for a moment, Building up a sense of adorement.

The purple house is so unique That everyone has to come and see.

Be the purple house on that busy street.

You see?

Photo by Daniela Hamel

The Angel Tianyi Shen A green snake Had slithered through her organs Sissling. Whispering Of unheard names, of coral acapellas Within her reign that the conductor forbade.

Faithfuls belonged in Harmonized hymns. Rest while you're still sane.

And so the angels came.

Photo by Dominique Newell

Looking Towards the Light Sofia Colden Gray world, solid, harsh Dancing through the storm with joy Alive and grateful

Photo by Hanna Freund

Stairs Sid Gaonkar Stained and rusted metal bars line the path I must walk One mistake leads to another, and the stairs creak and crumble The eerie and dank darkness below is like an abyss with no end Step by step, I fall lower and lower into the darkness below “How did I get here?”

Like a black hole, I gravitate toward the never-ending darkness.

I look around, and nothing remains.

My pockets are empty; my jacket is gone The land I walk is no longer material I push and push through the syrup of darkness Its thick tendrils wrapping around me like chains on an animal My legs buckle under its immense weight My lungs choke on the thick and heavy air which exists down here This is the end My final step into the darkness I am at the bottom of the stairs, and there is nowhere to go.

Photo by Jonathan Keefe

Shadowy Feelings Jonathan Keefe Light during the night Silhouette casted upon To be watched with fright

Photo by Kaleb McClain

The Digital Devil Max Lacroix Seconds amount to minutes, Minutes mature to hours, Hours grow to days, Days progress to years.

In the flash of a photo, Our lives have passed us bye.

Leaving us forever forgotten, As we sulk in regretful sorrow.

Just a few minutes every day, Leads us closer to our fate: Enslaved by the digital devil.

A friend turned foe.

He once brought us together, But with every passing second, Unwittingly tears us apart.

Talking turned to texting.

Emotion evolved to emojis.

Everything that makes us human, Is being taken by technology.

The buzz of a silenced device, Sings out like shackles scratching The depths of our soul.

As we crawl to the call of our master.

The digital devil.

Photo by Kate MacKeen

Sunrise Sophia Matherly Nothing says new like a sunrise New day New beginning A treasured moment You can not know What the day will bring You can just take a moment To put everything aside To sit and watch The sun rise

Photo by Lauren Brown

Ma, Siblings, And I — Poema Para Pariente Xan Argueta Your DNA mine Love: infinite polymer You, Me and Them Two Tu ADN Polímero de amor Tu, Yo, Ellos Dos

Photo by Lily Alibrandi

Worst Enemy Lindsey Brown

I'm only knocked down Not lifted up, as If everyone wants to see me fail.

Left behind in the darkness, Fighting to get to the light ahead.

Life spinning Ever changing Never stopping, like The world revolving around the sun.

Unable to catch a break, My mind becomes as delicate as glass, Able to shatter at any moment.

In desperate need to escape my reality, whilst The worries and stress engulf my mind, I find myself not being able to breathe, with My mind as my worst enemy.

Photo by Madeline McCormick

Almost Empty Harbor Danny Webster One-hundred blue buoys Floating boat with no captain Ripple filled harbor --The last standing boat The cold freeze of a breeze blows Winter is brewing

Photo by Maura Fiorenza

A Crack But A Canyon Gian Perullo Separated down the middle Tilted just a little Behind the trees Near the pond Around some leaves and all I sit and ponder but do not wander Together tall and proud Now I slumber down and down No longer have I a purpose Slip n’ slip out A canyon down my middle Not sure why I’m still around The beauty yes that’s how.

Photo by Natalie Garcia

In The Wings, Waiting…

Natalia Rai You raise your feathers But I'm in the wings Dance and dangle for the cosmos Light ups, cameras on Synthetics no longer synthetic when stardust tickles my nose An old feeling I can't seem to disclose Retreat like the sun in orbit But I’m standing way too close Bend and shake in the melody of light Feel to heal until I get the punchline I've been told of diamonds in my air But I've been cut and buffed and still got no shine Have I been leached? Bleached?

Waiting for a rewrite, to satisfy my hungry appetite.

Fall, fall, let gravity carry us all But she waits, remnant until a postdate Role call for dancer number forty-two She knocked on his door twenty-two times or more.

Light Will move through The prism of my organs Not shining with the colors of the sky or sun I radiate all the hues you have yet to outrun.

Photo by Neel Metlapalli

Twilight Neel Metlapalli Sunshine Leaping In A Beautiful Calm Sunset Enjoying The Peace

Daybreak Neel Metlapalli Darken Summertime A Golden Peaceful Sunrise Waking Up The World

Photo by Olivia Crisafi

My Little Playhouse Katie Prinn That was my favorite place to be.

Now it just sits there

I would have tea parties

Unused and worn down.

With my mermaid and fairy friends,

The vines that grew around it

Where I sat at the head of the table

Keeping all my memories inside.

In my princess throne chair.

A reminder of my childhood days

I would talk to animals nearby,

That are so far gone now.

And climb aboard my pirate ship

My throne has been replaced

To go find some hidden treasure.

With a desk chair in an office,

Back when my only worry

And my tea parties are now meetings

Was when my mom would call me in for dinner.

That are definitely not as fun.

As I got older

The adult life I dreamed of

I used the playhouse less and less.

Was not as easy as it seemed.

As my world was filled with more and more stress.

And now I think about how simple life was

I was too old to be playing imaginary games,

When my little playhouse

And so my little playhouse wore away.

Was my favorite place to be.

Photo by Riley Lord

Illuminated Colin Henkes Sun shines through the trees Bringing new light into view That some spots still lack

Photo by Ryan Rudnick

Late Nights Juriah Asberry Rubbing the weariness out of my eyes Computer screen wearing me down Just another one of those late nights Sometimes I wonder what this is all for Is the dread truly worth it Just another one of those late nights For my future?

For my success?

Just another one of those late nights Maybe I should just close my laptop Maybe I should just head upstairs Just another one of those late nights My lack of sleep is catching up to me But I press on Just another one of those late nights.

Photo by Tatum Stickney

The Sparkle in Life Anique St Laurent Stars The glitter of light in our souls Stars The secret key to your destiny Stars Endless white sparks of imaginations Stars The hope that glistens through our dreams The shooting star Fireworks of light exploding our souls

Photo by Tiffany Touchette

The Point of Entity Xavier Copeland At what point is life worth living?

When you are at the bottom of nothingness.

With no potential or parentals.

They say it’s only up from here.

But I don’t know how to jump.

While there is a ton on my back.

I don’t know how to get up.

My life is soiled and pitiful by many.

With no future is there worth living.

They laugh at me and see me like scum.

They laugh at me like I wasn’t like them at one point.

They left me and I still can’t get right.

I have few things that give me joy in this world but it’s starting to fade away.

I lost it all with nothing to live for.

All I wish is to give joy to all.

I never want anyone to endure this everlasting misery.

I wish I could go back to when I was a little boy.

The little boy that was in my mom’s arms crying because I scraped my knee riding a bike.

To the little boy that thought that the day would never end playing outside till the dark.

To the boy that thought my parents would always be there through eternity.

To the boy that thought that math homework would be the hardest thing that I endure.

To the boy that thought that growing up was gonna be the greatest thing ever.

I was sadly mistaken.

Without a doubt, my darkest days have blossomed into reality.

With no way out at what point is it worth living?

Photo by Ty Walsh

The Road With No End Patrick Manswell Walking along this road, looking for what comes next As the light fades into the darkness Trees blowing in the breeze.

Step after step, feeling the asphalt Under my feet. No thoughts in my head The first sight besides trees, THE MARSH Strong horrid scent, but beautiful view The combination of the two Rendering my senses useless Thinking about what could come next

Photo by Sophie Glynn

An Illness Liv Hammer The opaque walls surround me, Finally, I escaped the glow of the screens, But, I am still imprisoned.

My mind is penetrated by facetious remarks, I own feelings of dejection accompanied by despondency, Words slowly deteriorate and erode my once happy soul, They leave marks, wounds, and scars.

I have tear-stained skin, My mouth trembles, I fiddle my fingers, Every sign of instability, It is an illness.

Highschool, middle school, It is all the same, Rumors and nicknames follow us everywhere, Like a shadow.

Photo by Xan Argueta

Still Life Jiarong “Lotus” Li My eyes are red and my blood is red, inscribed in me are golden definitions in gothic letters, despite the youth, the never-fading, never-perishing youth, crowned and crucified by charcoal-colored needles pierced and piercing through the hidden, silver, tarnished, caustic, liquid, reflecting, muted, bitter, screaming, dark thing that stifles and surrounds me. Pieces of wood scratch on each other to prove their existence, and vain is the pain. And as we become skin to skin, revealing a naked unintact heart, my bare shell, my body, and my eyes do not see the red. My blood is not red.