Big Love Bus
On a cold winter’s day
what can I say?
Take the Big Love Bus.
During a gray, rainy snap
put on your raincoat and cap
and ride the Big Love Bus.
Tell it where to go.
Sit back and enjoy the show
on the Big Love Bus.
Even if the sun should shine
the ride will still be fine
on the Big Love Bus.
The 1970s didn’t die, they got bussed down memory lane.
Filed under photo, Photo by author
[Editor’s note: we interrupt the regularly scheduled Haiku to you to present this bit of rhyming poetry for the new year.]
by David E. Booker
New Year’s Eve and me
Aggrieved I must be
Because you won’t hear my plea
And let me be free.
Be free on this last day
This last day I must here stay
Trying to “make hay”
While others are out to play
Out to play and party
I must be here and be not tardy
I must work and be not lardy.
O’ why am I so dumb and not a smarty?
Not a smarty and be not free
Not free and here I must be
Must be here, being me,
Being me, being me, o’ woe is me
The not-so-life of the not-free party.
Filed under poetry by author
With one year about to close and another about to open, writers often make lists of what they want to accomplish the coming year: finish that novel, publish 10 short stories, win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Things like that. Below is a list that might help you in another way. That way is a list of tips for staying creative. Not sure where I picked this up, but I thought I would pass it along. Happy New Year and good luck with your writing.
List not all-inclusive, but it might help in the coming year. It’s a new year, make your own.
Filed under Writing Tip Wednesday
Lift that noun. Tote that verb.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Their three kids, all successful, agreed to a Sunday dinner in their honor.
“Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad,” gushed Son No. 1. “Sorry I’m running late. I had an emergency at the hospital with a patient, you know how it is, and I didn’t have time to get you a gift.”
“Not to worry,” said the father. “Important thing is we’re all together today.”
Son No. 2 arrived. “You and Mom look great, Dad. I just flew in from LA between depositions and didn’t have time to shop for you.”
“It’s nothing,” said the father. “We’re glad you were able to come.”
Just then the daughter arrived. “Hello and happy anniversary! Sorry, but my boss is sending me out of town and I was really busy packing so I didn’t have time to get you anything.”
After they had finished dessert, the father said, “There’s something your mother and I have wanted to tell you for a long time. You see, we were really poor, but we managed to send each of you to college. Through the years your mother and I knew we loved each other very much, but we just never found the time to get married.”
The three children gasped and said, “WHAT? You mean we’re bastards?”
“Yep”, said the father, “Cheap ones too.”
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
by David E. Booker
I throw up for no good reason:
any time and any season.
A piece of lint is in the air.
It floated up from my underwear.
It is there now; it frightened me.
I’ll either throw up or go pee pee.
I can see now my sensitive ways
cause my parents problems many days.
When we travel for hours in a car
they have wonder just how far
we can go before I begin
to say, “I’m sensitive to throwing up again.”
I take a deep breath and feel the bile.
Has it only been a little while?
My older brother sits next to me.
He hopes I’ll hurl on my DVD.
We still have many miles to go
but I don’t have that much self-control.
A bug goes SPLAT against the window.
I can feel my tummy start to billow.
That bug’s guts are the color
of what I’ll throw up from my supper.
I throw up for no good reason:
any time and any season.
Even when I feel I’m okay,
my stomach throws up just like I say.
Filed under poetry by author
Flannery O'Connor: Friends Don't Let Friends Read Ayn Rand (1960) | Open Culture.
In a letter dated May 31, 1960, Flannery O’Connor, the author best known for her classic story, “A Good Man is Hard to Find” (listen to her read the story here) penned a letter to her friend, the playwright Maryat Lee. It begins rather abruptly, likely because it’s responding to something Maryat said in a previous letter:
I hope you don’t have friends who recommend Ayn Rand to you. The fiction of Ayn Rand is as low as you can get re fiction. I hope you picked it up off the floor of the subway and threw it in the nearest garbage pail. She makes Mickey Spillane look like Dostoevsky.
The letter, which you can read online or find in the book The Habit of Being, then turns to other matters.
Details at: http://www.openculture.com/2014/06/flannery-oconnor-friends-dont-let-friends-read-ayn-rand-1960.html
Filed under writers on writers, Writers on writing
Christmas is over, the presents are delivered, and Santa and his reindeer are exhausted and needing a little help to get in the air for that final trip home.
Filed under Photo Finish Friday
Hard against life’s past /
old headstones, dead crops winter. /
Stubble knots dark ground.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
Booker's Blog 