pitchers tuck by buddy don: calm day in manhattan

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: folks hangin out round union square

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: more shootin frum the hip over in man hattan

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waka of budouadana: Age

Age

Our senses are dimmed
As we age and grow weaker,
Yet oddly enough
Sensitivity to pain
Becomes ever more acute.

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waka of budouadana: Navel

Navel

We all share one scar,
A keepsake punctuation
At the beginning
Of life’s limited sentence,
Our body's first memory.

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waka of budouadana: Drain

Drain

As leaves fall to earth,
As sands in an hourglass
Drop like salty tears,
As raindrops deplete great clouds,
So our brief lives drain away.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pomes of buddy don: What Voters See

What Voters See

Once more the same old arguments are made
As left and right line up this year to fight
With each side’s “fairness” a bald masquerade
That barely even tries to be polite.

A voter on the right has to believe
That middle names and inexperience
Should trump good judgment and what’s been achieved
By brains and drive and uncommon good sense.

A voter on the left must live in fear
That voters will be cheated by machines
Of business men who want to engineer
A victory by artificial means.

How silly are those who would disagree:
All voters see just what they want to see.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Love

Love

Each newborn baby,
Born in complete ignorance,
Utter helplessness,
And ravenous selfish needs,
Inspires mother’s selfless love.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Rollercoaster

Rollercoaster

A rollercoaster
Slowly rises to the crest
Of its highest point,
Seems to pause — what a great view! —
Then plunges with giddy speed.

this lil waka mite look lack tiz bout the economy, but tiz really bout migraines n the highs n lows they putt a bidy thru.

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waka of budouadana: Patriotism

Patriotism

Those of us born here
Believe without questioning
That our land is best,
Even without visiting
Any other place on earth.

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Reach

Reach

Low lying dark clouds
Obscure the bright orange red
Of the rising sun,
Creating angel ladders
That reach for the high heavens.

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waka of budouadana: Transformation

Transformation

All springs flow downhill
Into small inlets and brooks,
Transforming themselves
Into powerful rivers,
Becoming one with great seas.

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waka of budouadana: Roots

Roots

Ripening acorns
Fall each year to loamy earth,
Where squirrels steal them,
Thorny weeds choke tender sprouts,
And few find good soil for roots.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: playin in the garden

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: on a counta i caint thank of innythang to rite

nuther homeless in man hattan, witch i shore am hopin that dont git more common than tiz alreddy ...



wunder ifn these folks has been chrismus shoppin?



i gut lodes of pitchers, moren i could ever post, witch tiz amazin how minny folks looks wurried ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: more ny street

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: walkin round town

so much fer our retirement accounts: thar near ded, not that i could live without wurkin innywho. so tuther day, i tuck a lil walk round town whilst miz bd wuz sponsorin a class, witch that meant she had to be thar the hole time.

sum folks wuz outta focus, but sumhow still revealin. furst, how stressd folks kin git when the wunder how to pay thar bills n raze thar kids ...



then thays the need to eat ...





fer them that dont wonta pay so much fer gas, thays legs to git around ...





nuthin lack sales to git ye a'goin ...



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waka of budouadana: Upstream

Upstream

Small divided creeks
Flow in diverse directions,
Yet moving upstream
In search of their simple source,
All seekers come together.

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waka of budouadana: Clothing

Clothing

The trees shed their leaves,
Blanketing the frigid earth,
Bare branches exposed
To chilly winds as people
Unpack warm winter clothing.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: cuple wide angulls

i dint have my tripod with me, so i coudnt do no hdr n i wonted to keep the angel ladder effeck n the shiney water n all, witch thats how im trine to splain why tiz so dark n all ...


this heres the site of that cherokee weddin miz bd cunducted last saturdy


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pomes of buddy don: My Job

My Job

They tried to explain the crisis to me,
But I just could not understand
How margins and credit lines increasingly
Are no longer ours to command,

How years of getting just what we wanted
Have left us with nothing we want
Except to know that we must act undaunted,
Pretending to be nonchalant,

How regulations that we put in place
To ensure such things couldn’t happen
Were simply ignored or even replaced
Or missed while somebody was nappin’.

They said it’s the edge of the yawning abyss
Where there won’t be two pennies to borrow,
But all that I'd like to know is just this:
Will my job still be there tomorrow?

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waka of budouadana: bof sides now

everbidy knows that the news has evolved to a higher form whar them news talkers on tee vee dont know whuts true n whuts not. so insted of findin out n reportin it, they call it 'news' whenever they git folks on eethur side of a topick to cum into the studio nflap thar gums on whutever they claim is the case.

me n miz bd lack to thank of it as the 'bof sides now' method of pertendin to deeliver news. tiz a artifishull fite on main street, witchh everbidy knows is innertainment that caint nobidy reesist.

so heres a cuple waka writ with the idee of how ye mite have the news deliverd in waka ifn them tee vee talkers wuz ever to take up the issue of theevil weed based on whut it ackshly duz to a bidy that smokes it (n i know bout how it feels on a counta i dun smoked my fair share back in collidge). we dun alreddy know it dont make ye crazy on a counta ifn it did, half the folks in amurka wood be crazy (or mayhap thay is?). innywho, heres a cuple of waka, bof sides of the topick, agin n fer.

Poison

After I get high
It is not foolish madness
That poisons my life,
But sensual contentment,
Laziness and lack of will.

Muse

Getting high can help
Silence that inner critic
Who jeers at the urge
To be fully creative,
Thus freeing the muse to speak.

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waka of budouadana: Grip

Grip

Each leaf is a life
That runs its course from green youth
To dry yellowed age,
Waving with every breeze
Until it loses its grip.

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waka of budouadana: Urge

Urge

Great migrating geese
Have taken up their journey,
Heeding nature’s urge
To find a warm winter home
Before the north winds bring snow.

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waka of budouadana: Refugees

Refugees

Mother Earth and Father Sky
Met at the heart’s horizon,
To bless the wedding
Of two humble Cherokee
Refugees of history.

this lil waka was writ in honor of good friends of mine, who miz bd,with hep frum her daughter loretta, cunducted thar marrg on saturdy afternoon by the waterfrunt. twuz nuthin short of amazin. the rain held off till we wuz dun!
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pomes of buddy don: No Time to Use Common Sense

No Time to Use Common Sense

The bankers who ruined the economy,
Who profited under the lax oversight
Of dogmatic zealots who chose not to see
The very abuses they’re charged to set right

Have now sent their lackeys to Capitol Hill
To beg for a bailout with no strings attached,
That, should it be granted, like a poison pill,
Will stop all spending plans from being hatched

And put further tax cuts on permanent hold
(Since sooner or later our bill must be paid),
All of which means that we will have sold
Our grandchildren’s dreams before they are made.

The need is urgent, the danger immense,
So this is no time to use common sense!

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: guess whos pickin up the check?

twood be nigh onto communism ifn we wuz to spend $700 billyuns on health keer or infrastruckchur, but tiz needfull fer free market capitullism to make it ... or sumthin. lucky fer us all, them that will have to pick up the check aint too wurried ... heres one of em now ...



(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Fall

Fall

As nights grow longer
After autumn's equinox,
Brittle aging leaves
Blaze yellow, orange, and red,
Defiant before dying.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: cuple pitchers tuck last nite

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waka of budouadana: Effort

Effort

The rains were heavy,
The narrow pathways muddied,
The twilight darkling,
Yet the hikers would not quit,
Grateful that effort yields warmth.

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observayshuns of buddy don: we dint panick ... yet

as my five or six long term readers have dun figgerd out by now, i wurk on wall st. as ye mite could magin, yesterdy wudnt nuthin but hard to git thru.

thay wuz a point whar even my own boss n sum higher ups couldnt hardly do nuthin but sit roun a cumpter screen in the cubicull village a'gawkin at how the shares of the last remainin big boys, goldman n morgan, wuz floatin to earth lack they wudnt nuthin moren late sprang cherry blossoms ... with a strong wind a'blowin.

whut else could a bidy do but sit with mouth hangin open n wunder whar thangs will lead? everbidy is skeerd fer thar jobs no matter whar they wurk nor whut they do on the street.

i wish i could say sumthin smart bout it, but tiz all i kin do to keep up with my own lil job, witch lucky fer me (or not) dont have nuthin to do with bein a ackshull banker. i caint say i understand whut brung us to whar we are ceptn that tiz purty clear that ye caint let the foxes guard the henhouse.

i reckun thats a lessun lernt fer a mint or two ... then twill be back to trine to git gummint outta the way of bizness by puttin sum foxes up to guard the newly cunstructed henhouses. makes me glad i aint a banker n aint speckted to understand whut bankers has to do.

but i know a slew of em n unlack the stereotypes of em bein fat n lazy, thar that hardest wurkin folk i ever knew or herd tell of. investment bankin dont leave em without a life ... it becums thar hole life!

n they jes seen thar portfolios shrank down to nuthin. so did mine, but taint much of a loss on a counta ifn ye dont have much, ye caint lose much, but they had millions. now they gut thousands. or maybe nuthin by the end of the day.

so whut are they a'wurkin fer?

thay wont be no bonus this year, witch that dont wurry me much. shore i aint had a raise since '03 but aint hardly nobidy i know had one neethur (corse we wurkers are much more perductiv, so on cold winter nites we kin warm ourselves by our pride in a job well dun fer sumbidy elses proffit).

fack is, i wood cunsidder it a bonus ifn i still have a job at the same place by bonus time. or maybe a job at the same place only with a differnt name or sumthin.

or is it time to try to cash in n find a cheeper place to be? plane fack is, me n miz bd dont hardly know whut to do next.

as they say, all opshuns are on the table ... long as we have a table to putt em on, that is.

whutever! thay aint no doubt that today will proov verr innerestin.

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pomes of buddy don: Greed

But Greed Was Good!

But greed was good back when the Keating Five
Were being helped out of their major jam
By promises that help would soon arrive
In part from grandchildren of Uncle Sam.

And greed was good to help deregulate
The markets so the inside crowd could play
In confidence that crumbs from their full plate
Would trickle down to workers one fine day.

And greed was good to insulate the gains
From taxes on investment, not on work,
Since capital cannot abide the chains
That labor has no legal way to shirk.

Greed! Privatizes profits for the few
And socializes risk to me and you.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: reel wurk

ever so often i lack to see folks doin reel wurk, not the kind that involves sittin in frunt of the cumputer the live long day, witch thats whut i do.

tuther week they moved the ferry landin from the 13th street pier to the 14th. me n miz bd watched a lot of it. a ferry landin is a simple thang, a floatin barge with four heavy poles stuck into loops at the four corners. the poles aint even jammed into the bed of the eschewairy. thonly other thang they gut is the ramp that folks uses to git onto the ferry.

so how minny folks do ye thank ye need to move such a thang?

two of em, one the crane operater, tuther the ferry boat captain, who hes the one that wurks with the crane operater to hep im git a hold a the thangs hes cranin outta or into the water.

corse, thay wuz a need fer about fifteen supervisers to cum by n watch the finishin touches, but i dint take thar foto on a counta i dint catch em in the act of wurk.



on daze such as these, when it seems as if wall street wuz crumblin, tiz good to refleck on whut reel wurk looks lack.

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pomes of buddy don: Desperate Straits

Today's news is nothing if not scary. I imagine the markets will be way down today, as they are so far in Europe and the far east. Lehman is gone. Merrill's been sold. The US taxpayer is on the line for a load of the bailouts for other institutions. There is fear up and down the street. We could be in ...

Desperate Straits

Some say it’s just the marketplace at work —
The winners thrive; the rest? Eliminated!
But when the risk’s too great, the losers shirk
And stick us with the losses they created.

For since we have no lobbyists to plead
Our case before the world except in votes,
Huge losses can be spread until we bleed
As our complaints are strangled in our throats.

We pay our tax dollars to avoid risk
To those who have achieved deregulation,
To those whose growth in wealth is rather brisk
While we can barely keep up with inflation.

Rich folks in sheltered neighborhoods with gates
Are those we must protect from desperate straits!

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waka of budouadana: Practice

Practice

It is not talent
That empowers the artist
But self discipline,
Blind faithful perseverance,
Calm, conscious practice of craft.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: them lites

as promissd, heres a pitcher of them twin beams of lite, witch thar in the habit of shinin em ever year on 9/11 on a counta they aint bin able to bild no bildin thar yet.

this vue wuz pickt by miz bd on a counta she wonted to show that thays sum bildin a'goin on ceptn tiz on this side of the river. ye caint hardly mayshure how the waterfrunt is bein deeveloped over here in jersey. folks has even tuck to callin hoboken the sixth boro.



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waka of budouadana: Pillars

Pillars

Two pillars of light,
Reaching from earth to heaven,
Shine for the towers
We all witnessed falling,
Crumbling to dust before us.

i hope to have a new pitcher of em tomorrow. meanwhile, heres a pitcher i tuck back in 2005:





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pitchers tuck by buddy don: man hattan at nite

me n miz bd wuz out a lil late fer us last nite, hopin we wood see them twin blue beams of lite they show ever year round this time in remembrunts of the world trade center thats gone. we dint see em n reckun they must turn em on after bedtime, witch we are generly in bed by 9 pm.

mayhap i will have better luck tomorrow nite on a counta i will be a'shootin pitchers of a annual softball game by one of the business units at the firm whar i wurk (i have becum the unoffishull fotograffer of near ever speshul eevent at our firm, manely since i dont charge fer it). i orta be gittin home round nine or a lil later, so i should have a chants.





in sted, heres a cuple of nite shots of that famus man hattan skyline.

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waka of budouadana: Fulcrum

Fulcrum

The eternal now,
A pure illusive notion
That can’t be measured,
Is time’s enduring fulcrum,
Dividing past from future.

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waka of budouadana: Chill

Chill

That refreshing chill
In brisk September breezes
Warns of season’s change,
When the summers’ deep green leaves
Dress in autumn’s rich color.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: playin with them eefecks

heres a hdr vershun of the subjeck ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: pitcher of a wave

tiz rainin to beat the band up in here n eggspeckted to keep on a'doin it most of the day. so heres a pitcher frum last week when the weather wuz bout as close to purrfeck as it gits.

as ye kin see, tiz a pitcher of man hattan with me a'wavin at ye ...



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pomes of buddy don: Still a Prisoner

Still a Prisoner

Five million makes you rich, but not elite,
No, that results from working your way up!
The smart man marries well (though with pre-nup)
And looks down on those who can’t make ends meet.

No need to be true to your faithful wife,
Especially when she’s lost her youthful looks!
A trophy blonde is where you sink your hooks
Since after all you have a right to life!

As long as you were once a maverick
It doesn’t matter what you stand for now
Or which bold stands you simply disavow —
To follow your base shows such leadership!

Your lack of backbone should not trouble you —
You’re still a prisoner … of W.

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pinions of buddy don: how cum bleevers caint have faith in whut they claim to bleeve?

thays a pluralty of christchuns in this cuntry that dont seem to thank god is up to the task of doin the judgin jesus eggsplained wuz hisn, not ourn, to do, witch he taught that in the sermon on the mount in the seventh chaptur of matthew:

1Judge not, that ye be not judged.

2For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.

3And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?

4Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?

5Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.

ifn ye truly bleeve in whut jesus sed in that famus sermon, then ye dont need to git yer gummint to ban aborshun, speshly in a demockrussy whar most folks ackshly supports the rite of a woman to make her own choices bout whuther to have a baby n risk eternull damnayshun by treatin her lil zygote lack the millyuns of other lil zygotes kept on ice after inveetro fertilizayshun: gittin rid of it.

i aint sayin thats rite, only that tiz up to god to judge, not me ... n not my gummint. (thanks to them publicans n them spineless dimcrats, thar way too far up in our bedrooms n phones n emails alreddy!)

it also aint the role of our gummint to enforce laws on the basis of relijun. taint to say gummint should let jes anythang go -- ye caint sankshun murder or robbin folks (lessn tiz dun on a verr large scale, witch enron showd us all how that wurks) -- but the gummint aint gut no bizness trine to enforce the viewpoints of a relijus group that dont represent the majorty.

why caint that same group putt thar faith in god? caint he be trusted to do the judgin? kin it be they dont trust god to hold up his end of the bargain? aint they jes faithless bleevers? (god kin judge whuther thar faithless, but thats how it looks to this here sinner.)

aint it hard a nuff to live a christchun life without trine to force the gummint to poke out the motes in everybidy elses eyes? shouldnt them that bleeves spend thar time trine to live rite? aint that a big a nuff task fer a lifetime? (i know based on personull eggzperients that it takes everthang a bidy kin do to live rite n even then ye mite fall short.)

i sumtimes wunder whut kinda thankin wood lead sumbidy to wonta dicktate to everbidy else how they kin live. seems to me it cums down to this.

furst, ye gut to bleeve that god is more innerested in the kinda justus that results in eternull sufferin frum witch thar aint never no chants of eggscape fer innybidy that fails to bleeve eggzackly the rite tale bout how to git saved. (that bleef is a stumblin block fer me on a counta i caint bleeve in such a cruel god n tend to thank he wood half to be more mercifull than that.)

but ifn ye kin bleeve that, ifn ye bleeve in eternull torment fer them that bleeves the rong thang, then secunt, why woodnt ye wont folks to be punished fer the rest of thar lives ifn they do innythang that the faithless bleevers thanks is rong, such as gittin pregnunt ere yer marrd? ifn ye do such a evil thang, ye deeserve yer punishment, witch that means havin the child, period, n probly bein forced into a marrg when yer barely outta hi skool.

n thurd, bad luck should be punishd: must be gods will or sumthin.

corse, bad luck dont mean the woman wood half to git marrd: ifn a woman should have the terrbull luck of gittin raped, speshly ifn twuz her father or her bruther or her uncle or sum criminull rapist she dont never see agin in life, least she wont half to marr the bum.

but ifn them faithless bleevers gits thar way, she also wont have the opshun of gittin rid of the lil zygote n takin a risk that wood only apply to her, gods judgment.

in sted, she will be judged -- n punished -- by the gummint them faithless bleevers wonts to force on the rest of us.

ifn ye have faith, ye know that god knows how to handle the situwayshun, both fer the judgers n the judged. n ifn ye bleeve life cummences with concepshun (n not with the 'breath of life' frum genesis), then ye orta try to cunvints everbidy that tiz evil n rong to abort. tiz yer rite to do that. but ye dont have to take away the rites that the majorty of murkins bleeves women orta have.

ifn ye truly bleeve, why not have the faith to let god do the judgin? could it be ye fear gods mercy? on a counta thays a lot of it in that thar new testamint, witch thats whar tiz claimed that tiz god, not humans, that duz the judgin of everbidy.

but most of all, how cum bleevers caint have faith in whut they claim to bleeve?

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

empty hed of buddy don: i gut nuthin

i dun spent my hole mornin readin bout the latest soap opry, thisn bout the sainted mccains purrfeck choice fer vice presdint. shows he kin thank with his gut ever bit as good as the grate george w.

ye gut to add mire a fambly woman that wood putt her fambly furst, git lodes of publissty fer her own dawter bein pregnunt out of wedlock (we cum a fur piece frum the daze when that other grate vee pee nominee, dan quayle, wuz attackin murphy brown fer her havin a child out of wedlock on a tee vee show, even tho thatn wuz made up n thisn is real).

sum folks mite could thank tiz a lil cold harted to wonta take a job as vee pee that dont leave ye hardly time fer sleep when ye gut a down syndrome child to raze n a nuthern that dint seem to git the point frum abstinence-only educayshun, not even frum her own mama (corse, she wuz a'follerin her mamas eggsample, not her preechin on the topick), but when yer facin the evil empire russia jes a few miles acrost the bearin strates, ye gut to larn to be cold harted!

fer them kids of hern, she kin hope her husbin kin stay outta truble n keep away frum a secesshunist party long a nuff to take keer of the kids. orta be a cakewalk.

as ye kin planely see, this lady is the best of all possibull vee pee choices, so all yer librul blogs n such, please quit yer badmouthin of this purty woman! she dun cum a long way, baby!

(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Face

Face

A calm river’s face
Contains the sun of heaven,
The mountains of earth —
Yet slight breezes mar its sheen,
Until it reflects nothing.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: a quiet morning

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