waka of budouadana: Surprised

Surprised

Forgot my iPod
This morning before walking
In the May breezes,
Where I was surprised to hear
An angelic choir of birds.

vacayshuns of buddy don: the grate mothers tour of 2009

in case ye git to wundern whuther i have dun dropped offn this here worl, dont wurry nun: me n miz bd is a'gone git on the rode later on today sos we kin visit with our kin in the grate states of tennessee n ohio. we kin hardly wait to see em! miz bd is a'gone brang a laptop cumputer she gut, so mayhap i will git the chants to post a pitcher or sumthin.

our dream fer the trip is to git sum good a nuff wether to climb mt le conte agin. n thays a cuple graves we wood lack to honor.

we orta be back in a cuple weeks ...


yall take keer now!

waka of budouadana: Reversal

Reversal

Setback equals test,
Stumble opportunity,
Reversal a chance
To master fate and oneself,
To grow stronger and wiser.

life of buddy don: whut buck sed

in a comment on the pitcher i putt up yesterdy, buck of Tete-â-Tete-â-Tete pointed out a cuple of thangs only a verr sharp observer wood ever notiss:

I love the way Ezekiel's eye is caught in the rim of the mirror. That is neat.

And the guy in the picture on the shelf. That picture looks like it was taken in the mountains of appalachia.

Was it?

furst, tiz a bit of a shame to half to add mitt that me n miz bd dint even notiss the refleckshun of ezekiels eye in the rim of the meer!

secunt, tiz a good bit of notissin thangs to catch the pitcher on the shelf. tiz indeed in appalachia. fack is, tiz a pitcher thats verr famus in our fambly. twuz tuck by liams grandpa, who he is in the same pitcher. tiz a pitcher of daddy fly fishin on the obed river back in the 70s sum time (twuz a place whar folks dint visit verr often in them daze). daddy wuz standin at one of his favert places to fish, rite whar clear creek cums into the obed. we used to camp on the lil spit of land twixt them two rivers, n i hope sumday to visit it agin, witch tiz a tuff hike to git thar ... or twuz in them daze.

daddys aint with us no more, but i hope hes found as good a place to fish whar he is now as that place wuz then.

so kudos to buck fer havin such a grate eye! n thankee, sir, fer the comment.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: lucky shot

tuther week (or munth) me n miz bd gut to go to a party fer my grate neffyew (n he is a grate lil feller!). durin the celebrayshun, i tuck a pitcher in a meer that turnt out magickull ...



in that thar pitcher ye kin see ezekiel n my grate neffyew liam n his grandpa n tony n pitchers of sum of the fambly thats no longer with us n sum that is. twuz a lucky shot. tiz proof that ye orta take as minny pitchers as ye kin ifn ye wonta git a goodun. i tuck over 700 of em that day ...

pomes of buddy don: It Can't Be Our Fault

It Can’t Be Our Fault

You fought through the war, you’re home and upset,
But we don’t want to hear nothing no how,
We don’t want to see you on our Tee Vee set
Fighting the wars we don’t care about now.

The bombs, the destruction, it all brings us down —
We don’t want to seem the least bit unkind —
But we have a game, our team is in town,
So why should we sully our beautiful mind?

Why should we care about demons who haunt
You soldiers, you sailors, airmen or marines?
You come home brooding and looking so gaunt
As if we should share in the trouble you’ve seen!

We just want to relax, knock back a few beers,
It can’t be our fault since you’re all volunteers!

mizry of buddy don: flu

i aint bin ritin nuthin fer bout a week on a counta havin the flu, witch ye mite could say twuz a ruff row to hoe. i am still loded with congestchun n coffin my fool hed off n hopin miz bd dont cum down with the same flu. i hope to git back to reglar postin purty soon. n i hope nun of yall gits this flu, witch it had me with hi fever fer days (102) then low fevers with abdominull distress, witch ye dont need to here nuthin bout that to git how trublesum such a malady is.

waka of budouadana: Flu

Flu

Air through both nostrils,
No elevated fever,
Queasiness or runs,
But sweet survivor’s fatigue —
Renewed spirit after flu.

waka of budouadana: Capture

Capture

Energy from suns
Pours freely into the void
Towards entropy,
Yet fragile grass and flowers
Capture it and build whole worlds.

waka of budouadana: Earth

Earth

Newly budded leaves
Splashes of bright tulip hues
Cherry blossom snow
Blind kittens crying for milk
The smell of newly plowed earth

pomes of buddy don: No Matter What He Does

No Matter What He Does

We used to talk about the famous “up or down vote,”
As if that were the only thing that mattered,
But now that things have changed, we all must chant another note
In shocked tones that suggest we’ve been mad hattered!

We do not even know who our next enemy will be,
And yet we know for certain we oppose this great unknown,
Obstructive fights could be avoided if the nominee
Were wisely chosen from our very own!

For "empathy" for wealthy folks (now that we’re on the run!)
Is something that fits well with our great creed —
And that would be OK since we will back most anyone
Who understands the poor rich man’s great need!

No matter what he does, we can be sure it will be wrong —
If that weren’t true, we’d have to go and learn another song!

waka of budouadana: Bright Day

Bright Day

As dark clouds gather,
We brace for the coming storm
With prayers of thanks,
Knowing that the greening trees
Mean a bright day will soon dawn.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: gone so soon

them cherry blossoms wuz here fer a verr short season, but now thar near all dun been shed frum thar trees. heres a cuple pitchers of em whenever they wuz in peak:

waka of budouadana: Lilacs

Lilacs

When the lilacs bloom
In early May, their rich fragrance
Fills the heavy air
With bruised purple memories
Of our sweet baby sister.