pitchers tuck by buddy don: ny street shots

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waka of budouadana: Warning

Warning

Leaves turn upside down,
Anticipating the storm,
Dancing in high winds,
Warning all to find shelter
Before the summer rainfall.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: pitchers tuck ack! fishes cawt with a camra

taint everday that sumbidy makes a comment on this site n ifn thats a rare thang, tiz even rarer to git a pome, witch thats whut fletch wuz kind a nuff to leave yesterdy:

Pictures tuck,
of ducks,
sucking goodness
from the muck.
We should all
have such luck.

i am feelin purty lucky my ownself to read such a fine lil pome! thankee, fletch. now wander on over to fletchs site to see sum grate pitchers. he has the eye of a artist n goes to the best places ...

speakin of them ducks he writ about, as ye could tell frum the pitchers of em i putt in here yesterdy, them animulls that lives in the bbg has been nearly tamed. whuts true bout them ducks is true bout them fish. heres a lil fotograffick proof ...

this yaller koi wuz coy bout gittin his pitcher tuck, but i wuz payshunt a nuff to wait im out ...


as ye mite know bout fish, thar lack babies: everthang git putt into thar mouth to see whuther tiz tasty a nuff to eat, witch this koi had to try eatin a leaf!


corse, he spit it out bout as quick as he gut a taste of it ...


wharever thays koi, ye kin bet ye thays sum turtles ...


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pitchers tuck by buddy don: ducks suckin goodness frum the muck

tuther day after ackupunkchur whenever i wuz a'waitin fer miz bd to join me in a short visit to the brooklyn botanic garden, i cum across sum ducks, all female, filterin sumthin they musta luved frum the muck of a small stream. them ducks in the garden is nigh on to tamed, so twuz easy to git sum pitchers to proov how much they lacked that stuff ...

heres the furst cuple of em, witch ye kin see thar usin thar beaks to sift sumthin frum the muck ...






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pitchers tuck by buddy don: hot day at the garden

looks lack this year has been tuff on them roses. mayhap twooda bin differnt ifn me n miz bd had gut by to see em in early june, when thar at thar peak, but by this saturdy, they was suffern. we aint shore why. coulda bin the heat, but we figger twuz more lackly the way it has rained up in here. no long steady rains to speak of, jes hard thunderstorms n downpours.

as innybidy that reads or looks at this blog much has gut to know, i luv takin pitchers of mos innythang. i luv gittin good pitchers of flowers at thar peak. but i also find a lot of beeyooty in thangs thats dyin or hedded thataway.

so heres sum roses in sevrull states of bein ...

as robbie burns splaind it:

O MY Luve 's like a red, red rose
That 's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve 's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune!

this here rose is rite near purpull ...


yaller roses is fer friendship ...


i luv clusters of pink roses ...


these here roses dont have that classick rose shape, but thar shore purty ...


corse, a lil wider angle shows how them roses has bin suffern ...


even when thar a'dyin, roses still have that sartin sumthin ...


i used to have a frien that writ a story bout roses of this color, witch twuz kindly a symbull of the ole south ...


sumtimes it pays to live in the shadders ...


... on a counta the sun kin be ruff ...




roses is verr fragull plants, witch thats why thar essentchul oils is so eggspensive to make ... n as ye kin see, they go out jes as sweetly as they cum in ...


a rose bows its hed ...


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waka of budouadana: Worms

Worms

Even lowly worms
Have great work to accomplish
As they squirm in dirt,
Breaking clods, loosening soil,
Giving their lives to black earth.

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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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