Coffee

I'm sipping the long overdue cup,
staring at this screen, wondering: why?
Why is it that this mug
filled with rich, dark essence
can keep me sane each day?

Fingers slowly flex, then dance
after just half of that first draught.
The sun doesn't appear overly optimistic,
the sky's blue no longer depresses,
the birds are no longer annoying.

The stuff works deeper into me,
thawing the soul, activating imagination
stirring my hopes back up
and yet, calming me down
from hating the universe for being...
morning people.

Stretching out, sipping and smoking pipe
I let my internal janitor
clear away the cobwebs and clouds
that the night left inside
as the java finds my skull.

The knee feels better after a cup,
the back loosens up enough to bend
and everything begins to mellow.
Others say I'm spinning up
they've never tasted my "dawn desperation".

The stories and ideas flow,
having percolated with the joy juice,
stirred up by just that aroma
filling space around and in me
with hope and some measure of patience...
I freaking hope.

Few laud their mornings like I,
who remembers the cold nights
and that first cup, when I had cash,
to thaw out after sleeping outside
when there was no other place.

It is my one, true wife,
the thing I cannot separate from
save when I mess about with my mistress
that ugly habit of smoking a pipe
of equally rich, black tobacco.

Others can mock me,
friends can tease me,
family hides until that cup is drank,
and the world best not irritate me,
for only coffee and tobacco allow me...
to persevere.

Now, get the hell out of my way,
my cup is empty, and needs refilling.
8September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, on a Moaner's Day.

Fairer Winds Blowing - A poem of better times that came at last

After the long cold,
true warmth enters my life
giving me hope of better days
as the winds of fate
shift to fairer directions.

I've done my time
of being a homeless bum
and won't need to hold signs
this winter for hot coffee
as a job came.

And that started avalanche
of change in those winds,
as they kicked me from duldrums
back onto the trade lanes
where things look hopeful.

A short story sold.
A poetry e-book almost ready
to offer for sale real soon,
and that was the flap
of Fate's butterfly wings.

Now, I steer careful.
Have the stars showing clearly
where I am, where I'm going,
and just have to remember
where I once was.

This ends one chapter
in the tale I'm living.
The one that tore me up,
beat me down to earth,
then lifted me up.

There are friends waiting,
ones still needing that hand,
like I once did, during this.
Folks I need to thank
when I get chance.

Including my readers here.
For lifting my spirits up,
for keeping my passions burning bright,
and most of all believing
in a homeless bum.

I'm free of it,
others are not, so remember
when you pass some worn panhandler,
this poet has been there,
and asks most kindly
that you not
ignore them,
insult them,
but give them hope.

Like you did me.
17August2014 - Dyfedd Rex, Riding some good waves and winds, headed.... to a home.

Inversion's Hallmark - A Poem of Weather and Environmental Concerns.

Came down the hill this morn,
looking towards the full moon oft,
and saw that evil calling card
telling me the Inversion's digging in.

Above the Coffee Roaster shop's roof
the smoke rose only twenty feet
then flattened out across the skyline
marking the boundary between air masses.

This is Winter's worst bit here,
that cold pooling in the valleys,
trapping in exhaust with the fogs
to make the foul smog shroud.

No longer do the mountains appear
in the distance for your enjoyment,
as that blanket of filth thickens
with the sun's move to West.

Even just blocks away veils form
along Salt Lakes broad main drags,
leaving one to wonder if snow
seeks to erase the world here.

At least, so far, the fog
has not spread into town much.
But that will come pretty soon,
as the pattern looks to hold.

Thin haze towards the foothill's slopes,
and that murky, brown gunk blocking
the middle distances speak a ton
about the air's bear trap hold.

Wonder if it's time again, friends,
to wander towards the bench tomorrow
and walk down slow with dawn
amid the veils of this city.

It will get worse later on,
and layers of air will form
like a smog triple deck sandwich
within the valley's wide, urban bowl.

Some hate it, even while enjoying
the slopes at the resorts above
being warmer than way down here,
when they sneak out for recreation.

Others complain about the air quality,
seek to limit the pollution sources.
Me, I just deal with it,
as another bad thing to survive...
...happy to wake up still alive.
17January2014 - A rather irked Dyfedd Rex, who almost thought his glasses were dirty, until others confirmed the Urban Haze is building.

Few understand what I see
each morning, out in the cold
waiting for others to get in gear
watching the sky as dawn unfolds
and the changing lights begin.

The orange and golden skies
call to my soul each morning
asking me out to be amid them
as the clouds play up there
with light and shadow pastels.

My eyes roam the sky
seeking the remaining stars early on
then watch the show put on daily
even when storms roll through valleys
blocking out the colorful parts.

The birds serenade me softly,
singing their call to the sun
asking her to rise and shine today,
as the mountains across the lake
act as the dark contrast.

Above me, a single bank
of clouds running through Utah's skies
change from soft yellow of faded flowers
to the gently carnation well known,
then fade back down spectrum.

Each morning, there is beauty
even if you have to look
with a very open mind to find
as you stand amid the stillness
drinking in day's slow start.

Others sleep in, missing out
on this show God puts on,
some move about, heads hung down wearily
worn out from their tough lives
lacking energy to look up.

Craning my neck about slow,
hearing the Rice Krispies' sound effects
my neck gives off in the winter
I still stand out each morning
save the worst of them.

For that sky show inspires
one to seek out other things
that can give one hope and joy
no matter how down you are,
giving you strength to live.

For you cannot have it
as hard as those mule deer
who have no place of guaranteed warmth
save within their quiet little copses
to gather together to sleep.

Nor realize the chills suffered
by that lone duck out there
who rides the waves still, looking about
for the companions who went south
as he still sticks around.

The sky burns orange fire,
promise of a spring to come
but still we have all of winter
laying ahead of us, in wait
with his deep, nasty cold.

But he's got his own
color board to paint our lives,
silvers, whites, grays and blacks over things
as the evergreens hold green hope
of warmer days to come.

I'm walking back out now,
to gaze east for a comet
another of the treasures we all share
if we have the eyes, hopes, guts
to brave the morning's chill.

C'mon, grab your coffee cup,
step out and join me here,
or where ever you walk the earth
and look up, breathing fresh air
and let Nature inspire you...
to face the day bravely.
30November2013 - Dyfedd Rex, still wishing he had single vision glasses, easier to find comets with naked eye that way.

There Are Treasures Above Us - A poem of time off the streets

Amid the banks of smog,
the lights of streets and homes
combine with those from the businesses
to wash out the stars.

So, it is a treat
to escape the city at times
and see the splendor of night
tossed across Heaven's great vault.

This was my holiday treat,
a trip out off the streets
deep into the less populated lands
to close out a cabin.

There I looked up happy,
watching Orion rise above the mountains
even his bow strings showing clearly
through the atmospheric disturbance twinkles.

Found my glasses need replacing
as only six stars I counted
when gazing into Pleiades cluster carefully
where once I saw seven.

Letting my eyes dance across
following the vast white Milky Way
from east to west while grinning,
my smile wreathed in smoke.

The folks chided bad habits
not realizing what I indulged in
that night was not the pipe,
but the beauty of night.

Later, I went out again,
looking east to Bear River Mountains
and seeing the Hunter's dogs rising
Sirius now clearing that dark horizon
and hints of Procyon's coming.

I moved westward with eyes,
seeking other old friends up there.
Seeking the bull facing ol' Orion,
and the Hyades wide 'V'.

Then over to the hill
which cloaked most of Cygnus
save brilliant Deneb, still circling around
on her path across sky.

And just to the south
lay the window to the Universe
where four stars mark the corners
holding in distant, old galaxies.

Each star has a name
though my memory has lost most
even ones I once knew well,
but the years stole away.

I wanted to look north,
but terrain and the cabin's bulk
blocked everything beyond Cassiopeia's crown
and Perseus with his devil-star.

A few faint meteor tails
creased the night's deep black occasionally,
amid the brilliant and dim lights
I view as Yule's lights.

When I gave up, chilled,
I walked back inside, tweaking words
into what you read here now,
hoping they can move you.

The stars are my friends,
never really leaving me all alone,
just shoved aside by others pollutions
that they claim prevents crime.

Me, I think folks forget
the greatest treasures we all possess
are the memories of Nature's shows
walking through our lives constantly.

So, next time you travel
if it is in the night,
pull off the road you travel
look up, and collect treasures...

...and share them with family,
friends, or just some passer-bys.
You'll keep the joy and wonder,
finding it easier to carry
than most other treasured items.
29November2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Dangers Rise Up - A poem of the streets

Dangers rise up
as the cold builds
and Winter reaches out claws
to rip up sup
as we wander.

Currently, we wonder
who is our stalker
and rumors talk of one
who likes stabbing backs
with real knives.

I don't venture
west of Third West
myself now that my allergies
rage up so easily
so it's hearsay.

Or is it?
Been warning folks lately
about the new, darker element
that walks the streets
of Salt Lake.

Now, at night
I do worry some
about those guys I know
who have gone back
to the shelter.

And those campers
who brave that area
at about the same time
as these crimes occurred
at Coffee Line.

Eyes narrowed warily
I survey those about
seeking some clue, but fail
to see where threats
may be waiting.

Oh, I see
some that cause concern
but none match what happened
or am I blinded
by my misconceptions.

So I walk
with a different gait.
Hiding the bum knee's pain
to make the target
look less inviting...
and warn friends
to beware.
7November2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Winter ain't here yet... - Poem of the streets

You hear the complaints:
"Overflow ain't open yet,
the families ain't left
for the Midvale shelter
for the winter months."
Amid the other talk.
The cops seem nervous,
haunting the better places
where we can crash
waiting for the pot
to boil over soon.
I hope it don't,
but it will eventually,
a day or so
when the moon's full.
Cloudy skies bode ill,
weather still damned chilly,
even opening Drunk Tank
won't cut the numbers
of those on streets
enough to really matter.
Winter ain't here yet,
but that old man
is probing the valley
with chill rains, winds
and snow last week.
Will the weather hold?
Better hope so, folks
awful lot of bodies
not geared for cold
still not safe yet.

16October2013 - Dyfedd Rex