If you have a problem with this poem, blame this post, and the dude who tweaked it, and the one who opened mouth/inserted foot before a committee this week.
Stoned Rabbits in the Washington Post.
Fearful we must be
of illegal grow operations
that will proliferate more
with legalizing marijuana for medicine.
For the innocent young bunnies
will nibble on leaves,
then, whilst stoned beyond belief,
go courting with proghorns.
Yes, fear this, folks.
for soon many more walls
will bear the fruit
of those intoxicated wildlife trysts.
I foresee an even greater
proliferation of jackalopes coming,
an Armageddon of antlered rodents
storming across Western deserts.
And all know, indeed,
the dangers that will spur
to those who visit
not aware the beasts' habits.
They charge in to nuzzle,
for getting their lances
rising betwixt their long ears,
and spear unwary tourists.
When found on roads,
the dangers compound very quickly,
as tires get blown
by those sharpened natural defenses.
The setback to the economy
will roll across states,
as the new born species
doth duly multiply swift.
First the accident costs
will skyrocket across the boards
as the critter prove
stoned from their birth indeed.
Not to mention taxidermists' woes
when flooded with requests
to mount only the largest
of these new beasts.
Yea, this is trouble,
for what else might breed
out amid illegal fields
of such mind warping plants?
Could we see eagles hatching
after mating with cougars
and hence returning mythical griffins
to our skies soon?
To be sure, folks
I admit his other warnings
are far more likely,
but mine are more dire...
to our ribs at least
as we all laugh
when they find live jackalopes
for scientists to explain.
4March2015-a bemused and chuckling Dyfedd Rex.
Showing posts with label Accusation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Accusation. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Commentary I wanted attached to "The Shelter Kid's Walk"
Hi. I'm Dave, and I'm homeless, jobless, and not seeing an end to it soon. But this is not about me.
This is about the things being this way have opened my eyes to, issues we as a Society need to unite to fix. Left and Right, Democrat or Republican, set those labels aside, folks. This is about being good people, honest stewards seeking prosperity for our posterity. Not just the ones we created, but the kids of those around us.
The worst part of being homeless is not lacking shelter, the ever present threat of death, the fear of being robbed, or any other. At least not among the ones I know best.
We look at a certain street here in Salt Lake City, Utah, and say this: "Who concocted up this damned fool idea". But, as the homeless are only represented by proxies, often self-appointed folks who either knew homeless people or suffered a stint themselves, or just well-meaning do-gooders who only see actions they take, not the results, this never seems to percolate out to the rest of you.
Those who have visited or know Salt Lake probably have heard the tales and warnings about the place I have come to call "Hell's Block", the area where much of the homeless services are concentrated, around the Road Home Shelter, the Bishop Weigand Center. and the St. Vincent's chow hall. South Rio Grande Street, the 200 block. Also known as "Crack Alley", even though now the use of this new "synthetic marijuana" called on the streets "Spice" or "Spizzle", has taken over that area's addiction issues.
The problem? Simple. That concentration of troubles on that street draws the worst there as well to offer the dark side of homelessness. Addicts, dealers, and all the other issues like street prostitution, theft, and violence, right at the door to the shelter used by, yes, families with kids.
And to make matters worse, during the winter months, that chow hall doubles at night as the "Drunk Tank", to give some shelter to those of the homeless who get too intoxicated for admission into the shelter itself. So early evenings and first thing in the morning, all the problems of addiction and crime seem to be right there, for those families and kids to weave through as they seek aid, try to get to school, or just come in or out that door after a day away from "Hell's Block".
How bad is it for these families in the "Emergency Overflow" and "Intake" process that are housed there? Let me give you a sample, from my very own eyes, and guided in noting everything by one of the drunks, a guy who I call a friend, who is just as outraged at it. Yes, some of the drunks hate having the kids exposed to it, and think this is an abomination before God.
New Year's morning, we headed down there, to catch a ride to one of the churches that provides a day long meal gathering to aid the homeless, as most of the services there, including the chow hall, don't function on some holidays. That bus picked folks going there up in the worst place of all to wait. On the spit covered sidewalks of the east side of Rio Grande, across that lane, and it really is that when you consider the amount of jaywalking foot traffic, street using pedestrians trying to avoid the clusters around those selling and using drugs, and the fights that boil off the sidewalks onto the arena floor of that paved way.
Right at their door, to either side, lay those either too stoned to stand or unconscious from their usage. flopped out on the sidewalk, which, though wide, gets very narrow due to the press of folks there all day, seeking free hand-outs or just waiting to get back into the shelter or tank. In the quarter of a block (and blocks, for those not familiar with Salt Lake, are a bit longer than normal cities here) they must weave through five more clusters of the upright and prone users and dealers, all while avoiding one of the female homeless who is doing a near stripper walk (sans disrobing, but she busted all the pole dancer moves) seeking to sell her body for a share of a high, or one of her own, I could not determine which. Then there was the small turf war over who got to sell on that side of the street, and the fights evoked from those who had yet to pay for some high or another. Again, was that a dealer, or fellow user he argued with, as they drifted into the street posturing for a fight?
That was just to get to the cross walk, often ignored by those who turn onto Rio Grande headed south, where accidents are fairly common. Once across, you have two mobile addicts doing various searches for "snipes", butts of cigarettes and joints tossed aside once used, for that little bit of a free high or smoke those provide, one guy doing the "tweaker", or meth-head, "Spin-cycle" gyrations, and another bent over as if touching his toes, but unable to decide if what he sees is real, wrapped deep in the hallucinations and mini-seizure twitches that mark users of spice. All this while walking through what I have termed "The Drog" a narcotic smog, that permeates that air there nearly all hours of the day, save the most bitter or stormiest. Just to get on a bus to a free feed.
They have to deal with this every damned day. Even to get the kids on the school buses, to head the three long blocks to the free clinic for help, cross the street and back from the Weigand Center for other aids provided there, such as vouchers for clothes, transit passes and the like, or just get them out to some where else to play. An atmosphere so foul, in language, aromas of filthy people who have not washed clothes or selves in weeks, vomit, the smokes of all sort, the normal inversion smog most of the valley floor deals
This is about the things being this way have opened my eyes to, issues we as a Society need to unite to fix. Left and Right, Democrat or Republican, set those labels aside, folks. This is about being good people, honest stewards seeking prosperity for our posterity. Not just the ones we created, but the kids of those around us.
The worst part of being homeless is not lacking shelter, the ever present threat of death, the fear of being robbed, or any other. At least not among the ones I know best.
We look at a certain street here in Salt Lake City, Utah, and say this: "Who concocted up this damned fool idea". But, as the homeless are only represented by proxies, often self-appointed folks who either knew homeless people or suffered a stint themselves, or just well-meaning do-gooders who only see actions they take, not the results, this never seems to percolate out to the rest of you.
Those who have visited or know Salt Lake probably have heard the tales and warnings about the place I have come to call "Hell's Block", the area where much of the homeless services are concentrated, around the Road Home Shelter, the Bishop Weigand Center. and the St. Vincent's chow hall. South Rio Grande Street, the 200 block. Also known as "Crack Alley", even though now the use of this new "synthetic marijuana" called on the streets "Spice" or "Spizzle", has taken over that area's addiction issues.
The problem? Simple. That concentration of troubles on that street draws the worst there as well to offer the dark side of homelessness. Addicts, dealers, and all the other issues like street prostitution, theft, and violence, right at the door to the shelter used by, yes, families with kids.
And to make matters worse, during the winter months, that chow hall doubles at night as the "Drunk Tank", to give some shelter to those of the homeless who get too intoxicated for admission into the shelter itself. So early evenings and first thing in the morning, all the problems of addiction and crime seem to be right there, for those families and kids to weave through as they seek aid, try to get to school, or just come in or out that door after a day away from "Hell's Block".
How bad is it for these families in the "Emergency Overflow" and "Intake" process that are housed there? Let me give you a sample, from my very own eyes, and guided in noting everything by one of the drunks, a guy who I call a friend, who is just as outraged at it. Yes, some of the drunks hate having the kids exposed to it, and think this is an abomination before God.
New Year's morning, we headed down there, to catch a ride to one of the churches that provides a day long meal gathering to aid the homeless, as most of the services there, including the chow hall, don't function on some holidays. That bus picked folks going there up in the worst place of all to wait. On the spit covered sidewalks of the east side of Rio Grande, across that lane, and it really is that when you consider the amount of jaywalking foot traffic, street using pedestrians trying to avoid the clusters around those selling and using drugs, and the fights that boil off the sidewalks onto the arena floor of that paved way.
Right at their door, to either side, lay those either too stoned to stand or unconscious from their usage. flopped out on the sidewalk, which, though wide, gets very narrow due to the press of folks there all day, seeking free hand-outs or just waiting to get back into the shelter or tank. In the quarter of a block (and blocks, for those not familiar with Salt Lake, are a bit longer than normal cities here) they must weave through five more clusters of the upright and prone users and dealers, all while avoiding one of the female homeless who is doing a near stripper walk (sans disrobing, but she busted all the pole dancer moves) seeking to sell her body for a share of a high, or one of her own, I could not determine which. Then there was the small turf war over who got to sell on that side of the street, and the fights evoked from those who had yet to pay for some high or another. Again, was that a dealer, or fellow user he argued with, as they drifted into the street posturing for a fight?
That was just to get to the cross walk, often ignored by those who turn onto Rio Grande headed south, where accidents are fairly common. Once across, you have two mobile addicts doing various searches for "snipes", butts of cigarettes and joints tossed aside once used, for that little bit of a free high or smoke those provide, one guy doing the "tweaker", or meth-head, "Spin-cycle" gyrations, and another bent over as if touching his toes, but unable to decide if what he sees is real, wrapped deep in the hallucinations and mini-seizure twitches that mark users of spice. All this while walking through what I have termed "The Drog" a narcotic smog, that permeates that air there nearly all hours of the day, save the most bitter or stormiest. Just to get on a bus to a free feed.
They have to deal with this every damned day. Even to get the kids on the school buses, to head the three long blocks to the free clinic for help, cross the street and back from the Weigand Center for other aids provided there, such as vouchers for clothes, transit passes and the like, or just get them out to some where else to play. An atmosphere so foul, in language, aromas of filthy people who have not washed clothes or selves in weeks, vomit, the smokes of all sort, the normal inversion smog most of the valley floor deals
The Shelter Kid's Walk - A Story that Exposes your Shame and Failures, America
It's scary here. Mommy says stay close. Hard to do. That lady is dancing crazy, and some guys cut between us, pushing me aside.
They smoke stuff that smells bad. Some lay against the wall, sleeping or drinking things. And you have to step over legs stuck out, and miss that puke there.
Some of them are buying things. I see the money handed around, and baggies or rollies passed about. Sometimes smaller things.
Just want to get across the street, and back into the warm place. Maybe we can have a Happy Meal? Mommy shakes her head, saying "we'll see".
There is a dirty guy bent over, playing with shoe strings while giggling. He looks sick, and groans sometimes. That weird guy tries to stop me, keeping me from Mommy. His hands are all black, and his eyes are funny, all cloudy, like the air today. His reaches to me like Daddy said he might. Told him no, and he won't stop. So I use those words, like the girl did last night, when we came here.
Mommy yells at me, mad. Wants to know where I heard that. Can't she hear them around us, talking that way? What's wrong with what I said? Everyone's using those words when saying no.
Got away, though. Why's that guy in the hat all scrunchy faced? He's right, saying I shouldn't have to walk through this. I want a home, not here. Walking to school there was further, but easy. Not so many strange people doing dumb things.
What smells? Oh! I better walk around that puddle, it's yellow. Don't he know there's a bathroom just inside the door?
The leather jacket guy is walking to that car. One less person to dodge. Wonder what he's selling them?
Why is that lady there hiding under the blanket. Everyone else smokes standing up. Smells funny, and things are spinning.
Ooo! A fight! Now two more are in the street. Are they playing? No. Wow! Even my little brother aims better than that! Ha! He missed and fell down!
Daddy grabs my hand. He caught up, and pulls me to the street. "Watch for the trains, honey."
Why is he frowning? Everyone here says yes that way.
I can't wait to get across the street. The guards keep the wild people away there.
They smoke stuff that smells bad. Some lay against the wall, sleeping or drinking things. And you have to step over legs stuck out, and miss that puke there.
Some of them are buying things. I see the money handed around, and baggies or rollies passed about. Sometimes smaller things.
Just want to get across the street, and back into the warm place. Maybe we can have a Happy Meal? Mommy shakes her head, saying "we'll see".
There is a dirty guy bent over, playing with shoe strings while giggling. He looks sick, and groans sometimes. That weird guy tries to stop me, keeping me from Mommy. His hands are all black, and his eyes are funny, all cloudy, like the air today. His reaches to me like Daddy said he might. Told him no, and he won't stop. So I use those words, like the girl did last night, when we came here.
Mommy yells at me, mad. Wants to know where I heard that. Can't she hear them around us, talking that way? What's wrong with what I said? Everyone's using those words when saying no.
Got away, though. Why's that guy in the hat all scrunchy faced? He's right, saying I shouldn't have to walk through this. I want a home, not here. Walking to school there was further, but easy. Not so many strange people doing dumb things.
What smells? Oh! I better walk around that puddle, it's yellow. Don't he know there's a bathroom just inside the door?
The leather jacket guy is walking to that car. One less person to dodge. Wonder what he's selling them?
Why is that lady there hiding under the blanket. Everyone else smokes standing up. Smells funny, and things are spinning.
Ooo! A fight! Now two more are in the street. Are they playing? No. Wow! Even my little brother aims better than that! Ha! He missed and fell down!
Daddy grabs my hand. He caught up, and pulls me to the street. "Watch for the trains, honey."
Why is he frowning? Everyone here says yes that way.
I can't wait to get across the street. The guards keep the wild people away there.
This is the bit I actually wanted published this year, something to make America wake up and realize just what the hell is wrong with jamming all the homeless into one place. It is in no way fair to the kids. I've finally done my part, putting this out there. I saw all this, including the kids being led around it all, outside the shelter in Salt Lake City, during my time there, and in the one return after I turned to street camping to catch a bus to a free feed on New Year's Day, 2014. You have a lot to atone for, those who feel the sins of the father and mother deserve to be rained upon the children. But, that is for God to beat your asses for, not me.
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