pitchers tuck by buddy don: whut a differnts a rif makes

heres a cuple pitchers lack them i posted tuther day bout that daily trudge to wurk. mane differnts here is thay wuz a rif of lots of folks that wooda bin in the verr same trudge ifn they hadnt bin let go. mayhap ye kin see a lil more life in the steps of these folks on a counta they know thar lucky to be trudgin to wurk!(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Peak

PeakMy aching muscles,Remind me of the struggleTo climb each mountain,To rise from hot humid plainsAnd taste the peak’s cold crisp air.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

revues of buddy don: wii fit

this caint be a hole revue on a counta i wonta git my daily yoga in on the wii fit.but my frien red molly menchunned in a comment that she dint know whut a wii fit even wuz, so i figgerd the lease i could do is say a few wurds bout it n give ye a lank or two.it cum to pass a while back that them kids wint together to git me a wii fer my birthdy back in januwary. twuz fun fer a while, but i gut a

eggscuses of buddy don: wii fit

fergive me fer not bloggin moren this. miz bd gut a wii fit fer mothers day n i dun spent nigh onto 45 mints this mornin wurkin out. cunsidder this the furst enthusiastick revue of it i have dun writ. i will rite more bout it later on.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: a dancin butterfly on rollerskates

whenver i wuz 11 year ole, i writ a pome, witch i wood give good money fer a copy of it. twuz a life changin eevent fer me on a counta frum that instunt till now, i knew i wonted to be a riter. i probly shoulda stuck to one kinda ritin, but i couldnt do that. i had to try ever kinda ritin thay is: pomes, short stories, novellas, novels, screenplays, stage plays, songs, essays, yew name it, i

pomes of buddy don: Our Country, Right or Wrong

Our Country, Right or WrongWhy can’t these peace-niks see how well it worksTo rough up someone who might know some thing*That might help us to find the evil jerksWho might attack us like a bee might sting?Why do surrender monkeys** all insistThat harshly enhanced methods can’t succeedIn getting scum we’ve captured to assistIn telling us most everything we need?Why do these agents of the FBI***

pitchers tuck by buddy don: more dance parade ny

thays still a passel of pitchers i aint never gonna have time to putt up fer ye, but heres a few more ...furst, ye couldnt hardly beat them bolivians fer color ...heres a native bolivian lookin rite at the camra ...ye caint hardly have a bunch of dancers without sum belly dancers, witch thisn frum a group name of ASAMEDthen ye had to have sum samba, witch this feller wuz decked out in brazilyun

pitchers tuck by buddy don: dance parade ny

on saturdy i ast miz bd whuther she mite be reddy to git out fer a stroll on a counta she had bin laid up with a fever fer a few daze, same as i had bin a lil earlier. i had sum errands to run over in man hattan, witch turnt out twuz jes whut she wonted to do since she had sum errands of her own to take keer of.i brung along the camra lack i generly do n it turnt out to be a lucky thang i dun it

waka of budouadana: Flame

FlameSlowly setting sunPaints the sky orange and red,The reflected blazeScorching the very oceanThat daily drowns its bright flame.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

lame limricks of buddy don: no glitch

“The change you deserve,” is a sales pitch,To hawk remedies meant to help switchThe depressing thick hazeOf sad days to glad days –That one party needs it is no glitch!(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: the daily trudge to wurk

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: bargun huntin in hells kitchen

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waka of budouadana: Tenses

TensesAnger points backwards,The mind blindly nursing ire –Worry points forwardsThe fearful heart lacking faith –Flowers bloom in the present.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pinions of buddy don: mass transit

whenever i deecided to move up here to the new york city area, i had me a few of the reason ye mite eggzpeck: wontin to live in the gratest city in the worl, wontin to have ackcess to all that cultchur, wontin to eggspand my horizons, wontin to live in a cosmopolitun place whar a bidy could meet folks frum ever part of the globe, wontin to here all kinds of langwages bein spoke everday as ye walk

pomes of buddy don: God's Words Matter Little

God’s Words Matter LittleYour Rushes, your Newts, your Rudys, your Freds,And even your straight-shootin’ Saint John McCains,Have all left their marks in and out of the bedsOf the ladies they loved as they ran their campaigns,Proclaiming the need to sanctify marriage,Not by being true to the ones they first marriedBut by making sure that they loudly disparagedThe wish to be wed by the gay folks

waka of budouadana: Reprieve

ReprieveWith each new healingComes the faith to live again,Comes the hope to thrive,Although life leads straight to death:Each fresh breath is a reprieve.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

lame limricks of buddy don: three fer a fridy

ye mite could have notissd how i luv to play with wurds n differnt forms of ritin pomes, so today i figgerd i wood give one of the gratest forms of all a shot: the limrick. heres three to git ye off to a grate weekend ...ChicaneryWhat should we name such chicanery(Like locusts on guard at the granary) –The commons is soldFor a bag full of gold –Why don’t we rename it “McCainery”?Business as

pomes of buddy don: God’s Great Exception

God’s Great ExceptionWe must accept that we are not the sameAs all the rest of the world’s little states,And that is why we can’t be held to blameOr forced to obey quaint treaty dictates.We're also God’s chosen, as history shows,When God helped us wipe out the natives we found,For they were to blame since they chose to opposeOur manifest destiny: This is our ground!When God gave us slaves to help

waka of budouadana: Bulb

BulbA bulb buried deepIn fall, frozen in winter,Will bloom in the spring,Breaking through barely thawed earth –So, too, human intentions.thays a lil bit of irony in how this waka cum to be writ. miz bd tole me she wood lack to see whuther budouadana could rite a waka on the subjeck of intenshuns, witch she even sed, 'cunsidder the request dropped on ye lack a seed.' so miz bd deesevers at lease

waka of budouadana: Fever

FeverThe burning eyeballsAche like red-hot glowing coalsAs fever blazesThroughout the sickened body,A painful but cleansing purge.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Clouds

CloudsRising purple cloudsConcealing blue skies, gold sun,Swelling to a head,Burst in rain on parched brown fields,Repainting them in rich greens.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

waka of budouadana: Froth

FrothWaves rush in and out,As singular as humans,Riding the moon’s tidesIn their eternal motion,Their froth as fleeting as fads.(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)

pitchers tuck by buddy don: garden of dappled lite

everwhar ye look these daze, tiz beeyootifull ...(ifn ye wonta make a comment, ye gut to click on 'link' below.)