pitchers tuck by buddy don: fergive my obsesshun

but i caint hardly git a nuff of these pitchers of lil ezekiel, so heres a few more, witch he wont crawl but tries to walk, doin a purrfeck 'downward facin dog' fer them amung ye that knows yer yoga, n he knows his legs is good fer sumthin, so whenever ye putt em on the ground, he cummences to jump up n down (long as yer holdin im).

after jumpin, he lacks to look at his granny, witch that wood be mz bd ...


he also lacks to investigate thangs, such as miz bds necklace


the necklace has bin sumthin of a good luck charm fer us, so mz bd splaind that n purty soon he wuz sayin 'good luck', witch dint nobidy else here eem say it ceptn fer mz bd n me (thonly other thang he has sed yet is 'da da da'). mz bd splaind that we dont eat our good luck, but ezekiel dint cumpleatly agree ...

waka of budouadana: Desire

Desire

As haze and moisture
On the horizon alter
White light at sunrise
Into glowing rainbow hues,
So desire distorts life.

waka of budouadana: Magnolias

Magnolia

The magnolia trees
Blossom for their short season,
Passing like childhood,
As flower petals shrivel
Into wrinkled memories.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: more of lil ezekiel

ezekiel n his daddy ...

waka of budouadana: Quilts

Quilts

As old fabric scraps
Sewn together become quilts,
So neighbors unite,
Becoming the foundation
Of human community.

waka of budouadana: Dogs

Dogs

Even snarling dogs
Will soon lie down quietly
Under the warm touch
Of pure loving confidence,
As two beings become one.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: healin power of bakin

whenever them steroids kicked in n give me a lil peace frum the pane n such lack, thay wudnt a hole lot i wuz reddy to do. in a purrfeck worl whar thay wudnt no migraines, mayhap i wood be pushin that thar novel i wrote name of shoot the devil, witch ye kin read more bout that deal here.

but lack innybidy that sits at lifes tabull, i gut to play the cards thats bin dealt me. so one thang i kin do almos in my sleep is cook, witch thay aint hardly nuthin i lack inny bettern in life. lucky fer me, i gut that birtdhy present of a stand mixer i menchunned a while back n miz bd wonted sum lemon muhrang pie. so i tuck the challenge, even tho i hattent never made one before. the furst one cum out rite tasty, but we couldnt wait fer it to set up sos i could git ye a good pitcher of it. so durin the nex brake in the migraine tortchur, i fixed a nuthern n insisted it wood live over nite in the icebox.

here's how it cum out:



on thisn, ye kin see whar the pie let offn a lil moistchur ...


corse, the eatin is the reason of pie ...




it disappeard ere i could git a nuther pitcher of it!

mizry of buddy don: cure wurser than the sickness

i bin thru a ruff patch here lately, witch far as me n miz bd kin tell, twuz a terrbull reackshun to a medicayshun i wuz a'takin fer a while. heres how thangs deeveloped:

1. i gut sick on the weekend jes befor chrismus with a migraine that kicked me fer five days (vacayshun days, witch that made it a lil easier to take)


2. contackted my neurologist, witch shes a goodn n calls me rite back. she had me in n putt me on a new medicayshun. twuz a odd thang on a counta the mint i gut the pills into the house, miz bd sed she dint thank thay wuz a'gone do inny good n mite do harm. why caint i larn to bleeve her conclushuns even when she dont have no evidents? she dont hardly never turn out rong!


3. i gut sick agin the weekend after chrismus (still on vacayshun), witch i gut over thatn tho it seemd lack i wuz havin lots of abdominull distress


4. long bout then, whenever i wuz figgern i mite make it thru this year with no migraines, i woke up by vomitin, one of the wurst ways to start yer migraine, witch i gut up (twuz bout 3 in the mornin) n tuck a pill name of maxalt, witch tiz a nuther migraine abortive.


5. i gut over thatn n had a purty good lil spell till thangs gut wurser agin, leadin to a nuther talk with dr k (my neuro), witch she sugjested i raze the mount of the medicayshun (nortriptyline) that wuz a'causin the problem, ceptn only miz bd knew twuz the problem (how could she know?)


6. it tuck a few daze to 'ramp up' to the amount of nortriptyline i wuz spozed to take, witch whenever i gut thar, i truly thought i wuz a'gone die. i tuck my medicayshuns (5 pills befor bedtime), sat up a while, n then went to bed. soon, all too soon, i wuz feelin i wuz bout to die. pane lack i hattent never felt in my chest, frum arm pit to arm pit. miz bd wuz out hostin the reiki dojo, so i wuz skeerd she mite find me ded whenever she gut home, witch obveeusly that dint happen.


7. me n miz bd discussd the situwayshun a nuff to whar i wonted to test whuther she could be rite bout that medicayshun. so i tuck nun the next fridy evenin, witch i figgerd ifn i gut sick, the next day wood be saturdy. thang is, i dint have nun of the abdominull distress, even ifn i did have sum migraine simptums (ye caint quit these meds without payin fer it in pane).


8. nex evenin, i tuck everthang but the nortriptyline, witch i felt sumwhut better, ceptn fer the terrbull hedaches that wood wake me up in the middle of the nite.


9. i calld dr k agin n splaind how the nortriptyline wuz causin a problem, witch she dint wonta here it till i sed twerent heppin nuthin neethur. so she ast me to ramp up on a nuther medicayshun n quit the nortriptyline, witch i dun it, ceptn it wuz the nitemare of wakin with a killer hedache in the middle of the nite.


10. so i had a nuther talk with dr k (told ye she wuz a goodn) n splaind that thangs wudnt gittin no better, that i dint even have a chants to begin rampin up on nuthin on a counta the hedache that woke me up. then i tole her bout a 10 munth period of no migraines i had back in 2002 whenever i wuz waitin fer spinal fewshun surgry. i tole her i wuz takin sumthin calld neurontin at the time. her anser wuz, 'We love Neurontin. It's great for prevention of migraines. Let's try that. I'll call in a prescription. Meanwhile, we'll break the current spell using steroids."


11. so she made the call, miz bd fetched the medicine, i cummenced to takin steroids n neurontin, n by mundy, i wuz back in the land of the livin (or not suffern too terrbully)

now i am a'hopin we have found 'the' anser or at least a nuther anser that mite last till sprang has dun sprung.

waka of budouadana: Reborn

Reborn

After long illness
The world seems almost renewed,
As if a soft snow
Had blanketed all symptoms,
Leaving one feeling reborn.

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?

mizry of buddy don: back on them steeroids, agin

brakin the panefull spell.

mizry of buddy don: worse than ever?

after all i dun bin thru fer migraines, thar as bad as they ever wuz. woke me up in such pain this mornin that i kin barly think or type. pall gies fer not postin lately, but i bin verr sick. even the medicayshun has bin makin me sick, witch i caint take sum of it no more, no matter whut.

now ifn i kin jes resist the urge to upchuck ...

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.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: cherry & wite chocklut oatmeal cookies

the last migraine wuz one of the wurst ever. tuck a hole 7 days to end, n even then twuz knocked out by steroids (i take that lastn today). started on a fridy nite, witch that jes made me maddern a wet hen. by the next fridy, i gut to takin them steroids to whar i wuz feelin purty good on sundy.

so i baked up a mess of cookies. i putt in cherries, bof candied n dried, sum wite chocklut, oatmeal, pecans, a lil Jack Daniels (ye orta try it sum time), n all started with kerrygold butter.

heres whut they cum out lookin lack ...





we tuck a cuple duzen of em whenever we went to visit our tony n sarah n our grandson ezekiel, witch as ye kin see, he is a'growin up quickern kudzu kin cover yer woods!





miz bd wuz splainin sumthin she had herd sum years ago, witch twuz about how whenever ye git old, yer bidy gits to hurtin in new places, yer senses begins to dim, ye caint walk as quick as ye used to, yew name it. but thays a big payoff round that time of life: grandchildren! they make everthang wurthwhile ... so heres a nuther pitcher of that happy lad ...

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.

mizry of buddy don: steroids

twuz terrbull mizry to go into man hattan yesterdy fer an appointmint with the neurologist. then we had to wait overn hour on a counta she dint know we wuz even thar! but she could see how bad thangs wuz, did sum tests n then sed twuz time to use steroids to knock off the migraines. i hope they wurk, witch i start em with this mornins brakefuss. the left side of my hed has bin hurtin fer so long i kin hardly bleeve twill ever end.

mizry of buddy don: neuro

miz bd gut me a pointmint with my nuerologist this mornin at 11. we are a'hopin she kin brake the migrainus spell, witch ceptn fer a few lil brakes, has bin a'goin on since fridy evenin n seems lack has bin attack more or less since jan 20.

mizry of buddy don: weather

i have tride everthang i know to git these dam thangs to quit, but seems lack i aint near as strong as they. i gut to wurk yesterdy, but i dint last past a cuple hours. a nuther feller cum in n sed the obveeus: lookd lack i had bin beat up. this mornin, i dun all the tricks i know, but i caint git the ice pick out of the left side of my hed. lease thats whut it feels lack.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: bakin yer way out of a migraine

twuz a tuff weekend fer us on a counta bout twenty mints after i gut home on fridy, thay couldnt be no doubt i wuz havin a migraine, witch they dont hardly never cum inny time late in the day. twuz verr hard to ackcept on a counta i wuz shore hopin on havin a reglar weekend fer a change, witch seems lack i have had sum degree of migraine ever weekend since the one befor chrismus.

innywho, twuz still a'goin on saturdy so i slept fer a while n then gut a idee of sumthin that mite could hep. i have notissd that sumtimes a migraine wood disappear whilst i wuz a'doin sumthin verr simple that take a few steps, lack takin a shower. i had dun tride that without effeck, so i figgerd twood be wurth it to try makin a carrot cake.

so happens them yunguns went in together to git me a kitchenaid stand mixer, witch they had also orderd a cook book to go with it n that tuck a long time ere it cum. twuz in fridy evenins mail.

i putt myself to the task of makin a carrot cake, witch miz bd had sed she wonted one n she had even gut the carrot fer it (turns out twuz nashunull carrot cake day). tuck a lot longern it shoulda dun on a counta seemd lack i had to study rite hard to figger each step out, but it cum out lookin purty good:





this week or nex thays lackly to be sum more layoffs, even at goodbank whar i wurk, witch i shore do hope to make it past the cut agin. ifn we do, mayhap twill be time to bake a cake to celebrate.

meanwhile, i am givin thanks fer a nuther day of life, thisn without no migraine.

n a gigantick thankee fer that book order that cum in last nite! twuz a grate way to end a purty sad weekend.

ifn ye aint orderd yourn yet, ye kin still git in on the deal i am a'runnin on the furst 49 copies only! click here ifn ye wonta take add vantage of it.

ye kin also git it frum amazon by clickin here, witch ifn yer one of the few incredibully precipient folks that has dun red it, why dont ye click that amazon lank n rite a revue? ye never know, but it mite hep sell a book or two.

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: Lizard

a feller name of BitLizard wuz kind a nuff to let me post the waka i writ fer his book, witch he wuz the furst persun to order one. heres whut he wonted his waka to be about:

Hi Buddy Don -

I'm happy to follow your Mom at #2, overjoyed in fact. I'm not sure how to pick the words for the waka, but maybe you can do something with the words lizard and joy. :-) How's that for challenge!

Chopped, numbered, signed with a personalized waka... who could ask for more? Cheers...

so heres the waka i writ in his book:

Lizard

The lizard slithers
Stealthily through the brush,
Seeking a rock warmed
By beams of the glowing sun,
Where he can bask joyfully.

it duz my hart good that thays folks a'wontin to read it. mayhap yer one of em? click here fer details on whut ye git n here ifn ye wonta go ahead in git yourn.

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!

novels of buddy don: bout a waka writ fer Buck

i dont know whuther ye read the comments on this here blog, but ifn ye do, ye mite coulda seen the comment Buck made, witch tiz about the best pay innybidy kin git fer thar ritin:

My personalized Waka was worth the price of the book Buddy Don.

Thanks a whole, whole lot!

it dont git no bettern that!

tiz also proof that them books is a'gittin to them that orderd em. i ast Buck whuther he wood mind ifn i wuz to post the waka writ fer eem, n that i will do ifn he agrees.

meanwhile, thays sum books left, so ifn ye wonta git one, ye orta order whilst ye kin. once this furst batch has bin sold out, i wont be makin the same offer as i am now, witch ye kin read all bout it here.

the point is, i wonta give a lil exter to them that support shoot the devil now. thays even a lil sprize a'cummin up, witch whoever buys em one of the furst 49 will be offerd sumthin aint nobidy else a'gonna git lessn they pay more fer the priviledge.

watch this here blog fer more on the sprize! whilst yer waitin, ye kin click on a shoot the devil to git yourn!

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.

mizry of buddy don: they dont never quit

them migraines, that is. i been lucky most of this season, but this past long weekend has been a battle that i am finely losin.

waka of budouadana: Dream

Dream

Falling freely down
Into the river’s cold flow
Being lifted up
Playing in the miracle
Realizing our shared dream

pomes of buddy don: Two Crashes

Two Crashes

The two plane crashes serve as bookends to
The long hard journey through the wilderness
Of government by gut without review
Or calm consideration of what’s best
Or even curiosity about what’s really true.

The first was masterfully executed
By men whose twisted minds could justify
Destructive tactics planned and only suited
To spread religious hate, to terrify —
As if by evil, truth could be refuted.

Yet to our shame, this act came to be used
To foment fears in this land of the free,
To restrict rights where they were not abused
To trash the constitution "legally,"
With smirks of arrogance, as if amused.

The second crash, a shocking incident,
Was nothing anyone could have forecast —
A gaggle of geese nothing could prevent
From being sucked into the jet’s great blast,
Thus causing the emergency descent.

Yet practiced execution by the crew
And flying by a master pilot’s skill
Led to a perfect landing, straight and true,
Sent passengers into the wintry chill,
Where they saw ferry boats for their rescue.

How different are these historic crashes,
One leaving behind strength, the other ashes.

futzin of buddy don: trine to up grade

as ye kin see, thays bin sum changes made round here. i finely give in n up graded my blogger temp late, witch they kindly force ye into it after a while. tuck me the better part of the nite to git it fixed more or less on a counta ye lose ever thang whenever ye up grade.

thays sum nice thangs bout the new temp late, but i aint figgerd out how to make the wandering hillbilly banner wurk yet. fack is, ifn twernt fer my good frien meatbrain, i doubt ifn it wood have the gif atall.

cuple of the new thangs should be nice. ye kin foller this here blog ifn ye wonta. tiz also a lot easier to sub scribe. comments has bin fixed n lank backs too. the blogroll is better on a counta it putts the most recently updated blog at the top of the roll n gives the title of the new post n a pitcher ifn thay is one.

tiz 7 deegrees fair in height at the moment ... n i gut to git out in it by 9:30 or so ... n i am feelin that migrainous mizry ...

novels of buddy don: shoot the devil

furst off, i wood lack to thank them folk who have bin kind a nuff to order thar copy of shoot the devil. i real eyes that the price is a bit hi ($25.99), but fer that ye git whut could be a grate bargin on a counta each book sold frum this here furst batch will be unique: individually chopped, sined, etc.

best of all, ifn ye ast fer it, ye git a waka hand writ in yer copy.

point is, ifn this here novel should turn out to be famus or a classick, ever sangle one of them furst 49 books sold will turn into a uniquely valuable collecktibull. i add mitt that the chantses of inny book turnin into a huge seller or a classick are slim. thems the facks, ma'am, as they say.

but the chantses are much bettern inny odds ye kin git with a lottery or mos inny other gambull ye mite try. big differnts here is that even ifn ye buy a book that dont turn out to earn ye a pile of money, ye still a'gone have the book n the lackly enjoymint ye git frum readin a good book (n even ifn it mite seem arrogunt to say so, i know tiz a good book).

nuther thang to menchun is that thar waka i promiss to rite ye, ifn ye give me a wurd or two. ye mite could thank taint all that hard to rite one, n fer the mos part ye wood be rite. but that dont mean ye kin rite one thats suitabull fer ritin into a book sumbidy orderd.

twuz my grate good fortune that one of my favert readers n bloggers, Buck of Tête-à-Tête-Tête, orderd one. his reequest wuz fer a waka on 'time.' i tride n faild to suit myself with a waka fer eem this mornin, but in the attempts, i writ a cuple otherns!

aint nuthin lack trine to rite fer havin lucky acksidents!

so my pall gies to ye, Buck, but i caint send yourn out today. twill be tomorrow, even ifn i gut to rite fifty waka ere i rite on good a nuff fer a feller as fine as yew.

meantime, heres the two waka i writ whilst a'trine to rite yourn:

Age

Age adds wrinkles
To our faces and our brains,
Leaving memories,
That fade, blur and dim as time
Kindly distills our story.

Change

Without constant change —
Day and Night, Passion and Calm,
Even simple Laughter —
All would be static, frozen,
Without Life or Love or Time.

have ye orderd yer copy of shoot the devil yet? no? then click this lank n git ye one ere tiz too late!

chores of buddy don: mailin books!

today i had the grate honor of spendin my mornin hours perparin books to mail. meant ritin a lil waka or two fer them that wonted em n putting numbers, chop n signachurs whar thay blongs. at lease one reader has dun red it cumpleatly n he thanks twill be a classick ... witch ye mite speck as much frum yer own bruther, ceptn he wood never say such a thang ifn he dint bleeve it, n i have the unpublished manuscrips to proov it.

ye mite wonta order yourn today, ere tiz too late to git a furst edition sined, chopped n numberd.

eggscuses of buddy don: overslept agin

i wish i could say twuz on a counta havin a big ole birthdy party, but twuz more lackly due to me bein 'a little bit older and a litter slower'. fack is, me n miz bd enjoyed a quiet evenin at home. then i gut to readin The Tale of Genji n jes couldnt putt it down (ye wood be amazed at how inneresting the worl's furst novel is!).

speakin of grate novels, did ye git a chants to pick up yer copy of thisn?

waka of budouadana: End

End

The work of dying
Is what we came here to do,
Though it’s the last thing
We wish to face or admit:
Let life justify its end!

as ye mite dun alreddy know, today marks the 57th time i have ridden this lovely blue ball of earth completely around the sun.

even ifn i aint sellin minny of them books (not that i dont have hopes to sell a few more), twuz verr importunt to me to have shoot the devil dun ere my birthdy cum round agin. the same is true fer the secunt book, the wanderin hillbilly, of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly.

n my fervunt wish n dream fer whuts left of my life is to finish whut i have started. jes let me live long a nuff fer that n i kin die thankin i had justified this here life.

thankee fer stoppin by! why dont ye click rite here n git yer copy of shoot the devil ere tiz too late? dont fergit to give me two wurds fer the topick of a waka composed jes fer ye n hand writ into yer copy ...

novels of buddy don: nuther note about shoot the devil

on fridy i found out that the banner ad fer shoot the devil dont show up a lots of places that hides behind firewalls n websense blockers n such.

so to make it verr simple, ye kind buy ye a copy of the book by clickin rite here! dont fergit to give me two wurds of deescripshun fer the waka ye wood lack to have writ by hand in yer copy.

thankee to them few thats dun alreddy orderd. heres hopin the rest of yall gits a chants purty soon ...

novels of buddy don: that thar chop

yesterdy i owned up to havin a novel name of shoot the devil published n menchunned that ifn ye wuz to buy ye one, i wood sine it n chop it. not only that, ifn ye give me two wurds to deescribe a waka ye wood lack to have writ by hand in yer copy of the book, i will make one up jes fer yew n rite that waka in yer copy of the book.

whenever i menchunned that, i sed that a book bein chopped woodnt hurt it nun. heres whut i mean by chopped.

ye kin git yer own chop, ifn ye wonta, by orderin it frum Dragon's Tomb in hong kong same as i dun. takes bout a munth to arrive after ye order. the one i ordered wuz fer 'wandering hillbilly' n it cum out lack this:



how i wish i knew me a bunch of them chinese carackters sos i could be shore that whut i bought wuz ackshly sumthin bout a wandering hillbilly. thonly thang i know fer shore is how one of the careackters stands fer mountain (thats the one in the upper left hand corner that looks kindly lack a trident).

folks in china has bin usin chops kindly lack a signachure fer minny a year (lease a cuple centries). thang is, ever chop is hand carved, witch that means thay aint no two of em jes alike, n that makes inny one of em a unique marker to proov whoever used it wuz the persun thay wuz spozed to be.

so here is the offer i am a'makin to innybidy that buys em a book:

1. ye git yer own copy of shoot the devil


2. i will persunally sine n chop yer copy


3. shippin n handlin in the united states is free


4. ifn ye give me two wurds bout whut kinda waka ye wood lack to have handwrit in yer copy, i will compose one fer ye n hand rite it in yer copy of the book


5. each book will be numbered as ifn twuz a artistick print that has a limited number of copies, witch thays only 49 of em n who knows when or ifn i will be able to git innymore

i wuz deelited n amazed that them books started sellin within a cuple hours of me announcin thay wuz fer sale yesterdy, so ye mite wonta order yourn whilst the numbers are still low.

novels of buddy don: shoot the devil

ifn ye look real keerful lack, ye mite could notiss a new lil banner ad on the left hand side of this here blog.

tiz fer a novel i writ that has finely bin published name of shoot the devil, witch tiz the furst book of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly.

(by the way, ifn ye dun alreddy red the draft of it here as i wuz a'ritin it, ye will see how i dun cleand it up n rewrit sum of the ruffer parts.)

thay say timin is everthang n in sum ways ye mite could thank thay wudnt no wurser time to be trine to sell a novel, speshly one writ in hillbilly. fer one thang, the hole publishin bizness has changed thanks to everthang a'goin digitull. thay wuz a lil articull in salon tuther week name of Read it and weep; The economic news couldn’t be worse for the book industry. Now insiders are asking how literature will survive.

tiz my fervant bleef that literchur is a'gone survive no matter whut. tiz lack sayin folks wont make no more rock n roll musick now that ye kin downlode it fer free. taint so. ever artist ever born has to create or die. histry shows how minny of the gratest artists of all time dint make no money offn thar wurk. (i kin reelate to that, even ifn i aint one of the gratest artists in histry, on a counta i aint made much money neethur!).

but i gut to readin all them reasons why literchur is bout to die n real eyesed how it has sumthin to do with the argumint that folks aint gut no deesire fer books. purty soon folks will only read books on thar eelecktronick deevices, thar kindles n such.

innywho, i happen to luv books, even ifn i do wish i had a kindle vershun of The Tale of Genji, world's furst novel, witch twuz writ by a japanese woman round the years 1000 to 1008 or so. the book translated into english runs to over 1,100 pages n weighs a good five pound or more, so tiz hard to lug around. but i wood still wonta have the book itself, not jes the digitull ghost of it.

but i dun herd the wurd n figgerd i wood offer the follerin deal to make this here book, the physicull thang, wurth havin:

1. furst, ifn ye order the book fer deelivry in the usa, ye dont have to pay fer handlin n shippin.


2. secunt, i will bof autograff n chop ever book innybidy orders (i will splain 'chop' by n by, witch no harm whutsoever happens to a book thats been chopped), lease fer the furst batch.


3. ever book of the furst batch will be sined n numberd, kindly lack ye mite do with a artisticull print.


4. finely, i will putt a personull waka writ jes fer ye ifn ye give me two wurds of the subjeck ye wont fer yer waka.

tiz only fair to warn ye that thays only 49 books left out of the furst batch, n i dun sent the furst one out. (ye mite also have gut the news on this frum my good friend red molly, who she was the furst persun to read the hole thang n cunvints me that reglar folk mite lack a book writ in hillbilly. hers wuz made ere i had the chop n ere i wuz numbern thangs, but it orta be speshul in its own rite on a counta tiz sined n all.)

ifn i wuz a rich man, i wood luv to give these books away, speshly to folks thats bin puttin up with this here blog fer so long, but i aint rich n this year, i gut a cut in pay of over 10% (tiz true fer mos everbidy on wall street, witch them that wuz makin more had even bigger cuts in thar pay). so the furst batch mite could be thonly one on a counta ifn i caint sell em, i caint git no more.

so why dont ye give a lil click to that thar banner ad n git yer copy whilst the numbers are low! ye never know: yer book mite could be a verr valuabull item sumdy, witch i am a'hopin ye will buy it sos ye kin read it, but ifn ye wonta make it a investmint, thats fine too.

pomes of buddy don: The Listener Will Understand

The Listener Will Understand

I try to write something everyday
A habit I’ve nourished for years,
But what do I write with nothing to say,
When silence has filled up my ears?

Sometimes, I suppose, one should simply desist
And let the day go without words,
But when they are swirling, who can resist,
Pretending that they might be birds?

O fly away little words, land in an ear,
Sing whatever you can,
Although your message is one I can’t hear
The listener will understand.

pomes of buddy don: Make No Mistake

Make No Mistake

He cannot admit a single mistake
Cannot understand why we might be upset
At losing our surplus, at losing our stake,
At seeing how much more “them that’s got” can get,

At watching Katrina destroy a great city
While he clowned around with his friend’s new guitar,
At seeing his glee as he failed to show pity
To those he condemned to cruel fates most bizarre,

At big brother eavesdropping all in good fun
To private phone calls of our troops in the field,
At finishing what terrorists leave undone:
Using our fears to convince us to yield.

How many errors can one man make
And still not acknowledge a single mistake?

waka of budouadana: Resolutions

Resolutions

Resolutions made,
Ready to attack the year
With best intentions,
We know our adversary
Self alone might trip us up.

waka of budouadana: Subdued

Subdued

Our celebration
At the ending of the year
Was somewhat subdued
For we could not help knowing
That the new year threatened much.

waka of budouadana: Brew

Brew

My morning coffee,
Bitter brew of wakefulness
At new year’s dawning,
Provides this hopeful moment
To reflect and look forward.

waka of budouadana: Ready

Ready

The year’s final day
Caught us napping beneath quilts,
Warm in the comfort
That love and loyalty bring,
Ready to begin again.

waka of budouadana: Gulls

Gulls

Our foggy breaths,
As we take our morning stroll,
Disperse on the breeze
Though we speak of great subjects —
Shrieking gulls haunt the harbor.

waka of budouadana: Dawn

Dawn

The coldest instant
A few seconds before dawn
Window shivering
Wife rolling over in bed
Coffee mug warming cold hands

waka of budouadana: Season

Season

The season of peace,
The season for getting things,
The season of waiting
For the impossible birth,
Mixing hope, love, faith with greed.

waka of budouadana: Seeds

Seeds

The ancient pine tree
Stands against the arctic blast,
Evergreen reminder
That in the coldest winter
The seeds of spring are planted.

waka of budouadana: Plow

Plow

The farmer plants faith
As he plows his empty fields
Late in the autumn,
Leaving furrowed earth exposed
To winter’s cruelest weather.

waka of budouadana: Glisten

Glisten

The nights grow shorter
As winter freezes our breath,
Bleaching skies pale blue,
Yet the hoary distant sun
Still glistens on iced branches.

waka of budouadana: Friends

Friends

One of my friends lives
On the mirror’s other side;
Another friend lives
In a great hot air balloon;
They admire each other.

waka of budouadana: Snowflakes

Snowflakes

Suddenly the air
Turned white with crazy snowflakes
Falling up and down
Stinging our glowing red cheeks
Quickly covering the ground

waka of budouadana: Bearing

Bearing

Our mothers bear us
And bear with us as we grow,
Born to break their hearts
As we stumble on our paths
While striving to bear good fruit.

waka of budouadana: Enough

Enough

A famous poet
Composed his great works in youth,
Abandoned writing,
Slaved in mines to save “enough,”
Lived poor, died rich, wrote no more.

life of buddy don: frum the trenches of 'the street'

up n down wall street, witch them that wurks thar generly calls it 'the street,' innywho, up n down 'the street' this munth or last or mayhap nex accordin to whar on the street a bidy wurks, thar havin whut everbidy lacks to call 'compensayshun day.' on this day everbidy gits his or her number, meanin whut thar bonus will be.

now thays a slew of folks all over this cuntry that hates the idee of wall street bankers gittin huge bonuses while thar cumpnys bizness is in the toilet. thanks to how bad thangs have gut, the message has cum thru, witch the reesult hits all of us, whuther we wooda made a big bonus or sum annual chump change.

so how do thangs cum out? mos houses on wall street lack to call tharself 'full compensayshun shops,' meanin that ye look at everthang ye gut, bonus included, to figger out how ye dun.

this year we dun terrbull as everbidy knows. we are lucky thays lites on in the bildins whar we wurk. to kindly try to balance thar books n git the folks on main street to quit talkin bout bonuses, this year we purty much dint git one or gut sumthin so small that it dont matter much.

whut that cums out to is that ever sangle persun wurkin at a firm lack goodbank whar i wurk has to take a cut in pay, sumwhar twixt 10 and 15 per cent. tiz hard news to hear jes befor chrismus n smile bout afterds, but whut ye gone do?

this years bonus fer them amung us that has jobs turns out the be ... havin jobs!

i fer one aint nuthin but thankfull even if we wont have nuthin to spend on hallday gifts, lease not lack we have had in the past. mayhap we will make all our gifts.

heres hopin ye dont have to have no drasticull cut in yer wages jes to keep yer job.

heres hopin ye gut a job to keep.

waka of budouadana: Speck

Speck

A wee grain of sand,
So irritates an oyster
That it spends its life
Transforming the tiny speck
Into a beautiful pearl.

waka of budouadana: Parse

Parse

The Earth’s rotation
On its axis parses time,
Creating our days,
Just as its circling the sun
Splits forever into years.

note of buddy don: got no idees

this heres jes a lil note to let it be known to them that checks site this reglar that i aint gut nary an idee to rite about, but i am doin jes fine. fack is, today makes the day two of the thurd week without no migraines, even tho the weather has been trine to trigger sumthin. we gut one of them changes bout to happen agin, so i am a'hopin to make it thru with no trubles.

waka of budouadana: Up

Up

This year’s “up” is “in,”
Last year's was to hold steady,
Before that to grow:
Such is life down on Wall Street
Where suffer the “pauvre nouveau.”

waka of budouadana: Cuddling

Cuddling

How the chilly air
Buried our heads in our beds,
Cuddling for warmth,
Pretending we’re two old bears,
Hibernating … until dawn.

waka of budouadana: Squirrels

Squirrels

Squirrels plan ahead,
Working through long summer days
To store their acorns,
Rarely pausing to enjoy
The grasshopper’s here and now.

waka of budouadana: Tickling

Tickling

Sunset comes early
As chilly nights grow longer
And winter draws near,
Its frozen fingers tickling
Us beneath our heavy coats.

waka of budouadana: Music

Music

When I find no words
To express an emotion,
I turn to music
To lift my spirits or sing
The sorrows I cannot speak.

waka of budouadana: Jewels

Jewels

The sharp crescent Moon
With Jupiter and Venus
Glowing at its side
Lit yesterday’s early sky,
Bright sparkling jewels in heaven.

waka of budouadana: Weight

Weight

Water droplets freeze,
Growing into icicles
On bald tree branches,
Snapping as awkward trees bend
Beneath winter’s frigid weight.

waka of budouadana: Rebirth

Rebirth

The brittle cocoon,
Split from inside, releases
The new butterfly
To unfold its fragile wings,
A caterpillar reborn.

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

pitchers tuck by buddy don: son of killer

thays four or five of ye thats been readin this blog long a nuff to member a crawdad name of killer. i putt him n a nuthern name of 'miz tenna' together n next thang we knew they had dun had a bunch of lil crawdads. i had red sumwhar (caint find it now) that the male dies shortly after matin, n that wuz the case with killer. miz tenna lasted a lot longer, but she passed away as well. the yunguns eat up the leftover shells, witch a crawdad that molts will eat its own exoskelton ifn taint ded.

innywho, the biggest of them yunungs is a crawdad name of rl. heres a cuple pitchers of im, witch ye kin see he is a ded ranger fer his daddy, killer.





finely, heres a lil waka bout whut they do:
Molt

Overgrown crayfish
Swell to split their skeleton
And crawl outside
Themselves to become renewed,
Consuming their broken shells.

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

waka of budouadana: Home

Home

Children grow up fast,
Safe in the home of their birth,
Then so quickly leave
To build their own lives elsewhere —
We do the same when we die.

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

waka of budouadana: jes fer fun

True Harvest

The autumn harvest
Forces families to drive
Or fly far too far,
To test the bonds of kinship
By renewing old grudges.

as ye kin see, todays waka is a pairdee of yersterdys n probly closer to whut too minny folks ackshly duz. whenever we give thanks, i am speshly thankfull that our fambly gut over that minny a year ago.

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

waka of budouadana: Harvest

Harvest

The autumn harvest
Brings families together
To commune, give thanks,
Renew the bonds of kinship,
And put aside old grudges.

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

waka of budouadana: Pressure

Pressure

A blue sky, high winds,
Following three days of rain —
That change of pressure,
As dark clouds are blown away,
Spells anguish for migraineurs.

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

waka of budouadana: Warning Signs

Warning Signs

Earthworms burrow deep
Bears gorge on fatty salmon
Squirrels hide acorns
Great gaggles of geese eat grass
Chilly breezes loosen leaves

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

waka of budouadana: Response

Response

Migraine misery
Becomes an ingrained response
To weather and foods,
Even to strong pain killers,
Forcing long dead days in bed.

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

waka of budouadana: Growing

Growing

During late autumn
Trees cling to fiery leaves;
Winter approaches,
North winds a cold reminder
That growing means letting go.

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

waka of budouadana: Bodies

Bodies

The best estimates
Agree the population
Of human bodies
Exceeds ten billion life forms,
Without whom we could not live.

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

waka of budouadana: Words

Words

Mere words do not kill,
At least not in an instant,
But in a lifetime
Enough verbal cruelty
Can reduce a life to naught.

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

pitchers tuck by buddy don: parade wuz a paradice fer pitcher takers

fer the most part, i lack to take pitchers of folk that dont know i am a'doin it, but whenever thays a parade, folks purty much eggspeck ye to take thar pitcher. at that greenwich village halloween parade twuz the same. ye could make eye contack with sumbidy n that wood be a nuff to take thar pitcher. heres a bakers duzen of em ...



























ifn ye wonta see all them pitchers frum halloween, jes foller this here lank.

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

waka of budouadana: Sleep

Sleep

Buried in his cave,
The mighty bear does not die
Though he might seem dead —
Just as our long sleep of death
Is mere hibernation.

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

pitchers tuck by buddy don: a questchun ast by fletch

a few posts back, one of my favert fotogruffers, fletch of smokies light, ast a questchun in the comments:

Ok I know you shoot from the hip, but you look really close to these folks. When the shutter makes a noise from your hip, do they turn and look at you? Every time I see these type pics the thought of getting punched or slapped in the face occurs. But, I get that thought just thinking of visiting NYC much less taking pics, being a southern country guy and all.

fack is, i am rite on top of sum of these folks n a bidy mite could wunder why they dont objeck to thar pitchers bein tuck. corse, thays a cuple thangs goin fer me in the city n its enviruns.

1. thang number one bout the city is how tiz a verr noisy place, witch that means ye caint hardly here yerself thank, much less here a shutter a'goin off.


2. corse, he wuz reacktin to sum pitchers tuck on the bus. shorely them folk wood here a shutter a'clickin off? but thang is, folks up in here dont lack to be in publick even when they are, so they shut everthang out by puttin ear plugs (or ear buds) into thar ears with the musick cranked up loud a nuff that at times, a bidy kin here it a'leakin out. so they dont never here nuthin else.


3. then thays the fack that folks up in here know bout all them tursts wnaderin the streets takin pitchers to the point that they dont hardly thank bout it much


4. beesides that, did i menchun how tiz loud up in here?

innywho, heres a few pitchers i tuck tuther day ...

furst, tiz a sine of the times how thays more homeless in man hattan all the time ...




thays a hole lot of waitin fer trains in this here town ...


a nuther way to git candid pitchers of folks is to take em through the plastick winnders twixt two train cars ...


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

waka of budouadana: Waiting

Waiting

Everlasting Death
Walks besides us, a stalker
Awaiting his chance,
Striking as our defense dip,
As our fate decrees, “Enough!”

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

waka of budouadana: Too Late

Too Late

When Death comes calling
As it did for my father
With the screaming pain
Of pancreatic cancer,
It is too late to start loving.

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

waka of budouadana: Laughter

Laughter

Incandescent smiles,
Fanned into flames of laughter
By kindly humor
And warm loving sentiment,
Kindle the warm glow of health.

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

pitchers tuck by buddy don: more pitchers frum the parade

i could rite more bout the eleckshun, but thats bout all ye kin see on tee vee or innywhar now. so heres a few more pitchers of that thar greenwich village halloween parade.











ifn ye wood lack to look at all them fotos i tuck at the 2008 greenwich village halloween parade, click this here lank.

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

amazement of buddy don: still pinchin myself

me n miz bd couldnt go to bed till we herd the winner announced, witch we caint hardly bleeve thangs cum out lack they dun.

tiz a grate day fer these here united states. i half to add mitt that i never thunk i wood see such a thang, but tiz a thang of beeyooty. i real eyes that the challenges are nigh onto impossibull, but thays more to a eleckshun than choosin policy: thays also whut it duz in terms of leadin us cultchurally.

n that whar we are a'gone change n thats the only change that really matters.

i seen this here mannikin in a store befor the eleckshun, but i dint wonta publish a pitcher of it till the votin wuz dun on a counta i dint wonta janx nuthin ...



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

reckomendayshuns of buddy don: vote!

me n miz bd gut in line about 5 mints after them polls opend, but we dint git to vote fer 1 hour n 45 mints! the jersy state guvner votes at the same precinct we do, so all the media ye kin magine wuz thar. he still had to wait in line n far as i know, he is a'waitin still.

we bin votin here in whut they lacks to call ny citys sixth boro fer eight years, but we aint never had to wait ere now. even in 2004 we wuz in n out in no time.

but them lines is wurth it when yer part of histry bein made.

vote yall!

yall vote!

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

pitchers tuck by buddy don: spooky parade in the village

after wurk on fridy, i tuck myself over to spring street n 6th avenue whar i snuck in n ackted lack i wuz a perfesshunull fotogruffer. twuz a lucky move on a counta not long afterds they woodnt let nobidy thru. i parkd myself next to the marshalls that wuz lettin folks thru that wuz part of the parade, witch i tuck thar pitchers as quick as they gut tharself past the barracade.

later on i gut stuck in the crowd, so i figgerd i could jes climb the barrier n walk out into the parade lack tuther perfesshunulls, n once i wuz out thar, nobidy made me quit. i tuck nigh onto 1,000 pitchers n a few of em cum out ok.

problem wuz, of corse, that twuz nite, n the lite wuz terrbull. i jes jacked up the iso n used the flash whar i could. corse that ment sum of them pitchers turnt out grainy, but whut ye a'gone do?

furst off, thay wuz plenty of the unded thar ...


this feller tells me i orta have dun seen the dark knight, witch i reckun i wooda gut his constume better ifn i had seen it ...


thay wuz a slew of jesuses thar, who they all seemd to hart obama ...


parnts cum all dressd up ...


n brung thar kids ...


thay wuz plenty of odd cuples thar ...


thay wuz poe-leece thar, bof fake ...


n real ...

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