There are economics beyond any measure
that any Treasury man can wrap in numbers
transactions done in the shadows deep and dark beyond view
where the little men try breathing free
not bound by paper and plastic.
There things are measured much differently
not just in dollars and cents as others
but by rollies, bags, sandwiches, cans and other food items
as we trade what we managed to score
amid the streets and work done.
And if they ever try taxing
I want all that back monies owed me
for denied services, pay and other compensations I lost dout on
over this last year and those from before
so please, make that effort.... Fools.
(31May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Restoration via the Park - A Poem of Walking Amid Life
I find my daily bit of peace
walking through and about the park
just absorbing the calm from life
feeling the breeze soothing my torn soul
as my smile returns watching waterfowl
who wander about on land and pond
and Nature herself speaks inside my heart
reminding me I am a living being.
The green of grass and trees soothes
as the flames of anger dampen slowly
stirred before by foolish things all do
not just others, but this idiot also
as I keep trying too hard to suceed
not seeing that life can be won slowly
until here amid naught but fresh air
the soft ground reminds me of joy.
Life has its burdens we all bear
but in a park you can find
a place to lay them down briefly
and reconnect with that joy once felt
when as a kid you came here
by watching others around you relishing it
or just finding moments of near silence
that allow your sanity and innocence restoration.
(24May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
walking through and about the park
just absorbing the calm from life
feeling the breeze soothing my torn soul
as my smile returns watching waterfowl
who wander about on land and pond
and Nature herself speaks inside my heart
reminding me I am a living being.
The green of grass and trees soothes
as the flames of anger dampen slowly
stirred before by foolish things all do
not just others, but this idiot also
as I keep trying too hard to suceed
not seeing that life can be won slowly
until here amid naught but fresh air
the soft ground reminds me of joy.
Life has its burdens we all bear
but in a park you can find
a place to lay them down briefly
and reconnect with that joy once felt
when as a kid you came here
by watching others around you relishing it
or just finding moments of near silence
that allow your sanity and innocence restoration.
(24May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Finding My Lost Soul Again - A poem of peace and tranquility amid chaotic feasts.
In case you cannot tell from the current trend, feeding the birds at the park is my current recreational activity. But its fun as all the dickens. And a bit inspiring.
Swarming the ground before I sit
come my feathered friends to feast
upon the old bread I have
and offer to share with them
as I enjoy the afternoon's quiet time
seeking inner peace and perhaps redemption.
I know them by sight now
recognize markings on their sleek plumage
even ignoring sometimes the tracking bands
as I offer them names slowly
making sure those big bully geese
don't snag all I offer up.
There is the brave little drake
who just walks right up calmly
seeking to take food from hand
like he's seen the ganders do
and his poor broken billed mate
who loves crustless bits of bread.
There is Frost brow the goose
who hisses her way in closer
then expresses her outrage over application
of equal rights for the ducks
by snapping at every parcel flung
or striking at my knees softly.
Then there is Sable and mate
who snake into the pack quick
attack the geese to distract them
and let the others steal bread
while they take on the giants
who rule this pool, when allowed.
There are many others with names
each has one in my mind
if not one I speak outloud
and other critters join the fray
sparrows, a starling, even some gulls
as the tidbits litter the ground.
This is my relaxation, inside chaos
as kids watch me feeding them
laughing and asking parents for bread
so they can try meeting birds
so upclose and personally (just briefly)
until they see snapping at fingers.
I find my soul once again
as I dole out the food
and wonder where it was journeying
until our reunion amid this mess
as the ducks and geese war
over the last bits tossed out.
(23May2012- Dyfedd Rex)
Swarming the ground before I sit
come my feathered friends to feast
upon the old bread I have
and offer to share with them
as I enjoy the afternoon's quiet time
seeking inner peace and perhaps redemption.
I know them by sight now
recognize markings on their sleek plumage
even ignoring sometimes the tracking bands
as I offer them names slowly
making sure those big bully geese
don't snag all I offer up.
There is the brave little drake
who just walks right up calmly
seeking to take food from hand
like he's seen the ganders do
and his poor broken billed mate
who loves crustless bits of bread.
There is Frost brow the goose
who hisses her way in closer
then expresses her outrage over application
of equal rights for the ducks
by snapping at every parcel flung
or striking at my knees softly.
Then there is Sable and mate
who snake into the pack quick
attack the geese to distract them
and let the others steal bread
while they take on the giants
who rule this pool, when allowed.
There are many others with names
each has one in my mind
if not one I speak outloud
and other critters join the fray
sparrows, a starling, even some gulls
as the tidbits litter the ground.
This is my relaxation, inside chaos
as kids watch me feeding them
laughing and asking parents for bread
so they can try meeting birds
so upclose and personally (just briefly)
until they see snapping at fingers.
I find my soul once again
as I dole out the food
and wonder where it was journeying
until our reunion amid this mess
as the ducks and geese war
over the last bits tossed out.
(23May2012- Dyfedd Rex)
Monday, May 21, 2012
Why I Waterboard my Characters - A poem inspired by Billenius today
He sits calmly sipping his tea,
the gaping wounds I inflicted aimed
like the bores of cannons unseen
into my soul seeking his revenge
for being the poor whipping boy
I take out my frustrations upon.
Angers he grounds into the stones
and words are broken upon shields
raised to keep him safely insulated
from more dangers, yet failing constantly
as I toss into his roads
sinkholes of doom and ravenous beasts.
Billenius sits calmly through it all
sipping that tea when chance allows
waiting for the arrival of Revenge
in that perfect moment of terror
when he says after I save...
..."Oh, you meant what really happened?"
(21May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Written in memorial of all the times Billenius seems to speak a different tale when I go back to edit... and yes, I hear him say that with a soft chuckle of evil in his throat.... which is why he gets beat up so much.
the gaping wounds I inflicted aimed
like the bores of cannons unseen
into my soul seeking his revenge
for being the poor whipping boy
I take out my frustrations upon.
Angers he grounds into the stones
and words are broken upon shields
raised to keep him safely insulated
from more dangers, yet failing constantly
as I toss into his roads
sinkholes of doom and ravenous beasts.
Billenius sits calmly through it all
sipping that tea when chance allows
waiting for the arrival of Revenge
in that perfect moment of terror
when he says after I save...
..."Oh, you meant what really happened?"
(21May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Written in memorial of all the times Billenius seems to speak a different tale when I go back to edit... and yes, I hear him say that with a soft chuckle of evil in his throat.... which is why he gets beat up so much.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Cowboy bondage romance novels - A poem from a tweet I saw.
Rounding up the words in her corral
she crafts braids them like her lariat
into a beast rarely seen back east
creating for fun cowboy bondage romance novels.
Running before the crazy chuck wagon driver',
seeking more meat and beans to mix in
along with the grit from riding drag
to give it a truly authentic taste .
Then into the sunset she rides off
seeking the next wild bronco to ride
leaving behind her brand seared in hides
still smoking from this fanciful passing through.
Not seeing the big debate she started
among the cowgirls still working the roundup
of whether to let the boys free
or leave them victims to her bulldogging.
(19May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
And a tip of the hat to @ActuallyAisha for the promt on this on!
she crafts braids them like her lariat
into a beast rarely seen back east
creating for fun cowboy bondage romance novels.
Running before the crazy chuck wagon driver',
seeking more meat and beans to mix in
along with the grit from riding drag
to give it a truly authentic taste .
Then into the sunset she rides off
seeking the next wild bronco to ride
leaving behind her brand seared in hides
still smoking from this fanciful passing through.
Not seeing the big debate she started
among the cowgirls still working the roundup
of whether to let the boys free
or leave them victims to her bulldogging.
(19May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
And a tip of the hat to @ActuallyAisha for the promt on this on!
Friday, May 18, 2012
He Got "Hulked" - A Poem of the Hallway Social Club
So Hollywood invaded our hallway
in a subtle manner tonight
as life imitated a film
when the Kid got Hulked.
It started out old school
with that "Hurts Donut" joke
that with a simple flinch
evolved into a hilarious moment.
As "Pops" walked slowly by
a little while after dinner
he shot his arm out
just like Hulk bashed Thor.
The Kid was totally offguard
and already caught in mirth
over the no look shot
he was taking right then.
He bounced off the wall
slid down to dirty floor
laughing so hard over it
we all had to join.
It got worse for him
as I quipped the comment
that made us all roar
as he bounced down there....
"He got Hulked".
(18May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
in a subtle manner tonight
as life imitated a film
when the Kid got Hulked.
It started out old school
with that "Hurts Donut" joke
that with a simple flinch
evolved into a hilarious moment.
As "Pops" walked slowly by
a little while after dinner
he shot his arm out
just like Hulk bashed Thor.
The Kid was totally offguard
and already caught in mirth
over the no look shot
he was taking right then.
He bounced off the wall
slid down to dirty floor
laughing so hard over it
we all had to join.
It got worse for him
as I quipped the comment
that made us all roar
as he bounced down there....
"He got Hulked".
(18May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Admissions and Denials - A poem of life
There are things you never admit
like what you think of others
if their outfits really interest you
or being lost in familiar settings.
There are things you should admit
breaking wind in very confined spaces
that you have some vile habits
and knowing where you are going.
Then there are things totally unknown
even to your self when seen
for they slide by under stealth
like BO and other such things.
There is a lesson here folks
never admit to having an opinion
for any who disagree with you
will call you crazy or ill.
But never admit to being stubborn
ignore that mea culpa with everything
for being muleheaded about things leads
to losing friends or voting foolishly.
(15May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
like what you think of others
if their outfits really interest you
or being lost in familiar settings.
There are things you should admit
breaking wind in very confined spaces
that you have some vile habits
and knowing where you are going.
Then there are things totally unknown
even to your self when seen
for they slide by under stealth
like BO and other such things.
There is a lesson here folks
never admit to having an opinion
for any who disagree with you
will call you crazy or ill.
But never admit to being stubborn
ignore that mea culpa with everything
for being muleheaded about things leads
to losing friends or voting foolishly.
(15May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Death by Snide, Humorous Comment? - A poem of laughter causing commentaries
It started as roughhousing
and evolved to attempted murder
which when attempting explanation
others were added as victims.
All from a Noogie
given to "Screw with hair"
as the victim shouted
"Rape, My hair's being raped".
Over in the corner
one old guy snidely commented
"Oh just shut up
and learn to enjoy it".
The boisterous boys stopped
the victim now rolling about
laughing at the crack
until his head impacted wall.
About at that point
the folks taking the statements
lost their own composure
finding bedframes with their heads.
Laughter's healing powers proven
that day by fast recoveries
and chuckles it produces
even now evoke threats around....
... of pressing more charges just for laughs.
(10May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
and evolved to attempted murder
which when attempting explanation
others were added as victims.
All from a Noogie
given to "Screw with hair"
as the victim shouted
"Rape, My hair's being raped".
Over in the corner
one old guy snidely commented
"Oh just shut up
and learn to enjoy it".
The boisterous boys stopped
the victim now rolling about
laughing at the crack
until his head impacted wall.
About at that point
the folks taking the statements
lost their own composure
finding bedframes with their heads.
Laughter's healing powers proven
that day by fast recoveries
and chuckles it produces
even now evoke threats around....
... of pressing more charges just for laughs.
(10May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Phantom Sirens for the Ghost Tornado
Silently it rolls by
noted only by the dead
a gust front rolling just before
clouds of only ethereal energy
come over our town.
Only the sensitive see
the dim flashes and drops
that echo from long past storms
to haunt the prairie now
churning up the cemetery.
Most the town's ghosts
flee to the storm cellars
or lay under the heaviest furniture
disturbing only cats and mice
as they seek shelter.
But one last soul
manages a brief poltergeist moment
tossing a switch in the firehouse
to sound the fire siren
and warn the living.
The wail raises all
living, dead and even animals
as the dust devil dances along
Main Street in physical echo
of the Ghost Tornado.
For many decades ago
the storm nearly destroyed us
taking many lives in its scythe
passing through town at night
and does again now.
After several confusing calls
and arguments that last days
it gets laid on a glitch
amid the controlling program's lines
instead of the Truth.
For the first death
that fateful night years before
is now the ghost sounding alarm
in an attempt at redemption
for drinking on duty
and failing them
when needed
most.
(9May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
noted only by the dead
a gust front rolling just before
clouds of only ethereal energy
come over our town.
Only the sensitive see
the dim flashes and drops
that echo from long past storms
to haunt the prairie now
churning up the cemetery.
Most the town's ghosts
flee to the storm cellars
or lay under the heaviest furniture
disturbing only cats and mice
as they seek shelter.
But one last soul
manages a brief poltergeist moment
tossing a switch in the firehouse
to sound the fire siren
and warn the living.
The wail raises all
living, dead and even animals
as the dust devil dances along
Main Street in physical echo
of the Ghost Tornado.
For many decades ago
the storm nearly destroyed us
taking many lives in its scythe
passing through town at night
and does again now.
After several confusing calls
and arguments that last days
it gets laid on a glitch
amid the controlling program's lines
instead of the Truth.
For the first death
that fateful night years before
is now the ghost sounding alarm
in an attempt at redemption
for drinking on duty
and failing them
when needed
most.
(9May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Friday, May 4, 2012
"The Drog" - a poem of homeless life amid the haze left in Junkies wake.
It forms in many places
and has so many flavors
each place scented out differently
as the sun lowers down
and the moisture grows thick
combining with the various narcotics
to form the dreaded "Drog"
a narcotic laced pollution cloud
that surrounds certain places now.
I hate that it exists
and I must navigate it
seeking eddies of untainted airs
to move within until crossing
the smoky rapids and roils
seeking a narrow safe strait
where I can pass by
and remain untainted to tests
that employers and others administer.
Drug and Fog like smog
gathered up where I live
not by choice but circumstance
condemned to it by lack
of gainful employment and funds
something I will not miss
once I leave this place
but am sure to find
another flavor of out there.
Sometimes the pot is heavier
others its "Spice" or "Spizzle"
crack taints the air also
or some nights its meth
that seeks to gather all
into their deadly, dark embrace
condemning us all to Hell
of guilt by mere association
having breathed the tainted air.
This is the total truth
it will always be around
not that I wish that,
and will never be dispersed
by any gale or hurricane
for longer than the moments
until the junkies light up
seeking another rush after disaster
or just to pass time.
The Drog is my bane
and that of many others
curse we live amid reluctantly
and something that clings foully
like lice or other infestations
amid the homeless and yet
not just an affliction limited
to we transients any more
but feed by damned addicts.
Holding breath, I forge ahead
seeking to get safely inside
not that such improves things
for Clean Air Acts fail
to anticipate the potheads behavior
in which that single toke
even if inside a building
is more important by far
than the breath others take.
(4May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
and has so many flavors
each place scented out differently
as the sun lowers down
and the moisture grows thick
combining with the various narcotics
to form the dreaded "Drog"
a narcotic laced pollution cloud
that surrounds certain places now.
I hate that it exists
and I must navigate it
seeking eddies of untainted airs
to move within until crossing
the smoky rapids and roils
seeking a narrow safe strait
where I can pass by
and remain untainted to tests
that employers and others administer.
Drug and Fog like smog
gathered up where I live
not by choice but circumstance
condemned to it by lack
of gainful employment and funds
something I will not miss
once I leave this place
but am sure to find
another flavor of out there.
Sometimes the pot is heavier
others its "Spice" or "Spizzle"
crack taints the air also
or some nights its meth
that seeks to gather all
into their deadly, dark embrace
condemning us all to Hell
of guilt by mere association
having breathed the tainted air.
This is the total truth
it will always be around
not that I wish that,
and will never be dispersed
by any gale or hurricane
for longer than the moments
until the junkies light up
seeking another rush after disaster
or just to pass time.
The Drog is my bane
and that of many others
curse we live amid reluctantly
and something that clings foully
like lice or other infestations
amid the homeless and yet
not just an affliction limited
to we transients any more
but feed by damned addicts.
Holding breath, I forge ahead
seeking to get safely inside
not that such improves things
for Clean Air Acts fail
to anticipate the potheads behavior
in which that single toke
even if inside a building
is more important by far
than the breath others take.
(4May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
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