waka of budouadana: Ready

Ready

The year’s final day
Caught us napping beneath quilts,
Warm in the comfort
That love and loyalty bring,
Ready to begin again.

waka of budouadana: Gulls

Gulls

Our foggy breaths,
As we take our morning stroll,
Disperse on the breeze
Though we speak of great subjects —
Shrieking gulls haunt the harbor.

waka of budouadana: Dawn

Dawn

The coldest instant
A few seconds before dawn
Window shivering
Wife rolling over in bed
Coffee mug warming cold hands

waka of budouadana: Season

Season

The season of peace,
The season for getting things,
The season of waiting
For the impossible birth,
Mixing hope, love, faith with greed.

waka of budouadana: Seeds

Seeds

The ancient pine tree
Stands against the arctic blast,
Evergreen reminder
That in the coldest winter
The seeds of spring are planted.

waka of budouadana: Plow

Plow

The farmer plants faith
As he plows his empty fields
Late in the autumn,
Leaving furrowed earth exposed
To winter’s cruelest weather.

waka of budouadana: Glisten

Glisten

The nights grow shorter
As winter freezes our breath,
Bleaching skies pale blue,
Yet the hoary distant sun
Still glistens on iced branches.

waka of budouadana: Friends

Friends

One of my friends lives
On the mirror’s other side;
Another friend lives
In a great hot air balloon;
They admire each other.

waka of budouadana: Snowflakes

Snowflakes

Suddenly the air
Turned white with crazy snowflakes
Falling up and down
Stinging our glowing red cheeks
Quickly covering the ground

waka of budouadana: Bearing

Bearing

Our mothers bear us
And bear with us as we grow,
Born to break their hearts
As we stumble on our paths
While striving to bear good fruit.

waka of budouadana: Enough

Enough

A famous poet
Composed his great works in youth,
Abandoned writing,
Slaved in mines to save “enough,”
Lived poor, died rich, wrote no more.

life of buddy don: frum the trenches of 'the street'

up n down wall street, witch them that wurks thar generly calls it 'the street,' innywho, up n down 'the street' this munth or last or mayhap nex accordin to whar on the street a bidy wurks, thar havin whut everbidy lacks to call 'compensayshun day.' on this day everbidy gits his or her number, meanin whut thar bonus will be.

now thays a slew of folks all over this cuntry that hates the idee of wall street bankers gittin huge bonuses while thar cumpnys bizness is in the toilet. thanks to how bad thangs have gut, the message has cum thru, witch the reesult hits all of us, whuther we wooda made a big bonus or sum annual chump change.

so how do thangs cum out? mos houses on wall street lack to call tharself 'full compensayshun shops,' meanin that ye look at everthang ye gut, bonus included, to figger out how ye dun.

this year we dun terrbull as everbidy knows. we are lucky thays lites on in the bildins whar we wurk. to kindly try to balance thar books n git the folks on main street to quit talkin bout bonuses, this year we purty much dint git one or gut sumthin so small that it dont matter much.

whut that cums out to is that ever sangle persun wurkin at a firm lack goodbank whar i wurk has to take a cut in pay, sumwhar twixt 10 and 15 per cent. tiz hard news to hear jes befor chrismus n smile bout afterds, but whut ye gone do?

this years bonus fer them amung us that has jobs turns out the be ... havin jobs!

i fer one aint nuthin but thankfull even if we wont have nuthin to spend on hallday gifts, lease not lack we have had in the past. mayhap we will make all our gifts.

heres hopin ye dont have to have no drasticull cut in yer wages jes to keep yer job.

heres hopin ye gut a job to keep.

waka of budouadana: Speck

Speck

A wee grain of sand,
So irritates an oyster
That it spends its life
Transforming the tiny speck
Into a beautiful pearl.

waka of budouadana: Parse

Parse

The Earth’s rotation
On its axis parses time,
Creating our days,
Just as its circling the sun
Splits forever into years.

note of buddy don: got no idees

this heres jes a lil note to let it be known to them that checks site this reglar that i aint gut nary an idee to rite about, but i am doin jes fine. fack is, today makes the day two of the thurd week without no migraines, even tho the weather has been trine to trigger sumthin. we gut one of them changes bout to happen agin, so i am a'hopin to make it thru with no trubles.

waka of budouadana: Up

Up

This year’s “up” is “in,”
Last year's was to hold steady,
Before that to grow:
Such is life down on Wall Street
Where suffer the “pauvre nouveau.”

waka of budouadana: Cuddling

Cuddling

How the chilly air
Buried our heads in our beds,
Cuddling for warmth,
Pretending we’re two old bears,
Hibernating … until dawn.

waka of budouadana: Squirrels

Squirrels

Squirrels plan ahead,
Working through long summer days
To store their acorns,
Rarely pausing to enjoy
The grasshopper’s here and now.

waka of budouadana: Tickling

Tickling

Sunset comes early
As chilly nights grow longer
And winter draws near,
Its frozen fingers tickling
Us beneath our heavy coats.

waka of budouadana: Music

Music

When I find no words
To express an emotion,
I turn to music
To lift my spirits or sing
The sorrows I cannot speak.

waka of budouadana: Jewels

Jewels

The sharp crescent Moon
With Jupiter and Venus
Glowing at its side
Lit yesterday’s early sky,
Bright sparkling jewels in heaven.

waka of budouadana: Weight

Weight

Water droplets freeze,
Growing into icicles
On bald tree branches,
Snapping as awkward trees bend
Beneath winter’s frigid weight.

waka of budouadana: Rebirth

Rebirth

The brittle cocoon,
Split from inside, releases
The new butterfly
To unfold its fragile wings,
A caterpillar reborn.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: son of killer

thays four or five of ye thats been readin this blog long a nuff to member a crawdad name of killer. i putt him n a nuthern name of 'miz tenna' together n next thang we knew they had dun had a bunch of lil crawdads. i had red sumwhar (caint find it now) that the male dies shortly after matin, n that wuz the case with killer. miz tenna lasted a lot longer, but she passed away as well. the yunguns eat up the leftover shells, witch a crawdad that molts will eat its own exoskelton ifn taint ded.

innywho, the biggest of them yunungs is a crawdad name of rl. heres a cuple pitchers of im, witch ye kin see he is a ded ranger fer his daddy, killer.





finely, heres a lil waka bout whut they do:
Molt

Overgrown crayfish
Swell to split their skeleton
And crawl outside
Themselves to become renewed,
Consuming their broken shells.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Home

Home

Children grow up fast,
Safe in the home of their birth,
Then so quickly leave
To build their own lives elsewhere —
We do the same when we die.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: jes fer fun

True Harvest

The autumn harvest
Forces families to drive
Or fly far too far,
To test the bonds of kinship
By renewing old grudges.

as ye kin see, todays waka is a pairdee of yersterdys n probly closer to whut too minny folks ackshly duz. whenever we give thanks, i am speshly thankfull that our fambly gut over that minny a year ago.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Harvest

Harvest

The autumn harvest
Brings families together
To commune, give thanks,
Renew the bonds of kinship,
And put aside old grudges.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Pressure

Pressure

A blue sky, high winds,
Following three days of rain —
That change of pressure,
As dark clouds are blown away,
Spells anguish for migraineurs.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Warning Signs

Warning Signs

Earthworms burrow deep
Bears gorge on fatty salmon
Squirrels hide acorns
Great gaggles of geese eat grass
Chilly breezes loosen leaves

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Response

Response

Migraine misery
Becomes an ingrained response
To weather and foods,
Even to strong pain killers,
Forcing long dead days in bed.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Growing

Growing

During late autumn
Trees cling to fiery leaves;
Winter approaches,
North winds a cold reminder
That growing means letting go.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Bodies

Bodies

The best estimates
Agree the population
Of human bodies
Exceeds ten billion life forms,
Without whom we could not live.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Words

Words

Mere words do not kill,
At least not in an instant,
But in a lifetime
Enough verbal cruelty
Can reduce a life to naught.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: parade wuz a paradice fer pitcher takers

fer the most part, i lack to take pitchers of folk that dont know i am a'doin it, but whenever thays a parade, folks purty much eggspeck ye to take thar pitcher. at that greenwich village halloween parade twuz the same. ye could make eye contack with sumbidy n that wood be a nuff to take thar pitcher. heres a bakers duzen of em ...



























ifn ye wonta see all them pitchers frum halloween, jes foller this here lank.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Sleep

Sleep

Buried in his cave,
The mighty bear does not die
Though he might seem dead —
Just as our long sleep of death
Is mere hibernation.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: a questchun ast by fletch

a few posts back, one of my favert fotogruffers, fletch of smokies light, ast a questchun in the comments:

Ok I know you shoot from the hip, but you look really close to these folks. When the shutter makes a noise from your hip, do they turn and look at you? Every time I see these type pics the thought of getting punched or slapped in the face occurs. But, I get that thought just thinking of visiting NYC much less taking pics, being a southern country guy and all.

fack is, i am rite on top of sum of these folks n a bidy mite could wunder why they dont objeck to thar pitchers bein tuck. corse, thays a cuple thangs goin fer me in the city n its enviruns.

1. thang number one bout the city is how tiz a verr noisy place, witch that means ye caint hardly here yerself thank, much less here a shutter a'goin off.


2. corse, he wuz reacktin to sum pitchers tuck on the bus. shorely them folk wood here a shutter a'clickin off? but thang is, folks up in here dont lack to be in publick even when they are, so they shut everthang out by puttin ear plugs (or ear buds) into thar ears with the musick cranked up loud a nuff that at times, a bidy kin here it a'leakin out. so they dont never here nuthin else.


3. then thays the fack that folks up in here know bout all them tursts wnaderin the streets takin pitchers to the point that they dont hardly thank bout it much


4. beesides that, did i menchun how tiz loud up in here?

innywho, heres a few pitchers i tuck tuther day ...

furst, tiz a sine of the times how thays more homeless in man hattan all the time ...




thays a hole lot of waitin fer trains in this here town ...


a nuther way to git candid pitchers of folks is to take em through the plastick winnders twixt two train cars ...


(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Waiting

Waiting

Everlasting Death
Walks besides us, a stalker
Awaiting his chance,
Striking as our defense dip,
As our fate decrees, “Enough!”

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Too Late

Too Late

When Death comes calling
As it did for my father
With the screaming pain
Of pancreatic cancer,
It is too late to start loving.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Laughter

Laughter

Incandescent smiles,
Fanned into flames of laughter
By kindly humor
And warm loving sentiment,
Kindle the warm glow of health.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: more pitchers frum the parade

i could rite more bout the eleckshun, but thats bout all ye kin see on tee vee or innywhar now. so heres a few more pitchers of that thar greenwich village halloween parade.











ifn ye wood lack to look at all them fotos i tuck at the 2008 greenwich village halloween parade, click this here lank.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

amazement of buddy don: still pinchin myself

me n miz bd couldnt go to bed till we herd the winner announced, witch we caint hardly bleeve thangs cum out lack they dun.

tiz a grate day fer these here united states. i half to add mitt that i never thunk i wood see such a thang, but tiz a thang of beeyooty. i real eyes that the challenges are nigh onto impossibull, but thays more to a eleckshun than choosin policy: thays also whut it duz in terms of leadin us cultchurally.

n that whar we are a'gone change n thats the only change that really matters.

i seen this here mannikin in a store befor the eleckshun, but i dint wonta publish a pitcher of it till the votin wuz dun on a counta i dint wonta janx nuthin ...



(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

reckomendayshuns of buddy don: vote!

me n miz bd gut in line about 5 mints after them polls opend, but we dint git to vote fer 1 hour n 45 mints! the jersy state guvner votes at the same precinct we do, so all the media ye kin magine wuz thar. he still had to wait in line n far as i know, he is a'waitin still.

we bin votin here in whut they lacks to call ny citys sixth boro fer eight years, but we aint never had to wait ere now. even in 2004 we wuz in n out in no time.

but them lines is wurth it when yer part of histry bein made.

vote yall!

yall vote!

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: spooky parade in the village

after wurk on fridy, i tuck myself over to spring street n 6th avenue whar i snuck in n ackted lack i wuz a perfesshunull fotogruffer. twuz a lucky move on a counta not long afterds they woodnt let nobidy thru. i parkd myself next to the marshalls that wuz lettin folks thru that wuz part of the parade, witch i tuck thar pitchers as quick as they gut tharself past the barracade.

later on i gut stuck in the crowd, so i figgerd i could jes climb the barrier n walk out into the parade lack tuther perfesshunulls, n once i wuz out thar, nobidy made me quit. i tuck nigh onto 1,000 pitchers n a few of em cum out ok.

problem wuz, of corse, that twuz nite, n the lite wuz terrbull. i jes jacked up the iso n used the flash whar i could. corse that ment sum of them pitchers turnt out grainy, but whut ye a'gone do?

furst off, thay wuz plenty of the unded thar ...


this feller tells me i orta have dun seen the dark knight, witch i reckun i wooda gut his constume better ifn i had seen it ...


thay wuz a slew of jesuses thar, who they all seemd to hart obama ...


parnts cum all dressd up ...


n brung thar kids ...


thay wuz plenty of odd cuples thar ...


thay wuz poe-leece thar, bof fake ...


n real ...

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pomes of buddy don: An Item that Nobody Wants

An Item that Nobody Wants

Black and white thinking seems so very clear
Except that it mistakes the facts for the smear
Except that it misses the complexities
Of the hearts and the minds of our “enemies.”

Such thinking’s the province of our politics
At least from one side (though nothing much sticks),
But they think a scholar is a terrorist
If he doesn’t blend into their great white mist.

Imagine a PC with just one bit
That does almost nothing except to sit
And click on or off, yes or no, true or false,
That can’t even count out the beats to a waltz
A small little thing that “doesn’t do nuance” —
You’ve conjured an item that nobody wants!

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

joy of buddy don: them phils!

ifn yer a long time reader of this here blog, ye dun alreddy know i have been rootin fer them phillies since i wuz 8 years ole (1962). i cum to be a phillies fan one saturdy when thay wuz a game on the tee vee twixt the phillies n cubs. at that time, i had more baseball cards frum them two teams than i had frum inny other team. i had been a'rootin fer the yankees up till then (in the south thay wudnt no team till atlanta moved thar over a decade later), but i wonted to switch to the nashnull league n quit rootin fer the yankees on a counta daddy kep sayin twuz easy to root fer a team that dint never lose.

so i deecided that whoever won that thar game, i wood root fer them. lucky fer me twuz them phils.

oh they have dun made me pay fer my loyalty time n time agin. i mite never wooda becum a fan atall ifn them phils hadnt led the league almost all year long in 1964 ere they had pullt off one of the gratest chokes of all time, witch lucky a nuff fer me, them mets dun em one better last year.

then thay wuz 1980, when they won it all n i figgerd thay wood probly win a cuple more worl serieses after that, but twernt to be. by 1983, thay wuz bein calld the wheeze kids n them baltimore orioles proovd they dint have a nuff to win agin.

then in 1993, durin a time of grate personull grief (witch i will eggsplain by and by), they wuz beat by toronto whenever wild thang (thar reliever) made a grate pitch that joe carter hit over the left field wall, witch twood be the walkoff homer of the hole series.

i wuz afraid to say much bout my hopes this year (dint wonta janx em), but they finely cum thru.

i caint say why a bidy feels good whenever thar team favert wins one, but tiz a verr nice feelin. it dont fix nuthin. dont really matter much cumparrd to whuts a'goin on with the economy n such.

but it do feel good!

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

1500th post of buddy don: jes a nuther rider on this bus

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: calm day in manhattan

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: folks hangin out round union square

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)