waka of budouadana: Urge

Urge

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

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waka of budouadana: Refugees

Refugees

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

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

No Time to Use Common Sense

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

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

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

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

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

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



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waka of budouadana: Fall

Fall

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

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: cuple pitchers tuck last nite

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waka of budouadana: Effort

Effort

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so whut are they a'wurkin fer?

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

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

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

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

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

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pomes of buddy don: Greed

But Greed Was Good!

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

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

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

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

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: reel wurk

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

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

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

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

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



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

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pomes of buddy don: Desperate Straits

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

Desperate Straits

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

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

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

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

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waka of budouadana: Practice

Practice

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

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: them lites

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

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



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waka of budouadana: Pillars

Pillars

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

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





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pitchers tuck by buddy don: man hattan at nite

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

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





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

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waka of budouadana: Fulcrum

Fulcrum

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

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waka of budouadana: Chill

Chill

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

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: playin with them eefecks

heres a hdr vershun of the subjeck ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: pitcher of a wave

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

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



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pomes of buddy don: Still a Prisoner

Still a Prisoner

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

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

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

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

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