reckommendayshuns of buddy don: grate blog

time is short, but i wonted to let ye know bout a new blog a commmenter name of april tole me bout, witch tiz a blog name of Hillbilly Savants. i aint red near a nuff of it yet, but tiz chuck full of good stuff frum whut i kin see, speshly fer folks frum appalachia. on that topick, dont fergit bout Appalachian Greens neethur.

gotta run!

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preciashun of buddy don: thankee to sum commenters

i bin meanin to rite sumthin in the way of thanks to them that makes comments on this here site. taint easy, i know, on a counta how last year the site wuz bombed by sumthang or sumbidy that posted a long listed of the vilest sex lanks ye could ever eye-magine in them comments. i tride to git em to quit a'doon it, but thonly thang that wurked wuz to embed them comments a nuther layer deeper, witch thats why ye gut to click on lank to git to whar ye kin make comments.

so furst thangs furst, thankee to innybidy that has been kind a nuff to go to such truble jes to make a lil comment.

so heres sum folks i wonta thank.

furst n foremost is tennessee jed, not only fer his comments n support over the years, but fer his makin the wandering hillbilly animated logo at the top of the page.

next cum a cuple folks i wuz lucky a nuff to meet in real life, red molly n straight white guy. they are bof kind a nuff to make comments now n agin, witch i greatly preciate it.

one of them commenters that gits my point of vue bout as close as ye kin is buck frum tete-a-tete-a-tete, witch i wont try to make that blog name cum out rite, on a counta ever time i do it makes a mess (ye kin check the lef hand nav bar to see whut i mean.

i gut to menchun deb frum sugarfused, witch she used to rite lots of haiku n the best i ever red, but she dun tuck up a camera n duz her poetry a'usin it these daze.

nuther of my faverts is anne johnson over at the gods are bored, witch i try to read a few of them blogs everday, hers bein one of em. that is one riter that kin cum up with sumthin new to thank bout near evertime she putts up a new post.

corse i wood be remiss not to menchun omni over at that thar omniverse she rules. thays jes bout more to thank bout thar than a bidy kin ritely absorb. twill stretch yer mind to read her as often as ye kin (i wish i could read blogs everday, but life dont leave as much time fer thangs as a bidy wood lack.)

a while back i writ a lil pome that straight white guy lanked to n on a counta that, i gut to read a cuple new sites i aint seen ere that n still aint putt lanks up, witch i plan to do that when i git a chants. one of em is jean frum a site name of pondering , witch turns out shes a fine poet jes lack i try to be.

nuthern is ellison frum blog d'ellison, witch his comment wuz a lil pome that i reepeat here:

Those days when I am faced with Writer's Block,
I head down to the cellar, where a crock
Of Ethanolic Bev'rage doth await
The Ethanolic Beverage's fate.
That is, to be decanted in a glass,
Consumed, perhaps with steak, perhaps with bass;
Thus to inflame imagination's wit.
It's that - or maybe I'll go take a shit.

but ellison wudnt thonly one to putt in a pome fer a comment. libby spencer dun the same thang, witch her blog is name last one speaks:

I would love to say something clever,
but that, I fear, would take forever.

nuther commenter with a blog is aart hilal, witch shes not only a big fan of paulo coehlo, but she rites pomes her ownself. check out her site name of aart hilal.

not everbidy has a blog that rites a comment, but sumtimes whut a bidy rites heps keep me a'goin n makes me thank tiz all wurth it, witch thats the case with my long lost Cuz'n Zac. twood embarrass me to quote his comment, but ye kin find it under the book revue of the alchemist.

aint no doubt i am missin sumbidy that i orta member, so pallgies in add vants fer that.

but fer all of ye that has ever made a comment or even thunk bout makin one, thankee fer droppin by now n agin. i will try to git by yer blogs (ifn ye gut em) n make comments now n then. tiz awfull nice how ye do the same fer me.

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pomes of buddy don: Bones of Words

Bones of Words

A writer facing blank paper with pen
Or poised at the monitor and keyboard
Must continue once more to begin
To slake his nagging thirst for small reward.

For even if ten thousand words pour out
And darken all the whiteness of the page
Within a day once more will come the doubt
That he can keep his precious muse engaged.

For never will the urge be satisfied
And never will mere writing be enough
To tell the greater tales that live inside
A mind and heart made of much sterner stuff.

He spends his life in such a thankless grind
Reduced to bones of words he leaves behind.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: pitchers tuck on a purty weekend

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revues of buddy don: a book to wake ye up agin

tiz lackly ye have du herd bout that book name of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. tiz a fable. ifn ye read it, ye will wonta thank back on whut yer dream wuz n figger out whuther ye been a'follerin it or not.

a frien leant it to me n i couldnt harly putt it down.

now i keep wunderin bout my own dream, witch twuz to rite, but whut i caint hep but wunder is whuther twuz to publish also. evertime i cunsidder doin whut it takes to git sumbidy to publish yer book, seems lack i could spend my lil time on earth better by ritin sumthin else or trine to git sumthin i dun writ into better shape. (tiz the best thang bout havin a blog on a counta thays a good three of four folks that has dun read sum of my stuff.)

tiz my reckomendayshun that ye git ye a copy of that book n read it. then whenever ye wunder whut yer life is all bout, ye kin read it agin.

tiz the kinda book that could bare a lot of re-readin.

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pomes of buddy don: Mighty Modern Marvels

Mighty Modern Marvels
(from a nightmare)

The population problem had been solved –
As droughts and storms liquidated billions –
Solutions that the fix would have involved
Were deemed unfit as they would have cost trillions.

Instead the age of oil had dead-ended –
Its bi-products creating its demise –
The laws of physics would not be upended –
With nature there could be no compromise.

Small scattered bands of humans still survived –
The winners of earth’s grimmest lottery –
Of many wonders they were now deprived
Returning to the age of pottery.

The eons' passing, entropy and rust
Let mighty modern marvels fall to dust.

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'pomes' of buddy don: not yer real pome

I should myself recriminate
For I did just procrastinate
And wish that I had done by now
What wasted minutes won't allow
Since it's too late and I must run
And leave this poor blog post un ...

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quik note of buddy don: recommendayshun fer espn

to them folks over at espn. ye gut whut ye call 'whip around coveridge' of the ladies basketball turny. thats whar ye tease yer audients by showin em a bit of one game n then switch over to show em a bit of a nuthern till ye find one that mite be a goodn n then mayhap ye dwell on it fer a quarter or two. i reckun ye do the same thang now n then fer that thar mens turny too.

heres my sugjestchun: why dont ye call it jerk around coveridge? on a counta thats whut yer a'doon to yer audients: yer jerkin em around.

ye had them lady vols on n aint no doubt twoodnt be much of a game, but fer them amung us with orange blood, twuz cruel teasin to move it frum them to michigan state vs delaware, witch wuz a better game n shoulda been yer focus frum the git go.

that is all.

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observayshuns of buddy don: four years

we dun made it to the four year anniversry of the war that dint half to be.

corse, we wuz tole by mr rumsfeld, twoodnt be long till twuz over:

"It is unknowable how long that conflict [the war in Iraq] will last. It could last six days, six weeks. I doubt six months." -in Feb. 2003

dead amurkin troops: 3,217

lucky fer them, most of em dint die in the major combat operayshuns:

Admiral Kelly, Captain Card, officers and sailors of the USS Abraham Lincoln, my fellow Americans: Major combat operations in Iraq have ended. In the Battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed.

lucky fer us, taint no quagmire, rite? not whut that thar baghdad bob feller sed:

Iraqi fighters in Umm Qasr are giving the hordes of American and Brtish mercenaries the taste of definite death. We have drawn them into a quagmire and they will never get out of it. (Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf)

quagmire:

quag·mire /ˈkwægˌmaɪər, ˈkwɒg-/–noun
1. an area of miry or boggy ground whose surface yields under the tread; a bog.
2. a situation from which extrication is very difficult ...

of yeah, thay wuz a nuther casualty of war:

They all had hope for a better life in post-Saddam Iraq. Like me, they thought it would be the last of all wars.

But slowly that hope disappeared. Militia groups roamed the streets, kidnapping became prevalent, and safety was lost.

Three-and-a-half years later, I took the same trip I took at the start of the war.

I found the people who danced in the streets of Kirkuk disappointed and skeptical about the future of their city. Near Hussein's hometown, angry people had kept their vows and become insurgents. In Baghdad, the streets were as lifeless as they were those first days. In Hilla, the smiles disappeared as car bombs created new mass graves.

The war has united Iraqis in their disappointment. I ask myself if our expectations were too high. It is hard to answer. But I look back and realize that the fears that I had four years ago were misplaced: If Bush had changed his mind about the war, things might be better now.

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pinions of buddy don: ifn ye bleeve that

thays a bridge over in brooklyn that mayhap ye dun herd bout. tiz a beeyooty. heres a pitcher of how it looks whenever yer jes steppin onto it ...



member them prossecutin atturneys that wuz fired? twuz jes fer performants. ifn ye bleeve that, ye kin buy that bridge.

tiz a good bridge, with views of the statchew of liberty way off in the distunts, witch i aint sayin liberty gittin so small aint no metafor fer nuthin ...



them same prossecutin atturneys wudnt fired on a counta pallticks, nor fer not heppin them publicans win eleckshuns by investigatin voter fraud whar thay wudnt nun, witch thats a nuthern ye need to bleeve ifn ye wonta buy that bridge.

but that bridge is wurth it! ye kin see how tiz useful fer carryin traffick from brooklyn over to man hattan or vice uh versa ...



n corse, dint alberto gonzalez have nuthin to do with the firin of them atturneys neether, on a counta how hes a grate atturney general of these here united states, witch i real eyes the list of thangs ye gut to bleeve is long.

but tiz a grate bridge ye kin buy ifn ye kin jes bleeve it all. ye git grate views of famus bildins into the bargain! that thar woolworth bildin, fer instunts, witch tiz a worl class beeyooty ...



corse, karl rove dint have nuthin to do with firin them atturneys on a counta everthang he duz is pure pallticks n thay wudnt nuthin pallitickull bout them firins, witch ifn ye bleeve everthang up to now ye wood shorely bleeve that since ye wood bleeve innythang.

sides that, tiz a bridge that brangs folks frum all over, even film makers ...



finely, it goes without sayin that mr bush dint have nuthin, i reepeat, nuthin to do with it. not atall nohow. noway.

that bridge is well cunstructed, even bettern sum lies that sum folks tells, n taint lackly to fall apart n i have herd ye kin git it fer about a hundert dollars, ifn ye kin bleeve ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: them buds is reddy to burst

yesterdy me n miz bd tuck a day off n wint over to that brooklyn botanick garden, witch we had herd a false report that thay wuz sum cherry blooms alreddy. twernt the case atall. fack is, the hole garden wuz lack the backstage at a big broadway show ere tiz opend. thay wuz gardenin folk everwhar diggin n plantin n puttin manure down n yew name it.

i tuck a slew of pitchers innyway, partly on a counta them buds thats reddy to burst. one of em dont look all that differnt frum a nuthern.

but that look to em, that theys reddy to open up n show thar flowers or leaves n drank in the sun is sumthin that putts me in mind of ritin. ye git the mere bud of a idee of whut ye wonta say n near everone has the same undeefined way of bein. tiz only when ye rite it that ye find out whut yer truly a'gone say.

sum folks thank that whenever ye rite, whut yer a'doin is reducin whut ye dun alreddy know to wurds. taint so. yer larnin whut ye know n dint know ye knew till ye red whut ye rote.

heres a few buds that fixin to burst into sprang ...

thisns a magnolia bud


heres a cherry bud


thisns on a lilac bush, witch it looks more lack a tree dont it?


ole fuzzy wuzzy heres a japanese pussy willow ...


n natcherly, thays yer crocuses dun alreddy showin colors ...


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pitchers tuck by buddy don: that thar human parade

me n miz bd is takin the day off to celebrate, witch we dint have no chants to yesterdy. we plan to go to that thar brooklyn botanick garden fer the furst time this year. we will be walkin thru that thar human parade but we wont be trudgin off to wurk. tiz a nice thang to have a vacayshun day in the middle of the week lack this!

meanwhile, that thar human parade cuntinues ...









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pomes of buddy don: In Such Love to Believe

In Such Love to Believe
(March 13, 2007)

Ten years ago upon this very date
On Edinburgh’s lovely royal mile
Did stroll two lovers who could hardly wait
Their nuptials to celebrate in style.

The bride, a beauty clad in black and lace,
Had traveled her hard roads both high and low –
For forty years she had not seen the face
Of the poor child to whom she was betrothed.

That child was now full grown, dressed in his kilt –
The tartan of the ancient Cameron clan –
His life, like hers, had been a patchword quilt
Of all the mistakes known to mortal man.

They had not dared in such love to believe –
That day t’was theirs to give and to receive!


(by the way, sweet'art: happy birthday!)

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: shine the lite on liberty

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pomes of buddy don: The Only Thing

The Only Thing

Every day I face the same dilemma
In trying to determine what to write.
Did Austen face it while creating Emma?
Or Dickinson with certain slants of light?

Was Robert Service stymied now and then
Or were his rhymes as easy as they sound?
Did Twain sweat blood when inking his sharp pen?
Were Dostoevski’s words always profound?

With illness as a primary distraction
Then how could Marcel Proust still hear his muse?
Since suicide for her held such attraction
How did Virginia Wolfe so long refuse?

For those of us who know no other way,
Except to strive to say what we must say,
Though leading us astray, the need to write
Determines everything, both great and slight,
And though we might not reach what we pursue
To write’s the only thing that we must do.

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short post of buddy don: that thar proximity affeck

las nite we gut a call frum the mama of my stepson, witch she wuz wurried bout im on a counta she cum home n found the door unlocked n the tee vee a'blarin away, but he wudnt thar. she figgerd he mus be down on the corner sumwhars n wint cooked sum dinner. by the time she called us, twuz nigh onto 11 pee em, witch tony wuz spozed to be at wurk this mornin by 5:50. she wonted to know the number of the cell fone we had give im, witch twuz a disappointment to here he hadnt even tole her that number nor even shared our message of feliz cumpleaño that we left as a message on thar other fone on her birthdy.

i give er the number n then me n miz bd had a short discusshun whilst trine to fall asleep agin bout how ye dont wurry much bout em when thar off in a nuther state, but once them yunguns is close, ye caint hep but wunder bout em mos ever mint.

innywho, that hole thang hepped me recolleck to tell ye that them crawdads, killer n miz tenna, have dun give birth to a lil crawdad that miz bd named crawbaby. thang is, whenever we feed em, miz tenna goes over in frunt of the hole whar crawbaby lives to make shore dont no other fish git in. tiz also the reason i aint been able to git no pitcher of that tiny lil critter.

tiz also a shame to see how killer has dun turnt verr lethargick of late, but we have red whar the males die not long after the new generayshun is borned. we will let ye know ifn that happens, witch we hope it dont.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: st patricks day parade in hoboken

on saturdy thay wuz this parade in hoboken, witch twuz thatn fer saint patrick. tiz spozed to be fer them irish that lived here fer minny a year, witch fer years everthang frum washington street over to the hudson wuz irish n everthang frum washington street over to the cliffs wuz eye-talian.

innywho, we wuz a'gone celebrate the birthdy of my stepson tony who moved back last week, so we invited loretta n paddy to cum early sos they could see the parade.

i reckun twuz a bit of a disapointmint fer paddy on a counta mos of them folks that wuz givin the bars bizness at 6 AM (thats rite: they opend at 6 AM), wudnt ackshly irish. that hurts on a counta everbidy lacks to say ye kin tell how them irish luvs to drank by how minny of em gits drunk fer the st patricks day parade.

paddy splaind to me how in ireland tiz differnt, how st patricks day starts with mass n then tea n only late in the evenin sum folks mite go out to the pub fer a pint.

heres sum pitchers of folks lined up at bars trine to git in n a few of the folks gittin reddy to walk in the parade ...





























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pitchers tuck by buddy don: new york botanicull garden orchid show

i dun spent all mornin after a grate nites sleep trine to git the better of over 400 pitchers i tuck whenever me n miz bd went to that new york botanicull garden to see this years orchid show, witch ye caint hardly bleeve thay could be such a audashuss flower as a orchid. tiz almost obseen sum of the thangs them flowers kin cum up with. heres a few pitchers i tuck, witch the lastn will take ye to the hole gallery of em all.















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pomes of buddy don: Classified

mayhap ye caught this here story in the washington post name of New Doubts On Nuclear Efforts by North Korea; U.S. Less Certain of Uranium Program:

The Bush administration is backing away from its long-held assertions that North Korea has an active clandestine program to enrich uranium, leading some experts to believe that the original U.S. intelligence that started the crisis over Pyongyang's nuclear ambitions may have been flawed.

The chief intelligence officer for North Korea, Joseph R. DeTrani, told Congress on Tuesday that while there is "high confidence" North Korea acquired materials that could be used in a "production-scale" uranium program, there is only "mid-confidence" such a program exists. Meanwhile, Assistant Secretary of State Christopher R. Hill, the chief negotiator for disarmament talks, told a conference last week in Washington that it is unclear whether North Korea ever mastered the production techniques necessary for such a program.

If the materials North Korea bought "did not go into a highly enriched uranium program, maybe they went somewhere else," Hill said. "Fine. We can have a discussion about where they are and where they've gone."

The administration's stance today stands in sharp contrast to the certainty expressed by top officials in 2002, when the administration accused Pyongyang of running a secret uranium program -- and demanded it be dismantled at once. President Bush told a news conference that November: "We discovered that, contrary to an agreement they had with the United States, they're enriching uranium, with a desire of developing a weapon."

The accusation about the alleged uranium program backfired, sparking a series of events that ultimately led to North Korea's first nuclear test -- using another material, plutonium -- nearly five months ago.

it putt me in mind to rite a lil pome bout how our leaders use classified infermayshun:

Classified

The classified data that we review
Is ours to assess so we know what to do
Or even what’s said to the likes of you
To make you believe that our truth is true
Since it is our job to make you construe
Conclusions that sanction the paths we pursue
When later we say we knew what we knew.

The truth is that proof is all classified:
And you can’t prove whether we truly lied.

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reefelckshuns of buddy don: caint git back in my rooteen

seems lack i am havin truble gittin used to all that depakote i been takin lately, witch thats makin it hard to blog the way i wood lack to do. but as i reefleck on thangs ...



... i real eyes that thangs could be much wurser, witch las year at this time i wuz in the midst of a 2.5 munth short-term disabilty on a counta them migraines.

whenever i am havin truble sleepin, i dont count sheep but blessins, and thays a plenty of em!

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