Finis by Dorothy Parker
Now it’s over, and now it’s done;
Why does everything look the same?
Just as bright, the unheeding sun, —
Can’t it see that the parting came?
People hurry and work and swear,
Laugh and grumble and die and wed,
Ponder what they will eat and wear, —
Don’t they know that our love is dead?
Just as busy, the crowded street;
Cars and wagons go rolling on,
Children chuckle, and lovers meet, —
Don’t they know that our love is gone?
No one pauses to pay a tear;
None walks slow, for the love that’s through, —
I might mention, my recent dear,
I’ve reverted to normal, too.
At long last, it is finished. I finished where I started as planned from the very first shot. And I am stunned at how the quality of my shooting has improved. I never realized I had so much to learn.
And a good riddance to this 365…
First shot and final shot. What a difference a year makes….
Thursday, Not so Late
Thursday by Edna St. Vincent Millay
AND if I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday
So much is true.
And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday, yes but what
Is that to me?
My boss was standing next to me as I shot this photo, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why in the world I was shooting it this way.
“It’s all about the bokeh, baby!”
They Roll Them Up at Dusk
U.S.A. (from Three Night Poems) by George Garret
Say, they roll up the sidewalks all over town
by 11:30 p.m. Lord, by midnight there’s nothing
moving, doing. Lone streetlights glare,
one-eyed, but do not dare to dance.
Here and there late lamps burn pale
fire to keep back the beasts of the night.
Somebody’s sick, you think (like Huck),
or, less innocent, project the lewd
fantastic, the cheap old beams
and images from broken movies
into frail naked rooms. Alas
for the cop on the corner who offers
a glass-eyed stare, and for the last car
weaving the pavement like a lonesome drunk.
Dancer, giants, heroes and dreamers,
where are you now? It’s a fact–
when a heart breaks it doesn’t make a sound.
10:30 p.m. and not a soul on the streets except for me with my camera. 30 second exposure and not a single car to leave light trails in the frame. Just the wind blowing, howling overhead, the sound of a trash can clattering on an adjacent street and dried up leaves chasing each other down the darkened sidewalk.
Is it any wonder that I love this small town so?
Cup a Joe
21st Century Rodin -Mark L. Lucker
The upper right-hand
corner of my desk blotter;
a fresh, stark canvas
this morning, now a sepia
montage of concentric
sip sip sip
sip sip sippppp.
Final sip, cup down.
still life of a Slinky.
Another day late. Maybe I didn’t have enough coffee yesterday. Or maybe not enough ambition. Still no photo taken at 5:30 pm and walking out of the library. I was first in line at the traffic light. My coffee shop sits at the corner. The light is long. The light outside was just right. My camera was beside me. So I shot the coffee shop. And it felt good….