pomes of buddy don: Eating Garbage

Eating Garbage

How dare those Creekstone Farm folks still request
The right to test each cow before the kill?
Such testing would cast doubt on all the rest
Who’d rather not waste money on such swill.

And who would want to pay more for their meat
Simply because it had been tested first?
There’s more to food than what someone might eat –
Must we suggest that some meat might be cursed?

Sure testing might ensure that no mad cow
Slipped past the slaughterhouse into the mix
Of over-sugared food people eat now!
Point is, we’re eating garbage: why the fix?

Our great factory farms must be protected!
The Creekstone Farms request must be rejected!

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pomes of buddy don: We Came As Liberators to Their Soil

We Came As Liberators to Their Soil

Why can’t they understand we’re here to stay?
That doing so is for their benefit?
If not, then why would we work night and day
To build an embassy too big to fit?

For truth is we have not come just to leave
When we believe the battle is in sway –
As long as fear persuades folks to believe
That terrorists fought there will stay away.

We’ll help them sell their oil to our friends –
And even offer them our oil giants –
To sell the stuff at a cost that extends
The bounty that will ease our own reliance.

We came as liberators to their soil –
But what we need to liberate is oil.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: memoryall day

twuz memoryall day yesterdy n purty out so folks wuz out to enjoy it ...


corse, twuz fleet week also, witch ye kin see a slew of sailers n marines returnin to thar ship here ...


thay wuz a two-hour line of folks waitin to see the ships that them sailers is returnin to ...


then thay wuz this, witch tiz setup fer folks to live inside of it, ifn ye kin bleeve that ...


i figgerd i wood git a pitcher of the livin quarters but i dint real eyes whut i wuz ackshly a'gone see ...


heres the same thang frum the lil end of the bottle, witch tiz a bit of a self portrutt with a woman i dint even notiss a'lookin in tuther end ...


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pomes of buddy don: If The People Sleep

If The People Sleep

When lines are crossed in actions that should be
Non-partisan in nature and affect
The purity of justice sea to sea
Then we have fouled what took years to perfect.

When principles by party needs are trumped,
We let the promise of the USA
Be sacrificed for goals that should be dumped
Like tea was flung into the Boston Bay.

We all have heard that justice should be blind
That justice can’t be weighted toward one side
That truth alone is what the courts must find
And bias always means justice denied.

Can our ideals be trashed and made so cheap?
They can, but only if the people sleep.

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pomes of buddy don: The Long War

The Long War

At long last our President declassified
The proof Osama had ordered attacks
Outside of Iraq, against us worldwide
In two thousand five! No time to relax!

“Osama?” you ask, “In two thousand five?
“I thought Bush vowed after nine eleven
That we’d bring him in either dead or alive
To send him to hell and protect our heaven!”

That might be true but Afghanistan’s hell
And catching a six foot six rich Saudi
Who needs dialysis to remain well
Is like a poor man hoping to buy an Audi!

So don’t try to think, just embrace The Long War:
The danger is even worse now than before!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: locull plant life

as ye know, me n miz bd jes caint hardly git a nuff of that thar brooklyn botanick garden. fer the most part, we tend to go everwhar, but we dont hardly never show ye no pitchers of the local plant life, witch they gut em a seckshun deevoted to jes whut grows round here. tiz rite nice, in fack, even ifn taint as specktacklar as them sacred lotuses n tulips n azalyas n such. so heres five pitchers frum that part of the garden, allem tuck on sundy past ...

heres whut ye see at the in trance


heres sum wild bleedin harts, witch i bet ye dint know bleedin hart grows wild up in here, huh?


thisn here putts ye in mind of robert frosts pome bout that path die-virgin in a woods ...


whar wood a lady be without her slippers?


dont recall whut ye call these thangs, but looks kindly lack a hole tree of honeysuckle ...


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pitchers tuck by buddy don: sum fellers never quit wurkin

the bed wuz lack a trap this mornin. i couldnt hardly git out.

meanwhile, sum critters never quit wurking ...



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pomes of buddy don: Move into the Bubble

Move into the Bubble

I saw the light on that TV debate –
The light the Republicans follow –
Lying is OK, and torture is great!
The Cool Aid is sweet: have a swallow!

The axis of terror in the mid East
Has Sunnis and Shia, Al Qaeda, Hamas
United to become the ten-headed beast,
Their hatreds forgotten so they can harm us!

The peace in Iraq is well on its way –
It’s just not shown on your evening TV –
The last throes insurgents have had their day –
It’s just liberal pundits who still disagree!

Dismiss your cares, your doubt, your trouble:
Just move into the Republican bubble!

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pomes of buddy don: The Unitary Executive in a Time of War

The Unitary Executive in a Time of War

A felony is legal if in war
The President decides he has to act
In ways that violate the very core
Of our constitutional contract.

Thus all those principles to which we pledge
Our allegiance with the flag’s salute
Must be sacrificed much like a hedge
When Presidential power’s absolute.

And if the enemy is not a state
With powers to surrender on a ship
Then such a war might never terminate
And leave us stuck forever in its grip.

We can restore our civil rights, then, later,
For now to be free we need a dictator.

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pomes of buddy don: The Sick Man

The Sick Man

The man was having surgery and knew
He would be far too sick to play his role –
So he did what he knew he had to do
And put the number two man in control.

The sick man had already shown his hand
When he refused to bless the wire taps –
For law was one thing he could understand
Although his illness caused him to collapse.

Though many have condemned his prudish ways –
As when he clothed a statue’s too bare breast –
I write today to offer him my praise
For what I’ve read has left me much impressed

For even presidential hatchet men
Could not convince the sick man to give in.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: happy folk n a duck at the garden

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pomes of buddy don: Watching the Storm

Watching the Storm

Last night the crashing thunder jarred our sleep
And pulled us from our bed to watch the storm –
To see the lightning as it seemed to leap
Up to the sky, its dances to perform –
We watched too long a while but then did creep
Back to our bed where sleep was soft and warm –
How lovely to find slumber dark and deep –
To mold ourselves into each other’s form –
As dreamy visions through our minds did sweep
And coax us to remain beyond our norm.

But then the sudden rush as we awake
And scurry out, our daily bread to make.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: trainin on fifth avenue

the past three days i have bin in trainin, witch the topick wuz deadly dull fer mos folks ceptn ifn twuz give in contecks, so i wont bore ye with deetails. corse, it tuck the camra along n tuck sum pitchers, witch fifth avenue is bout as busy as it gits (meanin tiz equal to times square or grand centrull, that kinda thang).

them sidewalks is crowded ...


thays sum that takes thar wurk rite seryus ...


ye kin see the purty bildin we wuz in in the reefleckshun in the glass cross the street ...


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eggscuses of buddy don: never too late

its never too late to procrastinate!

... witch that eggsplains why i aint gut nuthin more to say on a counta my times dun run out ...

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: a [dogwood] tree grows in brooklyn

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: more brooklyn botanick garden

tiz hard to keep up with all the changes a'goin on at that brooklyn botanick garden. we wuz thar on tuesdy n then agin on saturdy. thangs had dun alreddy changed. them cherries wuznt as brite pink on a counta them green leaves a'cummin in. no more magnolia blossoms. no more camillias neethur.

but thay wuz sum purty thangs, no to menchun proof that in natchur tiz a fite to the death ...

thays bugs a'gittin after yer cherry trees ...


n thays pollen jes waitin fer its chants to git folks ...


thays proof that monet wuz seein thangs purty much how they look ...


thays beeyooty everwhar ...


n folks that caint hardly git close a nuff ...


folks is also a'doin thar bes to catch it all ...


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pomes of buddy don: That Commander Guy

That Commander Guy

I’m worried about that Commander Guy
He seems to have lost his touch –
He used to have his way with the lie,
But now maybe not so much.

He used to call himself The Decider –
Declaring Don Rumsfeld would stay –
But November 7 proved the divider
As Rumsfeld was ousted that day.

To lead the Commander Guy must mislead
Since honesty’s not his strong suit.
If he can’t tell lies all agree to believe
His alternate truth becomes moot.

So is the duck lame? His party irate?
Well, Reagan prevailed at last night’s debate!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: joy n sadness

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: three frum the garden

me n miz bd had us a purty good vacacióncito over the past four days. we spent a lot of time jes walkin n talkin, over in centrull park n the brooklyn botanic garden n along the waterfrunt in hoboken. we wint over to the amurkin museum of natchurull histry n seen the planetarium show name of cosmic collisions. that putt a lil perspecktiv in yer life!

innywho, here sum pitchers of the brookly botanic garden, witch they had em the cherry blossom festivull over the weekend. we waited till tuesdy to go on a counta we dint wonta have to deal with so minny folks. even then, twuz verr crowded by the time we left, witch we gut thar befor it opend but they let us in regardless.







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