pitchers tuck by buddy don: street flowers

criticks of buddy don: whut a cuple more comminters sed

fer the most part, my life has bin one whar ye could say twuz better lucky than good. fer proof of that, cunsidder the hi qualty of them that rites commints here.

i writ bout anonnymus wundern whuther i wuz trine to be funny or sumthin by ritin in hillbilly dialeck. thay wuz sum good commints that cum frum that, witch one of em leads to a verr good idee (thankee smijer!).

we kin save whut smijer had to say bout them commints frum anonnymus till the end on a counta how it brangs up a good idee. meanwhile, twuz my verr good luck to have this commint frum anne johnson frum the gods are bored n six word blog:

"Anonymous" doesn't have a lock on proper grammar him/herself. Writing must be true to the heart and soul, and this is the way you want to do it, BD. To thine own self be true.

lucky a nuff fer me, i dont know no other way to do it.

the next commint cums frum a feller i aint never met but feel lack i bin a'knowin all my life, who that wood be buck frum the same blog as smijer, tete-a-tete-a-tete (caint make them symbulls cum out rite on blogger fer sum reason):

The first time I ever read this blog I laughed out loud because it reads almost exactly like me and many of my kin folks talk.

I think it is funny as hell and purty much dead on.

I thank if we followed the blood river Buddy we would find that many of mine are kin to yorn.

mayhap i feel lack i know buck on a counta we could be cuzins or sumthin. twoodnt sprize me n twood be a honor ifn turnt out to be true!

the next commint is nigh onto poetry, cummin frum a comminter name of marcia, who she rites a grate blog bout knittin n purt near ever other subjeck under the sun name of purls before swine:

Oh buddy don. I have to get to bed right now, but need to put this down before I forget. Over the past few weeks I've been gazing on my own navel on the idea of of "personal vernacular". At this time, however, I will spare you the configuration of the lint, therein.

Personal vernacular is a powerful thing. It is rich and poor. It connects and separates. It has sound and imagery. It can sustain thought without a word spoken. It is a word spoken, without need of thought.

It is the blankie that comforts and helps us transition to new worlds and experiences.

It is the wallpaper of our soul.

lack i sed, the way marcia knits wurds together is pure poetry. i wish i coulda cum up with half them grate metafors bout persunal vernackular.

finely, heres whut smijer had to say, witch this is such a good idee that i am a'gone try to see whuther i kin make sumthin of it:

Have you ever done any audio? What I hear when I read you probably isn't exactly what you hear when you write... I'd love to hear the 'real thing'.

I'm afraid I've all but lost recollection of the dialects I grew up with, but I love to hear any country dialect, including European ones... they all sound a little bit like home to me.

fack is, i have dun a lil audio, but i aint dun whut i shoulda dun alreddy dun ere now: record a lil bit of this here dialeck that i kin here clear as a bell in my mind but kin convey to the page only so good (never as good as i kin here it).

fer eggsample, nigh onto everbidy knows that down south the furst persun singular is pronounced without the dipthong that makes it two vowel sounds, a "aaah" follerd by a "ee" sound. we dont add the 'ee'. tiz almost impossibull to capchur that in letters, so i dun give it up n settled on usin 'i' on a counta i figger most folks know bout how that wurd is pronounced by folk lack me. thang is, i aint a'gone putt 'aaah sed this' nor 'aaah sed that' but ye kindly git the idee.

innywho, thankee one n all fer yer criticisum. ye caint git a nuff of that in this world fer the most part n i am verr gratefull fer it.

pomes of buddy don: Our Only Shield

Our Only Shield

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

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

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

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

pitchers tuck by buddy don: statchew of jackie gleason

purty near everbidy in these united states has seen a episode or two of the honeymooners. thays a statchew of the mane carackter of that show (ifn thays a mane one on a counta ye caint magine the show without norton n alice), ralph cramden, in frunt of the port authorty bus stayshun. i tuck a few pitchers of it tuther day, witch heres one of em ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: faces lack mirrors

criticks of buddy don: whut anonnymus sed

ever so often sumbidy cums by to read this here blog that aint one of the 4 or 5 that reads it on a reglar basis. tiz often the case that they wonta attack my use of hillbilly dialeck. let me point out now that i aint trine to say how ever hillbilly talks: whut i rite is as close as i kin cum to the dialeck i herd used by my fambly whenever we wood all gather n tell tales.

thang is, i dont bleeve inny two people use eggzackly the same langwage. everbidy has thar own. tiz true that skools try to flatten the langwage n make us all use it the same eggzack way, but langwage dont wurk thataway: ifn it did, ye wood be able to read beowulf direckly without translayshun.

innywho, here is whut anonnymus had to say:

Not sure how your attempts at the local vernacular are intended as humor.

i wood hope them thats been readin this here blog knows bettern to thank my 'attempts at the local vernacular' are intended as humor. they aint. tiz my means of recordin how them i wuz razed by happend to talk. fer me, tiz the best way to tell stories n i lack to practiss ever chants i git.

pinions of buddy don: ifn tennessee is on the frunt page of the ny times ...

... then taint lackly to be good news, lessn tiz about them lady vols. todays ny times aint no different, witch it has a articull name of Firm Acted as Tutor in Selling Towns Risky Deals:

LEWISBURG, Tenn. — Five years ago, this small factory town was struggling to pay the interest on a bond for new sewers. Bob Phillips, Lewisburg’s part-time mayor and full-time pharmacist, was urged by the town’s financial adviser, an investment bank named Morgan Keegan & Company, to engage in a complex financial transaction to lower interest rates.

When a Lewisburg official attended a state-sponsored seminar intended to lay out the transaction’s benefits and risks, he was taught by investment bankers from Morgan Keegan.

And when Lewisburg decided to go ahead with the transaction, who was there to make the deal? Morgan Keegan.

In January, local officials were shocked to discover that annual interest payments on the bond had quadrupled to $1 million. Morgan Keegan, they said, did not serve them well in any of its roles.

dont that jes beat all? sum of the wurst news is how them industries is movin out of tennessee, witch the menchun of sanford pencils moving to mexico is a prime eggsample. jes brakes yer hart that these jobs trickle down to other cuntries (on a counta trickle down always means jobs fer them that wurks fer the least money, no matter whuther tiz in this cuntry or sum othern).

waka of budouadana: Meaning

Meaning

Cruel reality
Cares not whether we live
Or die abruptly,
So life only has meaning
If we live as if it did.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: reflecktin man hattan

pitchers tuck by buddy don: Mr. Dienstbier

ye dun herd how a pitcher is wurth a thousund wurds ... thisn purty much gives ye a lil insight into miz bd ...

waka of budouadana: Creeping

Creeping

Like a creeping cat,
Haunches set expectantly,
Poised to leap and strike,
So the energy of Spring
Is set to burst into bloom.

waka of budouadana: Hope

Hope

As buds become blooms,
Adorning green leaves with pink,
So we turn with hope
To another beginning,
Breathing deep the fleeting scent.

waka of budouadana: Waiting

Waiting

The mollusk pulls back
Into its shell, avoiding
Possible danger,
Waiting for the outside world
To return to normalcy.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: walkin the streets of new york on a purty day

heres a few pitchers i tuck whenever me n miz bd wuz walkin round man hattan on a recent purty day.

furst pitchers tuck frum the eggzack spot anne coulter advocated that timothy mcveigh shoulda eggspoded his bomb, witch tiz rite under the flags at the frunt of the ole new york times bildin ...



next, a pitchers of 'lack mama, lack child,' witch ye will see whut i mean ifn ye notiss the eggspreshuns ...



then ye gut yer mamas checkin thar babies ...



not too far away, ye could see yer cabs n thar add vertisin ...

friends of buddy don: verr nice folk

i wonta thank everbidy that wuz kind a nuff to send condolentses over the death of a long time friend. twuz nice to here frum Tennessee Jed, witch i couldnt make no comments on his site fer the longest till a cuple daze ago. n verr nice to here frum otherns that i caint menchun here (sum folks lacks to keep thar lives privutt).

i wuz speshly struck by whut Anne Johnson frum The Gods Are Bored writ in a comment:

last fall i lost a old buddy the same way. he jes fell over dead. i never quit trine to be his friend, but he stopped answerin my emails after while. he wuz 57 also.

tuther day i was huntin fer sumthin and i found all the silly stuff he n i used to pass back n forth at wurk when we wuz in the same office. it jes brought back the hurt agin. he had a blog and everthang, i didn't know till after he wuz gone. hiz name wuz tom wiloch and i thank he wrote his Wikipedia entry his ownself. sounds lak him.

friendship is kinda lak a buncha leaves flowin down a river. thay bunch up then rearrange, flow apart, mebbe flow back tagither agin, mebbe not. n sum sank, n sum flow on.

tis one a the mystries.

that putts thangs bout as well as they kin be putt.

loretta also sent me a lil pome by Mary Lee Hall that bares repeatin:

If I should die and leave you here a while,
be not like others sore undone,
who keep long vigil by the silent dust.
For my sake turn again to life and smile,
nerving thy heart and trembling hand
to do something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine
and I perchance may therein comfort you.

i wuz also gratafide to git a anser back frum a email i sent to a nuther ole friend that i hattent herd frum (or writ to) in a dozen years. i caint hep but wunder whar thangs could lead, but tiz promissin.

point is, life goes on. n the grate thang bout that is how a bidy makes new friends n sum of em turns out the be the verr best.

one of em putt up with me promissin to send eem his copy of shoot the devil fer sevrul weeks whilst i hoped to git well frum a slew of migraines n make a video of me signin n choppin n ritin a waka fer eem in his copy. he wuz kind a nuff to putt a verr nice post bout it up on his site, witch tiz a nuther of my faverts name of Thinking Meat.

finely, durin this lil passage of life whar it seems time eethur moves too fast (whilst i am at wurk trine to keep up with everthang) or too slow (whilst i am a'lyin in bed wonderin ifn i kin ever find sleep agin), i am reeminded of sumthin miz bd taught me early in our life together. she wurked most of her life as a jurnalist n one time innerviewd a feller frum Hiroshima, who i caint member his name. he wuz one of them that survived n wuz makin the round here in the u s of a to talk bout whut twuz lack n all. durin the innerview, miz bd owned up to bein frum ole kridge tennessee whar thay made that thar bomb. she wonted to pallgize bout it or sumthin, but he tawt her a fraze that has wurked minny a wunder fer us ever since: shi kata ga nai, witch that translates ruffly to, 'the unfortunate thing has happened; we must move forward.'

so pitcher me, movin ford, aimed tords wurk n ritin n not givin up even tho when sumbidy so near jes up n dies, it makes ye questchun everthang bout life agin n wunder whut tiz all bout n wuther tiz wurth it so suffer so ere ye die yer ownself. fack is, ye git to wundern bout ever other thought thats razed frum the ded by sumbidy ye know that well a'dyin ... witch ponderin such matter is bout as wurthy a thang as a bidy kin do ... or so i reckun.

sadness of buddy don: still in a fog

tiz a good thang i have such a busy job. i dont leave no time fer thankin bout much of nuthin that dont have to do with the job.

so i had a lil restbit from grief durin the day yesterdy.

but whenever i gut home last nite, thay wudnt nobidy here (miz bd has a reglar committment ever winsdy evenin) n all that grief cum in on me lack a thick fog. i dint do much of nuthin n this mornin, i aint bin much more usefull.

i did try to make contack with a nuther ole friend, but mayhap the old email address i had aint no good no more. or mayhap he dont wont nuthin more to do with me.

life goes on ...

waka of budouadana: Hollow

for chris ...

Hollow

Decay eats the heart
Of the great, spreading oak tree,
Leaving it hollow,
A living shell of itself:
So my old friend’s death leaves me.

sadness of buddy don: old friend dies at 57

yesterdy miz bd greeted me with sum awe full news: a friend of mine died over the weekend of a hart attack. he wuz jes 57, same as me. we had furst made friends in junior hi skool n traveled thru decades of life as best friends, tho even that dint last.

thays nuthin a bidy kin do bout such a shock. ye kin shed a few tears, talk bout how ye regret lettin a friendship lag to whar ye aint seen each other fer years, but nun of that duz inny good. we gut the news third hand n seems lack thay aint nuthin bout no funeral nor nuthin, witch i dont see how me n miz bd could possibly git to tennessee to attend, tho i wood lack to.

aint gut nobidy to blame on a counta i quit trine to see eem whenever i wuz in tennessee on a counta he lacked to drank moren innybidy i ever seen or herd tell of. twernt easy to talk to such a one.

but i reckun thats more a eggscuse than a reason on a counta a better friend n i am wooda gut past that n seen his friend no matter. i had plenty of chantses, but i dint wonta go thru the hole thang (thays a slew of ugly deetails that could be writ, but whats the point? they dont mean no more now than they dun then).

i figgerd thay wuz only one thang i could do in such a case, witch i dun dunnit. that is, i could at least try to git in touch with a nuther ole friend who i aint seen in a decade over reasons jes as silly next to death as the ones i jes writ. so i writ eem a email n hope the address is inny good.

but the lessun fer me (n innybidy that kin larn it) is how life is short n thay aint no time fer lettin grudges or inny other lil thang git in the way of friendship. ifn ye do, ye could be left with a feelin ever bit as empty as the one i gut rite now. n thay aint nuthin fit to fill it.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: whut a dad my son turnt out to be

tiz easy to wurry bout the nex generayshun when one of em is yourn. ye caint hep but hope them yunguns will grow up to be able to take keer of tharself n even to brang up sum yunguns of thar own.

thangs turnt out purty good on that frunt ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: gimme that thar camra, granddaddy!

waka of budouadana: Friends

Friends

Brothers and sisters,
Mothers, fathers and children —
All are given us —
But old friends grow from choices
That reveal our truest selves.

i writ the waka above fer one of my verr best friends, witch he wuz kind a nuff to buy hisself a copy of that thar novel i writ name of shoot the devil. ye orta order yourn whilst ye kin still git one of the furst 49, witch them that buys one of em will be gittin unnamed bonus benefits a lil ways down the rode.

n do i need to reemind ye that yer book will be chopped n sined? n ifn ye give me two wurds fer a topick, ye kin have a waka speshul writ rite thar in yer copy of shoot the devil fer ye?

so click this here lank n git yer order in ere tiz too late. ye kin do it now!

quik note of buddy don: whut i wood do

everbidy is upset over the aig bonuses, witch they accounted fer about .0916% of all the money we dun give aig ... n they pertend to be outraged over earmarks, witch they amounted to lessn 2% of the budget n wuz money that wuz a'gone be spent no matter whut, so why wood folks be upset that how it wood be spent wood be deecided by them that represents the ackshull people they represent?

seems to me we putt way to much thought into the lil thangs that dont hardly matter nun n ignore the big thangs that do. whut is aig a'doin with tuther money they gut?

speakin of givin way too much creedents to lil thangs that dont hardly matter, lust aint the problem, deespite whut the far right relijus theeocrats of the cuntry lacks to preach.

point is, taint lust but greed thats the problem.

why am i talkin bout lust n greed (two of the gratest of the seven dedlies)? on a counta we dun kickd out a feller that knew how to brang greedy insiders to heel on a counta his lust. i am talkin bout eliot spitzer.

aint nobidy in washingtun dee cee thats gut the guts to up-point the lusty mr spitzer to whar they gut that tim geitner guy, but twood be a smart move, in my lil hillbilly's pinion.

waka of budouadana: Books

Books

Books are memories,
Reminders of what we did,
What we wished to do,
What we dreamed we could have done,
How we became who we are.

pitchers tuck by buddy don: visitin a nuther apple store

tuther weekend, me n miz bd went down to the apple store on 14th street, witch miz bd has dun gone mac on me on a counta she gut herself one of them macbooks n twuz all she writ, as they say. innywho, i went along fer the ride n the pleashur of her cumpny. corse, i tuck the camra, so heres a few pitchers frum the trip ...

furst, we tuck the subway ...


one thang ye mite not know is that thays moren one bildin that looks a lil lack a flatiron, witch thisn aint the famus flatiron bildin thats up on 23rd street. thisns on 14th n ye kin see it frum that thar apple store ...


corse, folks luvs to cum in n use them computers or simply walk round watchin them folks usin them computers ...

pitchers tuck by buddy don: refleckshuns on that thar museum of modern art

pitchers tuck by buddy don: pitchers tuck whilst mz bd wuz visitin the apple store

this here drummer pervided the beat durin the entire wait ...


ye kin see how the hole store is underground ...


this here lady is wearin the latest fashun in cruel shoes ...




corse i bin a sucker fer takin pitchers of lite in trees ferever ...

books of buddy don: that thar library thang

mayhap ye dun notissd a bunch of books over to the left of this here blog. i gut them a'goin by joinin a lil site name of librarything.com. i bin thankin bout trine to make a list of all the books i red, witch i know tiz a slew of em but not how big a slew. so i started addin books to that site n showin em on my left navbar. ye orta try it!

btw, ye kin see n even buy ye a copy of shoot the devil frum amazon by goin here. them amung ye thats red it could go thar n rite a revue, mayhap the furstn ever writ innywhar!

i wuz even able to add it to my vershun of librarything on a counta ye kin have it search amazon. how thangs has changed in my lil life!

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.