pitchers tuck by buddy don: tuther quagmire

them amung the readers thats old a nuff lackly members the vietnam war, witch they say ifn ye member the 60s ye lackly wudnt thar, but tiz jes a joke on a counta mos of us kin member when a war mint sumbidy wuz a'gone half to sacrifice sumthin. corse thay wuz a draft in them daze n we had jurnalists that wudnt servin up entertainmint dictated by thar corprutt owners, so ye could see dead, dyin n wounded soljers ever evenin on the tee vee. thay wuz body counts n endless argumints bout whut wood happen ifn we wuz to leave vietnam: bloodbath, tuther cuntries in the region fallin fer communism lack a line of dominoes, etc.

as mayhap ye know frum yer histry, dint nun of that happen. thay wuz sum truble in cambodia, but twernt on a counta our leavin (we wudnt spozed to be fitin in cambodia, tho we dun it innywho).

tuther day me n miz bd wuz walkin n over in man hattan n run smack dab into a parade name of the international immigrants day parade. we dint git to see innythang but the end of it, witch that happend to be the vientamese part of it ...



as i watched these folks passin by i couldnt hep but thank bout how they wuz demonized as gooks n such. we thunk of em as enemies lack no other, the kind that wood put a bomb in a baby carriage to attack our soljers, the kind that wood spread communism everwhar, the kind that deeserved napalm n bombin n yew name it.

so we gut out after 58,000 of our bravest had dun paid the ultimate sacrifice. the draft wuz killt. administrayshuns larnt not to share inny news atall, if possibull, bout inny war, lessn the news could be made to seem good. thats why aint hardly nobidy ever seen a pitcher of a ded amurkin in iraq nor much of inny reportin frum thar. we dont even see the president attendin funerulls, witch ever other president dun.

so wuz we able to make peace with them we wuz a'fitin? seems lack. i wunder whuther we could do the same with the iraqis, witch tiz jes as hard to tell who is the enemy over thar as twuz durin vietnam.



















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waka of budouadana: Twists

Twists

Life’s crooked pathways
Twist away from one’s desires
With cruel aplomb,
A moment's disappointment
Often leading to great joy.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: everbidy luvs a newborn

it tuck long a nuff. sarah, the poor mother, wuz in labor fer over 30 hours. the idee wuz to have the child at home in a natcherul settin, but twernt to be. lil ezekiel wuz in a posterior posishun, witch that made it near impossibull fer im to cum out on his own. after a day n a nite of hard labor (easy fer me to say), the parnts n midwife wint on down to st vincents hospital on 12th street in the west village. they kept at trine to git the child to cum natcherul, but still wernt to be. finely they deecided twood be a c-seckshun, witch after that twernt long till the midwife cum n tole us that sarah had deeliverd a baby boy at 12:22 pm. he wuz 22 inches long n weighd 8.6 pounds.

n frum a cumpletely 100 percent objecktive point of vue, he turnt out to be one of the purtiest n mos purrfeck babies ever bornd!

heres proof, sum pitchers of lil ezekiel (nobidy gits thar rite name on this here blog lessn thays alreddy famus) ...







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waka of budouadana: Anticipation

Anticipation

Anticipation,
Causing each minute to stretch
Into a slow crawl,
Adds its painful heavy weight
To the young woman’s labor.

i aint sed much bout it, but thays sum big news a'cummin n probly dun alreddy here, witch that is how my son tonys girlfrien sarah went into labor yesterdy. far as i know, the child has been born, but we are all waitin to here. they dint wonta know the sex in add vants, so thays a lot to be larnt once the arrival has been announced.

thays a dab of brakin news that jes now cum in: twuz the plan to have the baby at home, but since sarahs bin in labor all nite, they have dun deecided to have the baby at the hospitull. corse we are sittin by the fone n hopin to here more. i reckun i will take the day off n go down to sit with tony in the waitin room.

more news to cum!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: 3 more homeless in man hattan

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waka of budouadana: Loyalty

Loyalty

To gain affection
One might assist another,
But for loyalty
Helping others rarely works:
For that let someone help you.

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waka of budouadana: Sleep

Sleep

Working overtime
Until my very bones ache
And yawns interrupt
Each sentence with their demands,
My sleep is deep, refreshing.

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waka of budouadana: Service

Service

Pilfering pollen,
The greedy bee buzzes from
Flower to flower,
Seeding each fragile blossom
In blind service to her hive.

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waka of budouadana: Stress

Stress

Borrowed future woe
Over what might come to be,
Or borrowed past angst
For what could or should have been,
Cost high interest rates of stress.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: humbull gargoyles

yesterdy me n miz bd went on up to inwood fer a lil fathers day brunch. on the way we stopped by loretta n paddys to brang em a wii fit miz bd managed to git (twerent easy). as we walked up 103rd street, miz bd pointed out these humbull gold gargoyles, man n woman guardin the bildin, so i tuck thar pitcher ...





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anniversries of buddy don: blog turns 5 year ole today

happy fridy the thirteenth!

today marks five years since i begun ritin this here blog. i half to add mitt, aint nuthin in my life thats bin better fer gittin me to rite than thankin that thays folks out thar wontin to check whut i mite coulda writ on inny given day.

corse, fack is thays only a handful of reglar readers (n i luv em all). mos all my hits cums frum folks thats lookin fer pitchers or folks that caint spell. i also git plenty of hits frum folks lookin fer porn on a counta the wurd cum, witch i spell it that way on a counta thats how tiz sed by them i grew up with in the hills of east tennessee.

durin that time, i have bin lucky a nuff to git a total of 91,963 hits frum unique vistors (aint all my vistor unique?), witch that aint as minny as big blogs gits in a day, but tiz way moren i ever eggspected.

corse i aint doin it fer hits. i cummenced ritin this thang on a counta how i wonted to practiss up ritin the langwage of stories as twuz used by my fambly whenever they wood gather roun a fire of a evenin. taint that they wudnt educated. my granddaddy wuz judge of his county, my daddy gut his dr of jurisprudents, n most everbidy in the fambly gut good book larnin.

but whenever it cum time to tell a story, ever last one of em wood fall into that ole hillbilly dialeck. tiz a grate way to tell a tale, lease in my pinion, so i tuck it up my ownself.

my mane reason fer doin that wuz sos i could rite a novel name of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly. tiz a wurk i figgerd wood cumprise a few 'books' or volumes, so to speak. so fer, i dun writ near all of the furst three of em, witch thay wood be 'shoot the devil' (ruff draft cummences here), 'the wanderin hillbilly' (ruff draft cummences here), n 'the skool of hard knox' (cummences here). i bin stalled in the middle of that lastn fer a while now, witch i pray most everday i will git back on that horse n ride, but taint easy.

i also tride my hand at a lil punditry, witch heres three thangs i writ that gut me more hits fer a sangle post than i wood generly git in a week:

1. pinions of buddy don: ten commandments eggsplained in footnotes
   
2. pinions of buddy don: the re-attitudes
   
3. pinions of buddy don: duz it take a dicktater?

i also writ a slew of pomes, witch i gut to thankin after a while that i dint wonta be lack ever other blogger commentin on the stories of the day, so i tride to doot in rhymes, generly in the form of a shakespearyun sonnet. i aint a'gonna put no lanks to em since thays moren a hunnert at lease. ye kin find em ifn yer innerested.

nuther thang that more or less happend to me is a form of pomes i dint know nuthin bout ere i cummenced ritin em, witch that wood be waka, also knowd as tanga. tiz a form frum japan that cunsists of jes 5 lines, the furstn with 5 syllabulls, the next with 7, then 5, then the last two with 7. i cummenced ritin em (heres the furstn i writ) by request sos they could be used fer a local dojo, n i aint turnt back. one thang i dun with em is to rite one fer each card of the tarot, tho i never sed so (astoot readers probly figgerd thatn out startin with the furstn in the major arcana).

but much as i luv to rite, tiz a temptayshun to putt up nuthin but pitchers on a counta thats whar most of my traffick cums frum. pitchers brangs me vistors moren innythang else, witch heres the top six, leadin up to the one that brangs me the most traffick of inny post i ever dun:

• sixth most hits ... pitcher of my back after gittin gua sha
  
• fifth most hits ... bd ackupunchurd
  
• forth most hits ... miz bds birthdy cake
  
• third most hits ... sacred lotus blossom
  
• secunt most hits ... showin off her tattoo
  
• n finely, proovin that aint nuthin attracks folks (men?) lack a pitcher of whut could be a nekkid woman, even ifn she is made of plastick!, heres to sangle thang that gits me the most hits ... plastick woman, witch thatns jes a pitcher of a doll that wuz in a winnder i wuz passin whenever i tuck the pitcher.

i wish i had more time this mornin, witch thats sumthin i wish most everday. i am shore happy i tuck up bloggin, even ifn it tuck miz bd minny a munth to talk me into trine it. i dun writ more in the past 5 years than i ever dun befor n the mane reason fer that is the thought that thays sumbidy out thar wontin to read it, even ifn tiz only the ruff draft.

witch that proovs how ifn ye stick this here wanderin hillbilly with a knife, lack as not, ye a'gone find a ham inside ...

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: tursts speakin forn tungs

man hattan is loded with tursts who lack to cum here on a counta everthang is so cheap fer em ever since the dollar tanked ...





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pomes of buddy don: sovereignty

Sovereignty

The problem with these new democracies
Is that they fail to understand their vote
Can make it look as if we would appease
The very folks we never would promote.

How dare Iraqis we gave liberty
Raise questions about our noble intent
Or whine about our gift of sovereignty
When it’s their freedom we helped implement?

Why must their legislature act as though
Allowing our troops to extend their stay
Until we have decided we should go
Should put their sovereignty in disarray?

Our ways are very simple, can’t they see?
By force we’ll make them stand up and be free!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: playin chess in union square park

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waka of budouadana: Horizon

Horizon

At the horizon
Heaven touches lowly earth
With blazing sunsets,
Rain to slake the prairie’s thirst,
Wind-blown snow to robe great peaks.

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pomes of buddy don: The American Dream

(Reflecting on the Democratic Nomination of Barack Obama for President of the United States of America)

The American Dream

Arriving in chains in 1619
To be sold as chattel, fed leftover swill,
To be used as tools to help others fulfill
What grandly is called the American dream –

Stripped of their dignity, their divine right
To keep their own customs, live with their kin,
Or even to speak their own language again –
Forbidden to learn how to read and to write,

They cooked all the meals, they worked in the field,
Bore for their masters more slaves to be sold,
To be broken long before they were old
While keeping their hopes for freedom concealed –

Yet their deepest dreams could not be curtailed,
They not only endured – they finally prevailed.

When given freedom, “emancipation,”
And told they’d receive both land and a mule,
Jim Crow came along with methods so cruel
As to keep them bound in poor desperation

By lynchings and terror and burning crosses,
Through use of the poll tax, strict segregation
And harsh laws against miscegenation,
They were left free to serve the same bosses.

Yet they would not let their struggle die
As they nourished dreams, refused to succumb,
Promised themselves they would overcome
And lift every voice, to sing to the sky,

That their deepest dreams would not be curtailed –
They not only endured – they finally prevailed.

Today we have seen what we never believed
We could see in a land so divided by race
That seemed destined to live with the disgrace
Of ideals long cherished, never achieved.

Yet OUR deepest dreams no one could curtail –
We ALL have endured and begun to prevail!

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waka of budouadana: Childhood Summers

Childhood Summers

We ate hard boiled eggs,
Tied string to a June bug’s leg,
Drank sweet lemonade,
Fielded grounders daddy hit,
Napped through humid afternoons.

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pomes of buddy don: Folly Must Be Wise

Folly Must Be Wise

Once he had left the White House and thus lost
The Talking Points that filled his mouth with “News!”
And written down the Truth at his own cost,
Revealing he was just a tool they used –
He found the Means he’d used for his old Boss
Were turned on him in order to confuse
A Public that has learned to accept loss
Of Truth from those whose words are just a ruse.

So Kill the Messenger! the Wingnuts shout,
For we know that he’s always told the Lies
That our Brave Hero hired him to spout,
The kind of patter he used to disguise
Mere facts that would make Voters tend to doubt
That our Great Leader’s Folly must be Wise.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: worshippin at the eggschange

thays lots of folks that argue bout whuther amurka has a natcherul relijun, witch it mite not be natcherul, but thays a relijun everbidy lacks to practiss, even ifn we dont lack to add mitt tiz our mane relijun: gittin n spendin.

tuther day durin lunch i tuck a lil walk up to the mane cathedrull of that relijun, the new york stock eggschange. thay had dun gatherd a slew of worshippers to watch the show, witch so happend that thay wuz a dance troop doin the hole histry of the eggschange rite thar in frunt of everbidy.



as ye kin see, the altar of that grate amurkin relijun is verr impressive ...


folks cums out to watch the sale-a-brayshun ...


gittin n spendin kin be a hungry bizness, witch thays sum smart folks that knows how that stock eggschange kin be a good place to turn a dollar sellin lunch to folks that cums to worship ...


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eggscuses of buddy don: couldnt git smugmug to uplode fast a nuff

i wuz fixin to show ye sun pitchers it tuck of the new york stock eggschange durin lunch tuther day, but smugmug wuz so slow in lodin em, that they aint reddy yet. i will git em in the mornin.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: whut a differnts a rif makes

heres a cuple pitchers lack them i posted tuther day bout that daily trudge to wurk. mane differnts here is thay wuz a rif of lots of folks that wooda bin in the verr same trudge ifn they hadnt bin let go. mayhap ye kin see a lil more life in the steps of these folks on a counta they know thar lucky to be trudgin to wurk!





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waka of budouadana: Peak

Peak

My aching muscles,
Remind me of the struggle
To climb each mountain,
To rise from hot humid plains
And taste the peak’s cold crisp air.

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revues of buddy don: wii fit

this caint be a hole revue on a counta i wonta git my daily yoga in on the wii fit.

but my frien red molly menchunned in a comment that she dint know whut a wii fit even wuz, so i figgerd the lease i could do is say a few wurds bout it n give ye a lank or two.

it cum to pass a while back that them kids wint together to git me a wii fer my birthdy back in januwary. twuz fun fer a while, but i gut a lil bored with it on a counta i couldnt git nobidy to play it with me (tiz much more fun to play thangs together). miz bd wuz willin to play, but never rite then.

so whenever mothers day wuz a'cummin up, them kids gut together agin to pre-order miz bd the wii fit balance bord, witch ifn ye foller that lank ye will see nintendos launch presentayshun.

tiz a lot more fun than inny other video game i have ever played, witch that probly tells ye more bout me than them games. but thisn is so much fun i caint wait to play it.

way it wurks is simple. ye git ye a slab of plastick name of a balance bord, witch it kin weigh ever lil movemint ye make. tiz broke up into four quadrunts n a'usin that it kin show ye whuther yer balance is good or not. tiz a grate thang fer yoga n other extra sizes that require keerful balance. thats grate on a counta otherwise ye mite could thank yer a'doon much bettern ye are. tiz verr hard jes to stand still n balanced in ever die-reckshun (frunt to back n side to side).

taint everbidy that lacks it on a counta it dont sugarcoat nuthin. but tiz lodes of fun!

now i am off to git in at lease 15 mints of yoga.

btw, my muscles is sore everwhar thays a muscle! but tiz a good kinda sore ...

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eggscuses of buddy don: wii fit

fergive me fer not bloggin moren this. miz bd gut a wii fit fer mothers day n i dun spent nigh onto 45 mints this mornin wurkin out. cunsidder this the furst enthusiastick revue of it i have dun writ. i will rite more bout it later on.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: a dancin butterfly on rollerskates

whenver i wuz 11 year ole, i writ a pome, witch i wood give good money fer a copy of it. twuz a life changin eevent fer me on a counta frum that instunt till now, i knew i wonted to be a riter. i probly shoulda stuck to one kinda ritin, but i couldnt do that. i had to try ever kinda ritin thay is: pomes, short stories, novellas, novels, screenplays, stage plays, songs, essays, yew name it, i tride it. i also writ musick n whenever i gut a camra, twuz a nuther way of ritin down whut i seen of the worl, witch thay aint no two fotogruffers that takes the same pitchers.

innywho, todays pitchers frum that dance parade me n miz bd stumbled on tuther day putts me in mind of that pome on a counta twuz about how happiness is lack a butterfly, witch ye caint force it to land on ye, but ifn ye sit still, it mite jes cum by n smile on ye. (i know, tiz a lame metafor, but twuz new to me at the time.)









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pomes of buddy don: Our Country, Right or Wrong

Our Country, Right or Wrong

Why can’t these peace-niks see how well it works
To rough up someone who might know some thing*
That might help us to find the evil jerks
Who might attack us like a bee might sting?

Why do surrender monkeys** all insist
That harshly enhanced methods can’t succeed
In getting scum we’ve captured to assist
In telling us most everything we need?

Why do these agents of the FBI***
Claim to have witnessed some unlawful scenes
Or methods that they claim must go awry
As if the ends don’t justify the means?

Can’t they see our good nation, brave and strong,
Can’t be defined by actions, right or wrong?±

*Roots of US war prisoners' rights run deep

But George Washington and his compatriots took their founding principles quite seriously. On Aug. 11, 1775, Washington sent a blistering letter to a British counterpart, Thomas Gage. He complained about gravely wounded and untreated American soldiers being thrown into a jail with common criminals.

Eight days later, despite threatening to treat British soldiers with equal cruelty, Washington admitted that he could not and would not retaliate in kind, writing: "Not only your Officers, and Soldiers have been treated with a Tenderness due to Fellow Citizens, & Brethren; but even those execrable Parricides [traitors] whose Counsels & Aid have deluged their Country with Blood, have been protected from the Fury of a justly enraged People."

Imagine that; a government on the run fighting a desperate war against a hated enemy and treating captured prisoners with compassion and decency. No doubt many of the captured British troops had intelligence that might have been useful to the Revolutionary cause - still, decent treatment was the norm. In the current war on terror, that would be described as being "soft."

**McCain fights exception to torture ban; Ex-POW assails bid to exempt the CIA

WASHINGTON -- Senator John McCain yesterday warned that a push by the White House to exempt overseas CIA agents from a proposed ban on mistreating prisoners in US custody would exacerbate the problem of detainee abuse by giving interrogators legal authority to torture suspected terrorists.

''I don't see how you could possibly agree to legitimizing an agent of the government engaging in torture," said the Arizona Republican, who survived torture as a prisoner of war in Vietnam. ''No amendment at all would be better than that."

McCain went public with his concerns after published reports yesterday that Vice President Dick Cheney met with him to urge changes to his widely supported proposal to outlaw cruel and degrading treatment of detainees by any US official. Cheney suggested exempting CIA counter-terrorism agents working overseas, but McCain balked.

***Interrogation Tactics Were Challenged at White House

Five years ago, as troubling reports emerged about the treatment of detainees at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, a career lawyer at the Justice Department began a long and relatively lonely campaign to alert top Bush administration officials to a strategy he considered “wrongheaded.”

Bruce C. Swartz, a criminal division deputy in charge of international issues, repeatedly questioned the effectiveness of harsh interrogation tactics at White House meetings of a special group formed to decide detainee matters, with representatives present from the Pentagon, the State Department and the CIA.

Swartz warned that the abuse of Guantanamo inmates would do “grave damage” to the country’s reputation and to its law enforcement record, according to an investigative audit released earlier this week by the Justice Department’s inspector general. Swartz was joined by a handful of other top Justice and FBI officials who said the abuse would almost certainly taint any legal proceedings against the detainees.

Now their predictions appear to be coming true. A top Pentagon official chose this month to drop charges against a detainee who was roughly interrogated at Guantanamo, and U.S. officials believe it may be difficult to charge him at all. Defense lawyers for a group of alleged Sept. 11 conspirators in U.S. custody have said they plan to raise concerns about harsh techniques used by the CIA and will seek to keep evidence derived from such tactics out of court.

±Matthew 7:15-20

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire. Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: more dance parade ny

thays still a passel of pitchers i aint never gonna have time to putt up fer ye, but heres a few more ...

furst, ye couldnt hardly beat them bolivians fer color ...


heres a native bolivian lookin rite at the camra ...


ye caint hardly have a bunch of dancers without sum belly dancers, witch thisn frum a group name of ASAMED


then ye had to have sum samba, witch this feller wuz decked out in brazilyun green


heres a cuple of tap dancers, proovin ye caint be too yung of ole to tap yer feet ... far as i could tell, they jes joined the parade fer the fun of it n wudnt with no dance troop ceptin thar own...


finely, ye caint have ye no real parade without a flag bein razed, witch this fellers frum luigi, who he was the parade marshall ...


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pitchers tuck by buddy don: dance parade ny

on saturdy i ast miz bd whuther she mite be reddy to git out fer a stroll on a counta she had bin laid up with a fever fer a few daze, same as i had bin a lil earlier. i had sum errands to run over in man hattan, witch turnt out twuz jes whut she wonted to do since she had sum errands of her own to take keer of.

i brung along the camra lack i generly do n it turnt out to be a lucky thang i dun it on a counta we turnt onto 8th street down in the village sos we could find a place to eat when lo n behold thar cum the furst part of a parade rite at us.

twuz the secunt annual new york dance parade. i tuck a slew of pitchers, witch i figgerd ye mite lack to see a few of em ...

this here dancer wuz part of a troupe that i dint git the name of ... but they wuz dressed up real purty ...


folks of all ages gut into the ack, witch these folks wudnt part of no troupe but jes couldnt reesist the beat, witch look at the lady in the red hat n purpull dress ...


this cuple wuz dancin side by side rite in frunt of me ...


this purty gurl had a holt of her skirt to whar it seemed almos lack she had wings ...


twuz a verr warm day, but the troop of albanians dint keer on a counta thar costumes looked lack they wood make a bidy hot ...


thay wuz a troop of korean dancers, witch they had sum of the purtiest costumes of em all ...


ye kin see how much fun dancin kin be, witch thay wuz a more yunguns dancin than ye could shake a stick at ...


one of the best thangs bout takin pitchers at a parade is how folks will cum to mug fer the camra, witch heres a pitcher of a purty gurl who dun jes that ...


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waka of budouadana: Flame

Flame

Slowly setting sun
Paints the sky orange and red,
The reflected blaze
Scorching the very ocean
That daily drowns its bright flame.

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lame limricks of buddy don: no glitch

“The change you deserve,” is a sales pitch,
To hawk remedies meant to help switch
The depressing thick haze
Of sad days to glad days –
That one party needs it is no glitch!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: the daily trudge to wurk

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: bargun huntin in hells kitchen

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waka of budouadana: Tenses

Tenses

Anger points backwards,
The mind blindly nursing ire –
Worry points forwards
The fearful heart lacking faith –
Flowers bloom in the present.

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pinions of buddy don: mass transit

whenever i deecided to move up here to the new york city area, i had me a few of the reason ye mite eggzpeck: wontin to live in the gratest city in the worl, wontin to have ackcess to all that cultchur, wontin to eggspand my horizons, wontin to live in a cosmopolitun place whar a bidy could meet folks frum ever part of the globe, wontin to here all kinds of langwages bein spoke everday as ye walk round town, etsetra.

but one of the biggest reasons wuz wontin to be able to live without havin a car or a car payment or a insurants payment or maintenunts costs or gas costs or oil to change or air filters to go bad or tires to rebalance or even wear out or encounters with drunk drivers.

i had dun alreddy lived in west germany (germany hadnt been re-united back then) a cuple of times, furst in frankfurt, then in münchen (witch tiz called munich fer sum reason over here). in bof places, i never needed a car even once. i could git to everwhar i needed to go fer jes a lil money by usin publick transportayshun. ifn i wonted to go to a nuther cuntry, twuz easy to git on a train. n twuz easy to walk round town, witch that aint the case in lots of places in the u.s.

so i wonted to live that kinda life fer a bit over here, witch i been a'livin in now fer nigh onto 23 years.

i know thays a passel of folk that thanks havin to take publick transportayshun is a fate wursern death, that they woodnt be safe amid all them other folk, witch tiz a fack that thays ever kind n color n relijun ye kin thank of on the subways n busses of new york n new jersey.

but after i larnt how to find my way around (n all ye have to do is ast innybidy ye see, witch folks up in here is much friendlier than they gits credit fer bein), i gut to lackin it even bettern i dun over in west germany.

i know tiz hard to bleeve a bidy is safe out amung folks without a tun or more of metal n glass round em, but taint the case. the subways carry moren 3 millyun folks everday n tiz a verr rare thang to here bout a sangle one of em havin inny problem with crime. tiz natcherul that they woodnt on a counta tiz jes folks on them trains, beesides witch thays plenty of poe-leece officers to keep thangs under cuntrol.

but the best thang bout it is how ye kin read whilst yer commutin to wurk! thats rite, ye kin git cumpletely inside of yer book without havin to wurry bout drivin.

thay aint no stress frum sittin in traffick, aint no need to wurry bout bein cut off by tuther driver, aint no need to stop to git gas ere ye run out, aint no need to find a parkin place, witch up in here it costs a fortchun to park fer jes one day, as much as it used to cost to fill yer tank ($30 or so). ye also dont have to find a place to park whenever ye git home. n ye aint eggspozed to drunk drivers that mite not notiss whuther thar about to wreck thar car or truck into ye.

i know that ye caint have this kinda life everwhar, that thays verr few places in this grate cuntry with the foresite to build em a publick transportayshun system, but ifn yer local place gits to thankin bout it, ye mite orta support it.

tiz a grate way to git frum here to thar, dont use near as much gas or uther fossil fuels, n aint near as stressful.

now that gas has riz almost to half whut folks pay over in europe, minnys the driver a'cunsidderin the same thang i do: commutin by mass transit. n ifn they caint do that, thar a'buyin smaller cars, witch that aint good fer a deetroit that dont wonta sell em.

sides witch, ye git to read, witch at the moment, i am a'readin Twilight at Monticello by a feller name of Alan Pell Crawford. plane fack is, i never red near as much back whenever i had a car n had to drive to git innywhar.

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pomes of buddy don: God's Words Matter Little

God’s Words Matter Little

Your Rushes, your Newts, your Rudys, your Freds,
And even your straight-shootin’ Saint John McCains,
Have all left their marks in and out of the beds
Of the ladies they loved as they ran their campaigns,
Proclaiming the need to sanctify marriage,
Not by being true to the ones they first married
But by making sure that they loudly disparaged
The wish to be wed by the gay folks they harried
With claims same-sex unions would somehow demean
The same marriage vows they themselves violated,
Pretending their own deeds were not so obscene
Despite the great values that they desecrated!

They know they won’t be called on their phoniness:
God’s words matter little since they own the press!

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waka of budouadana: Reprieve

Reprieve

With each new healing
Comes the faith to live again,
Comes the hope to thrive,
Although life leads straight to death:
Each fresh breath is a reprieve.

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lame limricks of buddy don: three fer a fridy

ye mite could have notissd how i luv to play with wurds n differnt forms of ritin pomes, so today i figgerd i wood give one of the gratest forms of all a shot: the limrick. heres three to git ye off to a grate weekend ...

Chicanery

What should we name such chicanery
(Like locusts on guard at the granary) –
The commons is sold
For a bag full of gold –
Why don’t we rename it “McCainery”?

Business as usual

The benefit was rather fleeting
In that old scandal named after Keating
Those caught in the scheme
Said 'twas nothing extreme
Just business as usual (cheating).

n jes to show i still luv the guy fer all he duz fer us everday ...

Shrubbery

There once was a man named for shrubbery
Whose use of plain facts was quite rubbery
We misunderestimate
Truths he might desecrate
Only to find ourselves blubbery.

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pomes of buddy don: God’s Great Exception

God’s Great Exception

We must accept that we are not the same
As all the rest of the world’s little states,
And that is why we can’t be held to blame
Or forced to obey quaint treaty dictates.

We're also God’s chosen, as history shows,
When God helped us wipe out the natives we found,
For they were to blame since they chose to oppose
Our manifest destiny: This is our ground!

When God gave us slaves to help us to build
A nation of freedom unlike all the rest,
Our glory was simply God’s great plan fulfilled:
When we set them free, we proved we were blessed!

To think we’d do wrong is to fall for deception,
For God made our country His own great exception!

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waka of budouadana: Bulb

Bulb

A bulb buried deep
In fall, frozen in winter,
Will bloom in the spring,
Breaking through barely thawed earth –
So, too, human intentions.

thays a lil bit of irony in how this waka cum to be writ. miz bd tole me she wood lack to see whuther budouadana could rite a waka on the subjeck of intenshuns, witch she even sed, 'cunsidder the request dropped on ye lack a seed.' so miz bd deesevers at lease half the credit fer thisn, witch she duz that fer most everthang i kin do.

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waka of budouadana: Fever

Fever

The burning eyeballs
Ache like red-hot glowing coals
As fever blazes
Throughout the sickened body,
A painful but cleansing purge.

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waka of budouadana: Clouds

Clouds

Rising purple clouds
Concealing blue skies, gold sun,
Swelling to a head,
Burst in rain on parched brown fields,
Repainting them in rich greens.

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waka of budouadana: Froth

Froth

Waves rush in and out,
As singular as humans,
Riding the moon’s tides
In their eternal motion,
Their froth as fleeting as fads.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: garden of dappled lite

everwhar ye look these daze, tiz beeyootifull ...



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