pomes of buddy don: God

God

That God is All and Everything should be
As obvious as moonlight on the plains,
Or sunlight sparkling through the dewy leaves,
Or even just the smell of morning coffee --

Not as distant as coldly winking stars,
Nor as deadly as active volcanoes,
Nor as pristine as ponds of sacred lotus,
Nor as awe-full as the calculus of pi --

But closer than can be imagined,
As real as a dying honeybee’s sting;
For with All and Everything, God must be
Even simple sinners such as You and I;

For as flowers reflect sun and rain,
Every new born babe embodies God.

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!

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!

pomes of buddy don: What Are These Fools Thinking?!?

What Are These Fools Thinking?!?

What are these fools thinking, when they attack,
The high-minded lawyers who came to assist
Our leaders who wanted to invade Iraq
Yet couldn’t procure proof from nabbed terrorists?

We’d learned in Korea lessons that SERE’d
As torture induced downed airmen to confess
To crimes for which their homeland could be smeared,
For one will say anything under duress.

Though in those old days 'to waterboard'
Was widely called torture, even by us,
Its use as a tool *now* can’t be ignored!!!
Time bombs could be ticking!!! What’s all the fuss?!?

We’ve all heard it said, 'We don't torture' it’s true —
But we get 'good intell' if we ever do!

pomes of buddy don: Our Only Shield

Our Only Shield

Although we outspend all other nations
To defend ideals we oft forget,
We feel a sense of growing desperation,
As bands of criminals still pose a threat.

Like British redcoats marching in their files
Through rugged wilderness of colonies
To be defeated by guerrilla wiles,
We think our navy master of the seas.

We do not understand the changed terrain —
Of nations whose people are set ablaze
By terrorists, by pirates, the insane —
Who grow by declaiming our errant ways.

Great power is an awesome thing to wield,
But moral high ground is our only shield.

waka of budouadana: cupla waka squeezed out by migraines

Sensation

Pain emanating?
Suffusing? Penetrating?
Half a head swollen
Like a balloon to bursting?
A sensation beyond words?

Curse?

Awakened by pain,
Dense throbbing of left temple,
Bulging of left eye,
Slowly nagging nausea:
Is this life's curse? Or life's cure?

waka of budouadana: Purity

Purity

Individual
Snowflakes, unique and fragile,
Float softly to earth,
Where they unite and cover
The world with cold purity.

waka of budouadana: bulbs

Bulbs

Planted tulip bulbs,
Though buried beneath dark earth,
Will faithfully sprout
In time to welcome the spring —
So our souls grow from hardship.

waka of budouadana: Paint

Paint

Just as crocuses,
Magnolias and tulips
Break cold winter earth
To paint the world in spring hues,
Brave love warms the coldest heart.

waka of budouadana: Lessons

Lessons

We all live with pain,
For it is the warning cry
Of the physical,
Without which we would perish
And miss its vital lessons.

i posted that thar pome name of 'pat' that i writ yesterdy over on the knoxviews blog, witch in a comment fletch give me this here challenge:

how about about a waka on this subject?

i tuck eem up on it n heres whut i cum up with ...

Summitt

An Olympian
Injured but domineering
Changed the Ladies game
Starting deep in the holler
Ascending to the Summitt

pomes of buddy don: Pat

Pat

She took a sport of softened expectations
And taught her ladies her intensity,
While never selling short their graduations,
While never selling short Ole Tennessee,

While never giving up on any play,
While never asking less than everything,
While never once taking the easy way,
They made the final four most every spring.

She knows the pain of losing all too well,
She still remembers each bitter defeat,
But what she taught no little poem can tell:
It’s how, when down, to get back on your feet.

A thousand wins and yet she is the same:
Completely focused on the coming game.

pomes of buddy don: The Eight Figure Feast

The Eight Figure Feast

Let us all cry now our crocodile tears
As we hear of the wrenching travails
That poor wealthy CEOs and their peers
Must face as if they were beds of sharp nails.

For if they want help from the US of A
They have to face limits on how much they make —
A mere half a million is too much you say?
For them it’s just like a massive earthquake.

For they’ve planned their lives around their paycheck,
The same way that all of us have to do,
And could we imagine the fiscal train wreck
We’d face if our pay went from twenty to two?

They’ve now lost millions, on paper at least:
Could this be the end of the eight-figure feast?

pomes of buddy don: Less Than Half?

Less Than Half?

Our military spending is in danger!
I heard it on the TV news last night.
It’s strange to hear, but what is even stranger:
Too little increased spending is the plight!

Can we protect ourselves when spending slips
Down to a mere 48 percent
Of all bucks spent on bombers, tanks and ships
In the whole world by those who represent

Other nations that aren’t even ours,
Such as Europe, where 1 of five is spent
Of every Euro to buy lethal power?
Or China, who account for 8 percent?

We must not rest while we spend less than half
Of all spent on the war god’s golden calf.

pall gies fer not postin nuthin yesterdy, but i wuz in migraine hell fer the fourth strate day. odd thang is, i gut to feelin a lil better once the snow started a'fallin yesterdy afternoon.

do i need to heckle ye bout buyin yer copy of shoot the devil? i am bettin ye wont be sorry ifn ye git ye one. all orders ackcepted, ever book sined n chopped n all waka idees will be used, no matter how challengin they mite git.

waka of budouadana: Stuck

Stuck

On my way to fly
Across the wide green valley,
I got myself stuck
In a muddy hole and spent
Sweaty hours climbing out.

that thar waka above is bout the migraines i had this weekend, witch tiz a blessin fer em to cum on the weekend sos i dont lose no wurk, but thay aint no fun. mz bd give me a reiki sesshun, witch it dint brang everthang to a halt, but it did let me sleep fer the rest of the day.

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!

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.