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.)