This is what happens when you’ve been stuck in a rut so long: the rut gets stuck on you.
Category Archives: Photo Finish Friday
Photo finish Friday: “Root a Vega”
This is what happens when you’ve been stuck in a rut so long: the rut gets stuck on you.
Filed under 2015, photo by David E. Booker, Photo Finish Friday
Photo finish Friday: “Head’s down”
As far as I know, no actual lawyers were injured in the decapitation of this sign.
I just want to know who the injured party is in this case.
Filed under 2015, Photo by Beth Booker, Photo Finish Friday
Photo finish Friday: “Flower plea”
“Oh, please, don’t pick me.”
Flower plea
Oh, please, oh, please, don’t pick me.
There’s only a short life within me.
Leave me so others can see me.
Let me be so I can be me.
Come by as often as you like,
Be it in a car, on foot, or a trike.
I’ll be here for all to delight.
To pick me would leave only a blight.
I’m here for only a short while.
Let my bloom help others to smile.
Do not give in to temptation or denial
And leave nothing but a joy defiled.
Oh, please, oh, please, don’t pick me.
There’s only a short life within me.
Leave me so others can see me.
Let me be so I can be me.
–photo and poem by David E. Booker
Filed under 2015, photo by David E. Booker, Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
Photo finish Friday: “Weekend”
Whichever way the weekend blows, it can only be better than the week.
O’ Come Weekend
O’, come weekend, come on soon
the week’s been hell, been like a bassoon
played off-key and played next to my ear,
or a pipe clattering, trying to get clear
of the air trapped inside when the taps turned on
whopping and whopping like a bad song.
O’, come weekend, come on soon
the week’s been hell, been like a baboon
locked in a small cage, tossing poop and food
flashing its teeth – O’ it’s been in a mood.
So come on weekend, get your ass here.
I’ve had more than I can take. Am I being clear?!
–Photo and poem by David E. Booker
Photo finish Friday: “See your point”
The eyes have it.
New eyes
Oh, doc, give me new eyes
You know, like those of spies.
Ones I can see into anywhere
Even clean through your underwear.
Eyes that they used to advertise:
“For a dollar you’ll never be surprised.”
They were in all the comic books
Before comic books got their “adult look.”
Oh, doc, I want some new eyes.
In case you didn’t yet surmise
I seem to be bumping into things
And there’s no joy in what that brings.
The other day I bumped into a man
Who threatened to send me to a faraway land.
It is a place I’d prefer not to go
’cause if it freezes over nobody will know.
Oh, doc, can’t you see the mess I’m in?
All the beauty I’m missing, it’s a sin.
Pretty ladies keep passing me by.
They drop money in my cup and then sigh.
Some say they used to know me before
When their beauty I’d spot and adore.
They wonder if my eyes were put out
By a jealous lover’s punch round about.
Oh, doc, what else can I say
That will enlighten you about the way
That my life has gotten very small
Because I can see no one nor nothing at all.
I promise to keep my new glasses clean
And turn away should I see something obscene.
But I’m a lawyer so I hope you understand
“Obscene” depends on the law of the land
And like some crazy, quixotic Spaniards,
We of the law are still groping for a good standard.
–poem by David E. Booker
Filed under 2015, Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
Photo finish Friday: “Rusted truck”
The world as it might be.
Rusted truck
The day the world went mad.
The day we ran out of oil.
It was day just like this one,
A day full of madness and toil.
First there were high prices
Then rationing of the fuel.
The people decried that government
Was making them feel like a fool.
The army tried to quell the unrest
But it was no match for the madness.
Still the pain it inflicted
Spawned much hatred and sadness.
Then a great leader proclaimed:
“I can fix this issue.”
But all he had was graft and lies:
A house of cards and tissues.
Civilization ceased having meaning
Truth and justice went down the drain.
Militia’s came out, guns about
And that’s when the world went insane.
And to this day, no one can say
Who committed the bigger sin –
Those who started the dying now
Or those who failed back when.
Back when they had the chance to save
Some for the next generations,
They used it all up instead
As if it were their only libation.
I write this by dying fire light,
Scribbling on old yellow paper.
Some day you may still read it
Or it may have crumbled into vapor.
–photo and poem by David E. Booker
Photo finish Friday: “In a pickle”
The odd-shaped pickle.
I’m in a bit of a pickle.
I don’t know what to say
About this green sweet midget
I found just the other day.
Some say it looks like a mitten;
Others, a cactus gone awry.
I say it looks like a device
I’ve heard some give a try.
There is a pick up line
About nickel to tickle a pickle.
I say the shape of this one
Might just be the pickle tickle
As the holiday approaches
And Summer flows into the air
I want to solve this issue
So I can enter without a care.
If you have any idea
Of what this shape is about
Then please let me know
So I will no longer have any doubt.
A Vlasic classic?
–Photos and poem by David E. Booker
Photo finish Friday: “No place”
She clicked the heels together: one, two, three.
Kansas wasn’t what it once was, and neither was Dorothy. She even wondered if she had the ruby-red slippers she wore to get back home all those many decades ago. She couldn’t find them, but she found a pair of red shoes her granddaughter had accidentally left after visiting from Tennessee. Dorothy had meant to mail them back, but had never gotten around to it. Maybe they would do.
She slipped them on. Her old and slightly swollen feet were slightly too big for them, but she forced them in nonetheless and hobbled outside and up to the curb. It was noon. The sun was already beating heat into the earth as if each ray was a spike.
Dorothy stood with her feet as close together as possible, took a deep breath, and then coughed, her lungs suddenly filled with the fumes of a car speeding by. She inhaled again, steadied herself, and clicked the heels together three times, repeating the phrase: “This is no longer my home. This is no longer my home. This is no longer my home.”
It was only later, when some of the employees of the assisted living home where Dorothy had been staying started looking for her did they find the red shoes. But nobody made the link between that young Dorothy and this one who had simply walked off without her shoes.
“Happens more often than we care to think about,” one employee said when asked by the police.
Filed under 2015, Photo by Beth Booker, Photo Finish Friday
Photo finish Friday: “Hippo-naughty-ic”
Dirty Dancing in the wild.
Oh my
the hippopotami
have come to try
and drive me away.
I undressed
to my birthday best
to take my rest
on a hot day.
I did not know
it was no place to go
that I could not show
my full display.
I have caused unrest
put nature to the test
because I undressed
and tried to stay.
One big old brute
did not like my birthday suit
so I gave him the salute
and he huffed my way.
With no pants
I had little chance
to make a stance
or have my say.
I now must leave
but please don’t grieve
and don’t yet believe
I am human filet.
–poem by David E. Booker
Filed under 2015, Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
Photo finish Friday: “Wedding dress”
An unlucky dress?
Wedding dress
Wedding dress, wedding dress beside the road
In a plastic bag, story untold.
Was it for a marriage gone terribly bad?
Or was the bride free and very glad?
Was it tossed out in spite and anger?
Discarded maybe after he strangled her?
Was she elated to see him go
And she tossed it out just for show?
The button on the bag said it was “EASY”
Was it really or was it simply sleazy?
The dress in question raises questions galore
Some answers we know, for others we want more.
Abandoned in a bag with a red button on the side.
Filed under 2015, Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
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