waka of budouadana: Play

Play

When the words won’t come,
When the blank page seems to sneer
With its mute demands,
The writer must lose herself
In verbal play: her sentence.

thisn wuz writ fer a fine writer i know, witch tiz fer the book she orderd. once i git my hands on her new book (hot offn the presses), i will revue it here fer yall.

mean while, thays still a chants to git one of the furst 49 of shoot the devil, witch i dont know ifn ye red the comment frum yesterdy by a nuther grate riter, Anne Johnson frum The Gods Are Bored, but i reckon ye orta not miss if ifn yer wundern whuter the book is inny good.

pomes of buddy don: Make It Big

Make It Big

Our justice system teaches us that we
In these United States have got two tiers
To use to punish criminality
And yet protect the “haves” from their worst fears.

The lower tier’s for common criminals
Who might steal hub caps or sell bags of pot
Or even get in fights and bust some skulls —
They’ll be imprisoned long enough to rot.

The higher tier’s for those whose crimes are great,
Such as invading countries for a lie
Or torturing the suspects that they hate —
They’ll avoid prosecution till they die.

So if you dream of committing a crime,
Make sure it is so big you’ll do no time.

on the subjeck of major crimes, have ye had a chants to peruse that huge violayshun of 21st centry literairy laws name of shoot the devil? ye orta order yourn ere tiz too late! ye kin be bof the judge n jury ... n whenever ye cum up with the sentents it deeserves, ye kin send it die-reck to the author ... (n ye git a purty good deal ifn yer one of the furst 49!)

waka of budouadana: Time (writ fer Buck)

ye probly dun notissd how Buck give me permisshun to print the waka i writ fer eem after he bought his copy of shoot the devil. he had menchunned how it mite could be his epitaf, witch that led me to doin sumthin thats common in the ritin of waka (generly called tanka). tiz whar ye to vary the line a lil bit, witch i tuck add vantage of that in the third line with hisn, lettin it have 7 silabulls in sted of jes 5. tiz one of my faverts now (witch, that dont mean tiz inny good).

Buck tole me only that he wonted his to be titled 'Time' n bout how he mite use it fer his epitaf, witch that made it a lil trickier to git rite (causin the ritin of a few ere i gut one i wood be willin to rite into his book).

so here tiz:

Time

Time, though eternal,
Lasts no longer than a match
Consumed by flickering flames,
Leaving behind the ashes
Of remembered radiance.

mayhap ye mite also dun red whar BitLizard writ a comment bout how ye orta git one of the furst 49 on a counta ye git benefits aint nobidy else a'gone git. click here to take add vantage of that!

novels of buddy don: bout a waka writ fer Buck

i dont know whuther ye read the comments on this here blog, but ifn ye do, ye mite coulda seen the comment Buck made, witch tiz about the best pay innybidy kin git fer thar ritin:

My personalized Waka was worth the price of the book Buddy Don.

Thanks a whole, whole lot!

it dont git no bettern that!

tiz also proof that them books is a'gittin to them that orderd em. i ast Buck whuther he wood mind ifn i wuz to post the waka writ fer eem, n that i will do ifn he agrees.

meanwhile, thays sum books left, so ifn ye wonta git one, ye orta order whilst ye kin. once this furst batch has bin sold out, i wont be makin the same offer as i am now, witch ye kin read all bout it here.

the point is, i wonta give a lil exter to them that support shoot the devil now. thays even a lil sprize a'cummin up, witch whoever buys em one of the furst 49 will be offerd sumthin aint nobidy else a'gonna git lessn they pay more fer the priviledge.

watch this here blog fer more on the sprize! whilst yer waitin, ye kin click on a shoot the devil to git yourn!

waka of budouadana: Patience

Patience

When great rivers freeze,
Blocking all ferry traffic
With huge ice boulders,
Travelers must be patient
While waiting for the spring thaw.

by the way, ifn ye wonta do yer part to hep git the economy a'goin agin, to hep thaw out the frozen debt markets, why dont ye buy yer copy of shoot the devil whilst ye kin still take add vantage of the special offer, witch ye git a numberd copy of the book, chopped with the wandering hillbilly chop, sined by the author and yer very own waka, writ jes fer yer book n based on the subjeck ye supply me in two wurds or less.

waka of budouadana: Migraines

Migraines

Migraines eat your life,
Poisoning precious hours
With anxiety,
Harsh irritability,
Nausea, blank nothingness.

mizry of buddy don: they dont never quit

them migraines, that is. i been lucky most of this season, but this past long weekend has been a battle that i am finely losin.

waka of budouadana: Dream

Dream

Falling freely down
Into the river’s cold flow
Being lifted up
Playing in the miracle
Realizing our shared dream

pomes of buddy don: Two Crashes

Two Crashes

The two plane crashes serve as bookends to
The long hard journey through the wilderness
Of government by gut without review
Or calm consideration of what’s best
Or even curiosity about what’s really true.

The first was masterfully executed
By men whose twisted minds could justify
Destructive tactics planned and only suited
To spread religious hate, to terrify —
As if by evil, truth could be refuted.

Yet to our shame, this act came to be used
To foment fears in this land of the free,
To restrict rights where they were not abused
To trash the constitution "legally,"
With smirks of arrogance, as if amused.

The second crash, a shocking incident,
Was nothing anyone could have forecast —
A gaggle of geese nothing could prevent
From being sucked into the jet’s great blast,
Thus causing the emergency descent.

Yet practiced execution by the crew
And flying by a master pilot’s skill
Led to a perfect landing, straight and true,
Sent passengers into the wintry chill,
Where they saw ferry boats for their rescue.

How different are these historic crashes,
One leaving behind strength, the other ashes.

futzin of buddy don: trine to up grade

as ye kin see, thays bin sum changes made round here. i finely give in n up graded my blogger temp late, witch they kindly force ye into it after a while. tuck me the better part of the nite to git it fixed more or less on a counta ye lose ever thang whenever ye up grade.

thays sum nice thangs bout the new temp late, but i aint figgerd out how to make the wandering hillbilly banner wurk yet. fack is, ifn twernt fer my good frien meatbrain, i doubt ifn it wood have the gif atall.

cuple of the new thangs should be nice. ye kin foller this here blog ifn ye wonta. tiz also a lot easier to sub scribe. comments has bin fixed n lank backs too. the blogroll is better on a counta it putts the most recently updated blog at the top of the roll n gives the title of the new post n a pitcher ifn thay is one.

tiz 7 deegrees fair in height at the moment ... n i gut to git out in it by 9:30 or so ... n i am feelin that migrainous mizry ...

novels of buddy don: shoot the devil

furst off, i wood lack to thank them folk who have bin kind a nuff to order thar copy of shoot the devil. i real eyes that the price is a bit hi ($25.99), but fer that ye git whut could be a grate bargin on a counta each book sold frum this here furst batch will be unique: individually chopped, sined, etc.

best of all, ifn ye ast fer it, ye git a waka hand writ in yer copy.

point is, ifn this here novel should turn out to be famus or a classick, ever sangle one of them furst 49 books sold will turn into a uniquely valuable collecktibull. i add mitt that the chantses of inny book turnin into a huge seller or a classick are slim. thems the facks, ma'am, as they say.

but the chantses are much bettern inny odds ye kin git with a lottery or mos inny other gambull ye mite try. big differnts here is that even ifn ye buy a book that dont turn out to earn ye a pile of money, ye still a'gone have the book n the lackly enjoymint ye git frum readin a good book (n even ifn it mite seem arrogunt to say so, i know tiz a good book).

nuther thang to menchun is that thar waka i promiss to rite ye, ifn ye give me a wurd or two. ye mite could thank taint all that hard to rite one, n fer the mos part ye wood be rite. but that dont mean ye kin rite one thats suitabull fer ritin into a book sumbidy orderd.

twuz my grate good fortune that one of my favert readers n bloggers, Buck of Tête-à-Tête-Tête, orderd one. his reequest wuz fer a waka on 'time.' i tride n faild to suit myself with a waka fer eem this mornin, but in the attempts, i writ a cuple otherns!

aint nuthin lack trine to rite fer havin lucky acksidents!

so my pall gies to ye, Buck, but i caint send yourn out today. twill be tomorrow, even ifn i gut to rite fifty waka ere i rite on good a nuff fer a feller as fine as yew.

meantime, heres the two waka i writ whilst a'trine to rite yourn:

Age

Age adds wrinkles
To our faces and our brains,
Leaving memories,
That fade, blur and dim as time
Kindly distills our story.

Change

Without constant change —
Day and Night, Passion and Calm,
Even simple Laughter —
All would be static, frozen,
Without Life or Love or Time.

have ye orderd yer copy of shoot the devil yet? no? then click this lank n git ye one ere tiz too late!

chores of buddy don: mailin books!

today i had the grate honor of spendin my mornin hours perparin books to mail. meant ritin a lil waka or two fer them that wonted em n putting numbers, chop n signachurs whar thay blongs. at lease one reader has dun red it cumpleatly n he thanks twill be a classick ... witch ye mite speck as much frum yer own bruther, ceptn he wood never say such a thang ifn he dint bleeve it, n i have the unpublished manuscrips to proov it.

ye mite wonta order yourn today, ere tiz too late to git a furst edition sined, chopped n numberd.

eggscuses of buddy don: overslept agin

i wish i could say twuz on a counta havin a big ole birthdy party, but twuz more lackly due to me bein 'a little bit older and a litter slower'. fack is, me n miz bd enjoyed a quiet evenin at home. then i gut to readin The Tale of Genji n jes couldnt putt it down (ye wood be amazed at how inneresting the worl's furst novel is!).

speakin of grate novels, did ye git a chants to pick up yer copy of thisn?

waka of budouadana: End

End

The work of dying
Is what we came here to do,
Though it’s the last thing
We wish to face or admit:
Let life justify its end!

as ye mite dun alreddy know, today marks the 57th time i have ridden this lovely blue ball of earth completely around the sun.

even ifn i aint sellin minny of them books (not that i dont have hopes to sell a few more), twuz verr importunt to me to have shoot the devil dun ere my birthdy cum round agin. the same is true fer the secunt book, the wanderin hillbilly, of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly.

n my fervunt wish n dream fer whuts left of my life is to finish whut i have started. jes let me live long a nuff fer that n i kin die thankin i had justified this here life.

thankee fer stoppin by! why dont ye click rite here n git yer copy of shoot the devil ere tiz too late? dont fergit to give me two wurds fer the topick of a waka composed jes fer ye n hand writ into yer copy ...

novels of buddy don: nuther note about shoot the devil

on fridy i found out that the banner ad fer shoot the devil dont show up a lots of places that hides behind firewalls n websense blockers n such.

so to make it verr simple, ye kind buy ye a copy of the book by clickin rite here! dont fergit to give me two wurds of deescripshun fer the waka ye wood lack to have writ by hand in yer copy.

thankee to them few thats dun alreddy orderd. heres hopin the rest of yall gits a chants purty soon ...

novels of buddy don: that thar chop

yesterdy i owned up to havin a novel name of shoot the devil published n menchunned that ifn ye wuz to buy ye one, i wood sine it n chop it. not only that, ifn ye give me two wurds to deescribe a waka ye wood lack to have writ by hand in yer copy of the book, i will make one up jes fer yew n rite that waka in yer copy of the book.

whenever i menchunned that, i sed that a book bein chopped woodnt hurt it nun. heres whut i mean by chopped.

ye kin git yer own chop, ifn ye wonta, by orderin it frum Dragon's Tomb in hong kong same as i dun. takes bout a munth to arrive after ye order. the one i ordered wuz fer 'wandering hillbilly' n it cum out lack this:



how i wish i knew me a bunch of them chinese carackters sos i could be shore that whut i bought wuz ackshly sumthin bout a wandering hillbilly. thonly thang i know fer shore is how one of the careackters stands fer mountain (thats the one in the upper left hand corner that looks kindly lack a trident).

folks in china has bin usin chops kindly lack a signachure fer minny a year (lease a cuple centries). thang is, ever chop is hand carved, witch that means thay aint no two of em jes alike, n that makes inny one of em a unique marker to proov whoever used it wuz the persun thay wuz spozed to be.

so here is the offer i am a'makin to innybidy that buys em a book:

1. ye git yer own copy of shoot the devil


2. i will persunally sine n chop yer copy


3. shippin n handlin in the united states is free


4. ifn ye give me two wurds bout whut kinda waka ye wood lack to have handwrit in yer copy, i will compose one fer ye n hand rite it in yer copy of the book


5. each book will be numbered as ifn twuz a artistick print that has a limited number of copies, witch thays only 49 of em n who knows when or ifn i will be able to git innymore

i wuz deelited n amazed that them books started sellin within a cuple hours of me announcin thay wuz fer sale yesterdy, so ye mite wonta order yourn whilst the numbers are still low.

novels of buddy don: shoot the devil

ifn ye look real keerful lack, ye mite could notiss a new lil banner ad on the left hand side of this here blog.

tiz fer a novel i writ that has finely bin published name of shoot the devil, witch tiz the furst book of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly.

(by the way, ifn ye dun alreddy red the draft of it here as i wuz a'ritin it, ye will see how i dun cleand it up n rewrit sum of the ruffer parts.)

thay say timin is everthang n in sum ways ye mite could thank thay wudnt no wurser time to be trine to sell a novel, speshly one writ in hillbilly. fer one thang, the hole publishin bizness has changed thanks to everthang a'goin digitull. thay wuz a lil articull in salon tuther week name of Read it and weep; The economic news couldn’t be worse for the book industry. Now insiders are asking how literature will survive.

tiz my fervant bleef that literchur is a'gone survive no matter whut. tiz lack sayin folks wont make no more rock n roll musick now that ye kin downlode it fer free. taint so. ever artist ever born has to create or die. histry shows how minny of the gratest artists of all time dint make no money offn thar wurk. (i kin reelate to that, even ifn i aint one of the gratest artists in histry, on a counta i aint made much money neethur!).

but i gut to readin all them reasons why literchur is bout to die n real eyesed how it has sumthin to do with the argumint that folks aint gut no deesire fer books. purty soon folks will only read books on thar eelecktronick deevices, thar kindles n such.

innywho, i happen to luv books, even ifn i do wish i had a kindle vershun of The Tale of Genji, world's furst novel, witch twuz writ by a japanese woman round the years 1000 to 1008 or so. the book translated into english runs to over 1,100 pages n weighs a good five pound or more, so tiz hard to lug around. but i wood still wonta have the book itself, not jes the digitull ghost of it.

but i dun herd the wurd n figgerd i wood offer the follerin deal to make this here book, the physicull thang, wurth havin:

1. furst, ifn ye order the book fer deelivry in the usa, ye dont have to pay fer handlin n shippin.


2. secunt, i will bof autograff n chop ever book innybidy orders (i will splain 'chop' by n by, witch no harm whutsoever happens to a book thats been chopped), lease fer the furst batch.


3. ever book of the furst batch will be sined n numberd, kindly lack ye mite do with a artisticull print.


4. finely, i will putt a personull waka writ jes fer ye ifn ye give me two wurds of the subjeck ye wont fer yer waka.

tiz only fair to warn ye that thays only 49 books left out of the furst batch, n i dun sent the furst one out. (ye mite also have gut the news on this frum my good friend red molly, who she was the furst persun to read the hole thang n cunvints me that reglar folk mite lack a book writ in hillbilly. hers wuz made ere i had the chop n ere i wuz numbern thangs, but it orta be speshul in its own rite on a counta tiz sined n all.)

ifn i wuz a rich man, i wood luv to give these books away, speshly to folks thats bin puttin up with this here blog fer so long, but i aint rich n this year, i gut a cut in pay of over 10% (tiz true fer mos everbidy on wall street, witch them that wuz makin more had even bigger cuts in thar pay). so the furst batch mite could be thonly one on a counta ifn i caint sell em, i caint git no more.

so why dont ye give a lil click to that thar banner ad n git yer copy whilst the numbers are low! ye never know: yer book mite could be a verr valuabull item sumdy, witch i am a'hopin ye will buy it sos ye kin read it, but ifn ye wonta make it a investmint, thats fine too.

pomes of buddy don: The Listener Will Understand

The Listener Will Understand

I try to write something everyday
A habit I’ve nourished for years,
But what do I write with nothing to say,
When silence has filled up my ears?

Sometimes, I suppose, one should simply desist
And let the day go without words,
But when they are swirling, who can resist,
Pretending that they might be birds?

O fly away little words, land in an ear,
Sing whatever you can,
Although your message is one I can’t hear
The listener will understand.

pomes of buddy don: Make No Mistake

Make No Mistake

He cannot admit a single mistake
Cannot understand why we might be upset
At losing our surplus, at losing our stake,
At seeing how much more “them that’s got” can get,

At watching Katrina destroy a great city
While he clowned around with his friend’s new guitar,
At seeing his glee as he failed to show pity
To those he condemned to cruel fates most bizarre,

At big brother eavesdropping all in good fun
To private phone calls of our troops in the field,
At finishing what terrorists leave undone:
Using our fears to convince us to yield.

How many errors can one man make
And still not acknowledge a single mistake?

waka of budouadana: Resolutions

Resolutions

Resolutions made,
Ready to attack the year
With best intentions,
We know our adversary
Self alone might trip us up.

waka of budouadana: Subdued

Subdued

Our celebration
At the ending of the year
Was somewhat subdued
For we could not help knowing
That the new year threatened much.

waka of budouadana: Brew

Brew

My morning coffee,
Bitter brew of wakefulness
At new year’s dawning,
Provides this hopeful moment
To reflect and look forward.