waka writ by budouadana: pyramid

Square base of four points
Rising to a lone capstone,
It aims at heaven
With an Emperor’s power,
A fortress for dusty bones.

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waka writ by budouadana: tetrahedron

The tetrahedron
Is the simplest of all shapes
In three dimensions,
A fortress of triangles,
The Empress of balance.

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waka writ by budouadana: a eggzplainayshun ... n triangle

buck asts a questchun in the comments on yesterdys waka that deesurves a anser:

I love these things Buddy. I read them every day.

But please, somebody tell me what waka writ by budouadana means.

What are the origins of that statement?

I've googled it. I still can't figure it out.

i wuz beginnin to thank nobidy wood ast. i myself dint know a thang bout waka ere i wuz ast could i rite up a few of em fer a dojo in town that needs em fer meditayshuns. thays a slew of em writ by a japanese emperor name of emperor meiji. tiz sed he writ over 100,000 of em!

corse, thay wuz a time when hi class folks in japan wood send each other pomes, anwerin one with a nuthern.

innywho, that gut me started n ye lackly dun alreddy figgerd out how i jes luv to play with wurds.

tuther part of the questchun has to do with budouadana. who could that be? lets jes call im my japanese nome-day-plume.

as fer them waka, seems lack them folks at the dojo lacks em good a nuff to ast fer more. fer me, thays kindly lack lil puzzles whar ye half to squeeze in as much meanin as possibull into five lines with counts of 5-7-5-7-7. heres the one i writ fer today, name of triangle:

Three points connected
By three lines delineate
The stout triangle,
The High Priestess of flat forms,
With length and breadth but no depth.

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waka writ by budouadana: line

Stretched between two points
The line is length, nothing more:
Insubstantial edge,
Defining one dimension,
Geometry’s Magic wand.

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waka writ by budouadana: point

A place of no place
In physical space, the point
Is logic’s step one,
Its slate blank, a cipher, pure
As the nursling Fool’s new mind.

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waka writ by budouadana: star

The downward triad
Represents power flowing
From the sun to earth,
The upward one, what is made
Of it by humble flowers.

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waka writ by budouadana: vessel

To cleanse a vessel
One must empty it of all
Its precious contents,
Scrubbing its body, leaving
It pure and empty as sky.

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waka writ by budouadana: sunlight

Timid warm sunlight
Reflects from frigid mountain
Ice and lifeless snow,
Loving touch to frost-bound hearts,
First a trickle, then a flood.

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eggsplainayshuns of buddy don: ruff week thanks to migraine mizry

i spoze i orta fess up bout this here past week me n miz bd jes gut thru. the trubles cummenced on sundy last whenever i notissd but ignored one of them optick auras. fer one thang, i keep trine to tell myself that they aint happenin to me no more on a counta i wonta cunvints myself that i aint a'gone have this migraine problem no more. i know that dont make no sense, but tiz how i keep a'thankin.

i wuz cookin soup n bakin bread whenever it happend, so twuz easy to ignore. we et n ere twuz 7:30, i tole miz bd i wood go upsteers (we have a loft bed, no ackshull upsteers) to read. i bleeve i wuz sleepin without readin a sangle wurd.

woke round 1 am n twuz all over, tho i still woodnt do whut i orta dun, witch wuz to take sum of that awfull stuff, imitrex ($42+ per squirt, witch tiz a nasull spray) or zomig (same price by total coincidents), but i wonted to wurk n had thangs to do. i figgerd i could git back to sleep n be ok.

wrong. i gut sicker n started a week of blackout mizry. taint a total blackout havin these thangs, but ye caint do nor thank much of nuthin. caint read, caint rite, caint do much moren lie in bed with pillers over yer ears n wait, hopin that ye kin feel pane n not nausea (i kin take the pane, bad as it be, but not the eerie-sistibull urge to vomit).

this bunch of migraines all gut started at nite, wakin me up twixt 1 n 2 am n leevin no dout bout whut the day wood brang.

miz bd wurked me over purty good -- she knows a few healin modaltees -- n that hepped, but twuz finely necessry to git me to the neurolgist, witch she has larned how to pull offn that trick (we have had to wait fer as long as a munth to see eethur our primary keer docter or a speshulist, witch it aint no gummint byoorackrussy cawzin that problem!).

she gut the job dun n then tuck me thar on thursdy afternoon. he dint putt me thru his reglar drill on a counta he could see how i wuz suffern even then. he writ me a scrip fer a short course (5 daze) of steeroids (prednisone) to take sos the patturn could git broke ('thar goes yer pro sports career,' miz bd tole me on the way home).

dont know whuther that broke the migraine spell or not on a counta i dint take the furst of that steeroid till fridy mornin after wakin up with a horrbull hedache in the middle of the nite. but i deecided i woodnt take no more of that zomig nor imitrex neethur, lease not that day on a counta they kin cawz reebound hedaches, but jes let miz bd lay her healin hands on me to do her best, witch that n the increase in depakote (to 1.5 grams or 1,500 milligrams per day) mite coulda hepped.

but whar they wuz no dout bout the spell a'brakin wuz when miz bd tuck me to brooklyn fer acupunchur at element. say whut ye mite bout havin a slew of needles stuck in ye, it wurks (as ye kin see, a waka writ itself whilst i wuz a'lyin thar with them needles in me).

i spent yesterdy in a daze n feard i mite wood wake up last nite sick. i did wake around 1 am n thunk i coulda been in the same die-lemma, but nex thang i knew, twuz mornin n looks lack twill be a grate day.

so i will take this bountifull blessin fer this day n do my best with it n try to keep myself in mind of such simple thangs as how good it feels when ye aint sick (tiz amazin how quick ye kin fergit!).

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waka writ by budouadana: needles

The pricking needles
Of the acupuncturist
Can scarcely be felt
Yet redirect energy
As pine needles wave in wind.

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waka writ by budouadana: mayflies

When the mayflies hatch
Into their lakeside orgy –
Mating, laying, death –
Fish feast in greedy frenzy
As anglers use mayfly lures.

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waka writ by budouadana: sun

None can view the sun
Directly lest they go blind,
The fiery white beam
Unwilling to be seen yet
Illuminating our world.

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waka writ by budouadana: waves

In high winds harsh waves
Rudely crash against the shore,
Flooding, retreating,
A violent watery pulse
That mirrors human passions.

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waka writ by budouadana: aura

The optic aura
Seems at first a pleasant glow,
Yet it presages
The migrainous suffering,
As warm winds predict the storm.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: waitin fer a train that dont cum

i been feelin a lil lack this pitcher, witch i had one of them migraine auras on sundy n i dint wonta bleeve thats whut twuz to whar i been sick since. tiz a bit lack waitin fer a train that dont never cum ...



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waka writ by budouadana: ducks

Male Mandarin ducks
Sport brightly colored feathers
For cocksure courting,
Their rich plumage reflected
In the autumn's brittle leaves.

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waka writ by budouadana: berries

The sweet dark berries
Hang on hidden thorny stalks,
Growing in fissures
In the crags of lone ridges,
Enjoyed only by wild goats.

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waka writ by budouadana: squirrel

The squirrel hunts
For newly fallen acorns,
Burying his store
For winter, those forgotten
Sprouting with the warm spring rains.

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lambintasyshuns of buddy don: alas poor killer

tuther crawdads in the tank has all dun been over whut wuz left of killers exoskelton, takin apart the bits they could use, leavin only the hardest parts of his brite blue claws. ever so often, one of em gits a hold of a claw n takes it a wee bit more out of it.

we figgerd killer mite coulda molted, witch once them crawdads has molted, they git to hidin whar ye caint tell ifn thar thar or not. so we reckund the same could be true of killer.

on tuther hand, we had dun red (caint find it now!) that the males tend to die after matin n kin live only fer about two years, so i caint ackshly eggspeck innythang differnt, but tiz a shame to see such a magnificent creechur go down.

rip, killer, we shore enjoyd havin ye in our tank (witch, when ye thank bout it, hes still more or less thar).

corse, he leaves behind a slew of his yunguns. i counted six of em rootin round fer food when i fed em this mornin. i reckun we need to git em sum new blood since they will mate with each other, even bruthers n sisters or muthers n suns (miss tenna is still thar n seems lack rl, the biggest yungster, wonts to git her pinnd down by her claws, witch thats how they mate).

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limricks of buddy don: If You Can’t Beat 'em, Join 'em

If You Can’t Beat 'em, Join 'em

The general’s coup was a nifty one,
Our ally, a world-class shifty one,
Is now a dictator –
We might complain later –
Or else use NSPD 51!

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waka of budouadana: lightning

Lightning strikes the tip
Of the forest’s tallest tree,
Snuffing out its life,
Its dried leaves drifting to earth,
Sunlight pouring through the breach.

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pitchers tick by buddy don: refleckshuns of man hattan in black n wite

i had wurk to do this weekend, but thay wuz a long delayed lunch frum the yunguns, so i gut offn the track n dint do much wurk. but i tuck the camra n tuck sum pitchers, witch i forced myself to use nuthin but black n white fer a change...

















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waka writ by budouadana: pendulum

The pendulum swings,
Slicing time into moments,
Arcing from extreme
To mid-point, as a mind drifts
From passion to reflection.

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waka writ by budouadana: hyenas

Hyenas fight
Each other for the bleating
Carcass they have downed,
Waking a pride of lions,
Who follow the bloody scent.

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waka writ by budouadana: boulder

The boulder beneath
The tender sprouting pine cone
Forces roots to stretch
For earth, trapping the hard stone,
The pine tree safe in high winds.

n jes in case ye missd it, tennessee jed writ a verr nice lil waka or tanka his ownself, witch tiz in the comments of yesterdys post.

i will eggsplain why i cummenced to ritin these waka or tanka thangs die-reckly.

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waka writ by budouadana: wheel

The herd rides the rim
Of the ever-turning wheel,
Chasing sensation,
Dizzily spurning the calm
Of the motionless axle.

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