Stoned Bunnies? Or Jackalopes Soon To Appear?

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.

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

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.

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. 

Keep That Pack On, Son. - A poem of the Streets.

Part of being on the streets,
is accepting the darkness of souls.
Not just of others, but yourself too.
Such is not easy, nor truly safe.
A person who gazes upon darkness
without the safety of distance
too oft finds themselves embracing such.

This is true of all, even me.
Here on the streets, my prejudices rise.
Allergies explain just a bit of it,
leading to my disdain for drug addicts,
even as I feed my own dependence
on coffee, colas, and nicotine.
Things I view as far safer.

That gloom that lies on the Homeless,
much of it is fed from without,
but nearly as much rises inside you
as you begin to doubt yourself,
your skills, your beliefs, and lose the way
that you have walked for so long.
The demons of the street are many.

Have I been tempted to crime?
Yes.
But I steer clear of most of it,
save the occasional early morning jaywalk,
to reach a restroom before suffering
the indignity of a public relief.
And other things call too.

Here is a thought, though, for fools
who mock those who walk the streets.
You are but one mistake from joining us.
And we, each of us, but one right decision
from being heroes to someone.
Like that kid this morning I passed,
under my full load of packs.

He took back his own from his dad,
and said rather proudly and loudly...
"he's got more, and still goes on, Dad.
So I should carry mine too."
Left a smile on my face.
Put a pep in my stride, beyond pride.
I had to hold up my end.

Which is what Life is really about.
9 June 2014 - A humbled Dyfedd Rex.

Dangers in Spring's Arrival - Poem of the Streets

The prowlers move around early,
looking for places to hide away
to sleep off the unavoidable crashes
their nights of being high evoke.

I see them, each morning
as I descend from my camp.
They make few efforts to hide
some even crashing on sidewalks.

With the beds cut back
at the shelter, as every summer,
the addicts seek other places now
to use and then recover.

Or perhaps, to fade away.

The streets are more dangerous,
campsites stolen or pushed each night
as their funds run out finally
from these long, foolish binges.

But, seeking that next high,
they now prey upon others slowly.
The rates will climb until turning
of the calendar's pages comes.

Leaving me at higher risk,
being allergic to things they smoke,
and very aware of who's moving
around places I frequent regularly.

I'd rather keep my possessions.

We all are getting edgy.
Tempers fray more easily these days,
tattered by this incursion of evil,
flowing more from Hell's Block.

Darkness carries voices more often
than the winter nights passing held.
Darkness gives their crimes some cover
from eyes of the Law.

The city changes from safe,
to just an annex of Hell,
demonic druggies dancing amid imaginary flames
their substance abuse conjures forth

which leaves them all insane.

Patterns must change each night,
you dare not fall into routines
that they can predict when moving
lest you become their prey.

Sober hands hold gear tight,
Clear minds make eyes dart about
not from paranoia, just some caution
for the shadows have occupants.

Not all movements there hold
danger to me or other travelers,
but, heed my advice, night's wanderers.
Never flash your cash openly

for the druggies are back
and they drive summer's crimes.

11April2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Silence of the Spring-time - A Poem of the Streets in Springtime.

Silence of the Spring-time

I fall silent often these days.
Not from depression, nor enough work
to lift my spirits above clouds,
but from contemplation and weather issues
that force me to spend time
drying gear out from April's Showers
to avoid dread May's Mildew doom.

Add in the few odd jobs
that leave me totally exhausted after
and the days when allergies call
with their nasty calling cards loudly,
and I ain't too damned social suddenly.
Nor does the good weather improve
my attitude at all as druggies
wander away from the shelter wildly.

This is the bad days now,
when the war so long confined
down around Hell's Block spreads out
as the worst now seek places
to do drugs, crimes, and such
amid the hiding holes of campers
who want nothing with their crap
but are forced to surrender now.

Worst, I did some eaves-dropping recently,
on a meeting about "Homeless Solutions",
and folks who bloody attended that
need to realize one important point.
Hiding things under some magic carpet
don't qualify in any damned way
as meeting the definition of "Solution".
I even checked dictionaries on that.

So, my travails and issues continue,
but at least I still write,
thought not things I will share
here for all to read often.
After all, I do plan to sell
some of these stories some day,
and you cannot say I don't
need the money that might bring.

Be well, walk safe, and enjoy.
Spring is here, and folks rejoice.
But not all find it good.
Some see it as the end
of quieter days and nights spent
without many of the dangers prowling
and now walk and act furtively
as we wander these lonely streets.

Walk softly, and be paranoid, folks.
7April2014 - Dyfedd Rex

The Troubles Spread Now - A Poem of Warning and the Streets.

Spring's first thunder
rumbles out from Hell's Block
as the fools boil out like roaches
bringing their crimes, drugs, violence
back to streets.

With warmer weather
the troubles spread from there.
The druggies get kicked out more
from the Road Home Shelter
after Winter's tolerance.

Already the campers
speak of camps being "pushed",
thin-packed shadows every entering sites nightly,
and fights and issues arising
well before dawn.

Know it's true.
My site is borderline now,
as I had to rise from bedroll
when the predators came calling
more than once.

Each warm day,
evil tendrils slither further afield
yet the echoes from those still in
speak of continued drug use
openly inside shelters.

Brazen thieves roam
those areas again by night
and even during times once deemed safer,
heard of one guy stealing
coffee from packs.

Bold and fearless,
thinking we live in fear,
not seeing the growing amount of "steel"
on belts of we elders
as we walk.

Count those knives,
count cell phones in hand
as we move about even by day,
and you know the tensions
are boiling over.

No safe place,
save the libraries by day.
And that only as cops patrol hard
and security finally clamps down
on worst offenders.

The staff's attitudes
now sour the good ones
as things approach the annual "turn-out",
coming near April's Fools Day,
When beds reduce.

Hear the complaints
as the older guys talk,
about the nightly fights, open drug use,
and constant wandering of thieves
seeking weak moments.

Glad I'm out,
not stuck in that mess,
but worry the troubles will come haunting
the places I hide in
stealing my peace.

Watching the signs,
I fear needing to head
into the hills again these spring nights
taking the most determined predators
on long walks.
behind me,
nightly.

Hell's Block expands
And I know
it's gonna get much worse
before things improve.

24February2014 - Dyfedd Rex, growing eyes painfully in the back of his head.

Satire interview with Buck the Bum

The following is satire, unless you are homeless, in which case, you probably can relate to it. Buck is a figment of my imagination, as is this reporter.

Buck the Bum, met on the street by our intrepid reporter...

When appraised of the current move by the Utah Legislature on a bill banning "aggressive" panhandling.... boy, that made him unload both barrels.

IR: Excuse me, can I ask you some questions, I'm with the Town Jester, a news outlet that seeks folks input on issues that just beg for lampooning.

Buck: Sure, just don't block the sign, will ya, and stay back by the tree, look like your passed out or something, otherwise folks think I'm dealing drugs, and I hate having folks get pissed for handing me money and not giving them their good time stuff in return. You have to duck flying lead and do paperwork with the cops when they leave you alive.

IR: So, this is a broad bill, HR101, kind of reads like another attempt at making any panhandling illegal again.

Buck: Yeah, biggest panhandlers on the planet, they're scared of the competition we are giving them.

IR: What?

Buck: Look, these bums looked at their campaign coffers, and realized donations was down. They see us out here making money, and viola, we are the real reason for their shortfall in earnings. Hell, folks is giving us more, as at least we bums is honest. (Taps his sign, which reads: "Yeah, I'm going to get high, but at least I ain't a politician.")

IR: Look, you know that some of you do get aggressive.. and act unsafe? Right?

Buck: Yeah, once they get hit enough, they can't do stupid things like that. Shame for the folks that hit 'em. But, you ain't gonna cure stupid with rules. Just makes them dumber, and wastes your time.

IR: So, you are for the law?

Buck: Hell, no. Look, Like I said, this bill is all about them being scared we're out here getting money that they used to get. And with all the scandals and disgust about political >bleep<, they are right to be scared. I mean, really, why give them taxes and money on the side? At least when you tip waitresses, you get better service. Tip politicians? They come back for more, and raise your taxes to boot.

IR: Like the homeless pay taxes. You have no report-able income.

Buck: Look, still spend some of this in stores, that gets taxed, same as everyone else. And, I smoke. I ain't really trying to get high, it's my gimmick. But tobacco is taxed at, what, about one-hundred forty percent. About a third of my money goes there. I bet I pay more in tax than most folks do, as a percentage.

IR: Right. So, still not reported on the income?

Buck: Not all of us make a fortune out here. Most days, you get a few coins, not much, less than a fiver, others you strike it rich, and more days than you admit, you leave the corner empty handed, or with supplies only. Drinks, food, maybe some gloves or other stuff. I don't fly that often. Figure, at best, even the most die-hard only make about sixty-five hundred a year, and that is under the deductible. I know, looked it up out of curiosity. Me, I'm lucky to get fifty, maybe sixty a month. I only fly for a limited time, and walk away early if I exceed a certain amount. Pass that mark by big, and I won't fly for a week or more, sometimes three. Out of  respect for the gifts and the givers. Unless I have to.

IR: Back to the bill, how would it impact you?

Buck: Make it tougher, reduce the number of corners we can use, which means the druggies and boozers will be more belligerent at trying to rule corners. Fights will go up, as will crimes against the homeless. You jam us in tight into a few spots, and it attracts the problems of drugs and stupidity like flies to >bleep<. Might reduce the posers, those fakes who come out here, pretending to be one of us. But, it won't stop the fools from doing this in dumb places, so the cops will be tied up enforcing this stuff, and not able to work on the bigger issues of real crimes, like the drug dealings and robberies that are spiking up a bit, with the down economy. Not saying it ain't a good idea, just not a wise one at this time. Fix the economy, fix the system, and this will taper off. Just remember it, and fix the laws then, or better, redesign the unsafe spots so they can't be used.

IR: You think that will end homelessness? Fixing the economy.

Buck (after long fit of laughter): Dude, there been homeless folks since we came down from the trees, or Adam and Eve got evicted from Eden, depending upon your point of view. This country was built from homeless folks. >bleep<, even the Native Americans ancestors were homeless, before shifting to grounds here to hunt. Everyone in America has at least a few homeless bums in their woodpile.
End it? Forget that. You can reduce it, make it less of a crime magnet, but you will never lick it. Besides, we homeless walk in good company. Look at the who's who of the homeless. Ghandi was homeless, Andy Jackson, a president, was one for a while after the Revolution, Davy Crockett, Wild Bill Hickock, most of those that came west? Homeless. Then, for the religious who mock us, well...Moses, Lot, Abraham, Jesus of Nazreth, John the Baptist, Mohammed, Buddha? All homeless at some time. Best we can do, try to keep the numbers down, and give hope it will end. Real hope, not those rollercoaster rides most suffer trying to get out.
Buck:(looks around, still smiling) Yeah, kind of funny, I think. You look at who is really aggressive about getting money. At least we don't use phones to disturb your meals at home with calls for money to "beat" our opponents. Anything that much fun, we do personally, not with ads or posters. And we got 'em scared of losing money to us. The dregs of society. (laughs) Yep. And if they keep having all these problems in their own ranks, folks actually might uptick the money to us over giving to them. Or, maybe, one of us should run for their offices. They can't complain if we are better than them, and honest about we plan to pocket most of it. After all, we're just bums.

Buck shooed me off, after that last bit. Said he looked too happy, and folks were afraid he was planning something criminal as he looked at them.

Suffering Sojourns of Users - a Poem of the Streets

The addicts are restless, today.
Why, one never can tell,
with the mood swings suffered
from their drugs of choice.
They are either dancing high,
or deeply immersed in paranoia
seeking new places to use
as doors begin closing hard
against their visits by day.

Two were recently behind me
here in the Main Library,
one so tightly wound up
he could not sit still
if his life depended upon it,
while other hunkered over "fixings",
claiming to clean his backpack
but complaining about the "tar"
as he fidgeted in chair.

Others roam around the area,
raging over things as small
as one not loaning lighter
to one seeking his high,
or just mumbling while waiting,
and some get too bold
panhandling only their fellow homeless
for smokes or spare change,
too lazy to "fly" themselves.

They keep trying to wiggle
into conversations and safety packs,
awaiting their chances to poach
a conversation into some rant
about how the cops persecute
them over their bad habits.
The worst are there "shopping",
looking over your gear constantly
for something to quickly steal.

Not sure if I'll survive
with my sanity partially intact
if they keep milling around
seeking to draw me in
to embrace their strange culture
that I find so repulsive
giving me a small insight
as to how others view
my tobacco pipe from afar.

Wish there was a place
where you never need worry
about who ghosts around you,
using others for some concealment
as they do "Their Thing"
in such place often frequented
by kids seeking some joy
amid the books and media
almost as if they're recruiting.

That drive to be high,
is something I don't get.
At least not that way.
I settle for my coffee,
an occasional smoke break taken
when eyes I trust somewhat
can watch my two bags,
which is more, by far,
than these users carry around.

Most spread out about Three,
heading off to buy again,
perhaps cadge a few coins
to fund their strange hazes,
moving with no clean clothes
not caring about their appearance
as pants sag too low
and they pull shirts high,
almost off, just to scratch.

The short respite now here,
I lay this question out.
Where is this Drug War?
The little attempts I see
oft prove merely fool's gold.
During most busts around here
dozens more deals are made
within feet of the cops
busting the few they catch.

But, I cannot stand judge
over those I barely understand,
but only take some precautions
against sudden violence boiling over
or theft of my stuff
as they drift about today
without a discernible time table
for their ebbs and flows,
just sudden, annoying, bothersome sojourns.
5Feruary2014 - Dyfedd Rex, and yes, I'm suffering allergic "itch" issues after the latest. Mild, but annoying and making me cranky.

Drifters' Season - A Poem of the Streets

Like an over-due migration,
the Drifter's Season is upon us
out here on the cold streets
as the homeless begin moving
seeking greener pastrues now
with the end of Giving Season.

Some are just discouraged,
beaten down too many damned times,
denied a chance to find footing
that let's them rejoin stand up
with just some dignity
as they claw back into Society.

Others are always movers,
drifting from place to distant place,
seeking to remain in perpetual obscurity,
to continue their evil ways,
be it criminal actions
or drug abuse and alcoholic bouts.

Been told fervent good-byes
four times in as many days.
Folks heading to places seeking warmth,
job opportunities, or just leaving.
Happens about every January,
this strange migration to other places.

Some just outright disappear,
no farewells or warning to others,
just fade off into the distance
leaving friends with no clue
if they are safe,
as they leave town in silence.

Before next full moon
I expect to see fewer folks
I know among the milling crowds
as they drift away slowly
each to some place
where they feel a chance awaits.

So, Safe Journeys, Travelers.
Keep the faith as you leave,
and if it don't work out,
remember, we'll still be around
though our own feet
might feel that itch to travel.

And if we stay,
don't chastise us for sticking around,
remember, we all drift about ocassionally,
even if just in where
we hold our signs
as we seek our way out.
13January2014 - Dyfedd Rex

New Year on Hell's Block - A poem of the streets, maybe a declaration of war.

Yesterday, I gambled,
today I pay for it,
but hold forth news many should heed.
For before noon yesterday morn
I walked there....
Hell's Block.

It lacks boundaries,
ebbing and flowing with seasons,
and the counter currents forced on it
by the locals and cops
as they fight...
Hell's Block.

A war lost
each day though few see
how the battle raged before their eyes
and which were victims or
the perps on...
Hell's Block.

My definition lays it out
as a broader zone than most
for I now say it takes in
every lot under that narcotic fog
I've come to call "Drog".

Watched twenty minutes
maybe a tad bit more
how dealers operated brazenly along Rio Grande
Cash flashing, calls to passer-by's
of drugs on...
Hell's Block

Watched the denizens
who get the free pass
lie against the walls stoned beyond action
or do the various dances
oft performed on...
Hell's Block.

Antics that revolt
not just the one observing
but the ones impacted more personally there
along that lane between services
for saving in...
Hell's Block.

You cannot decry losing parks
when you never made serious efforts
at the root causes of the troubles
in your war on narcotic substances
that this place proves lost.

Worst thing seen
during both passes through there
was not the derelicts laying amid filth,
the "new hooker" doing her strut
seeking clients amid...
Hell's Block

No, brace yourself.
For the only innocents there
are the children forced into these dangers
cause none want homeless families
anywhere but on...
Hell's Block.

And of those,
some are already lost forever.ta
Scarred by what goes on around them
that even kids are champions
at cussing on...
Hell's Block.

And I hold some blame
for not standing up before now
about the things seen before I left
angered at the failures of Justice
when it came to me.

Ask yourselves, honestly.
Should those kids be there?
Amid the drunks, drug dealers and users
who you all shoved there
seeking to contain...
Hell's Block.

Why hold out
so many helping hands now
during the season of holidays running together
and yet disappear from sight
when violence rocks...
Hell's Block.

And why force
those who probably were not
part of those making that filthy mess observed
yesterday along South Rio Grande
clean up on...
Hell's Block

Yes, the drunks were forced
to sweep up the stoners messes
and women and men handed shovels, brooms
to clear off that disaster left
from the revelries of others.

And already rumbles
reach my ears beyond bounds
of the place most mark as problematic
as the angers boil over
reaching out beyond...
Hell's Block

Congratulations to those
who thought of this idea,
you managed to fan the war's flames
amid the violence already there
along sidewalks of....
Hell's Block

I'm not saying
that the effort is wasted
but there you failed to see clearly
those dividing lines between camps
down there on....
Hell's Block.

But in the long run
will any actions taken be enough?
For there are still victims mentioned here
who ain't being lifted away safely
before their own corruption comes.

And none see the problems
as well as the homeless themselves
who never get a seat at discussions
of the problems they all face
save by proxy from providers...
with their own little agendas
for that place...
Hell's Block.
2January2014 - Dyfedd Rex, ashamed there is a kid knee-high to a grasshopper down there with a fouler mouth than his when irritated, wishing he had more than words to offer to get that young one out of it.

And yes, I am seriously thinking of going before the local councils and reading them this, and some other parts of the "Riot Act" type stuff.

The Druggies are spun. - a poem of the streets tonight

Everyone's all spun up
now that the holiday is passed
and they feel it's time to spend
the funds they accumulated flying signs
or through petty larceny.

Each of them convinced
we all want to get high
and treating we who stay clean
like pariahs until they need things,
like, say, our lighters.

The war on drugs,
well, folks, you lost it somehow
and along the way to defeat
everyone lost sight of the villains
who are dancing victory.

It leaves me worrying,
about where safety will be soon,
as once those funds finally disappear
these predators will spread out fast
seeking folks to roll.

Walking with care tonight,
hoping they keep down their way
as I get ready to head out
and tuck in for the night,
checking six every step.

They're all spun up,
and let me tell you what,
it ain't all giggles and guffaws.
Some are twisted up so tight
they'll walk against wind.

Been lectured on smoking
by a guy who kept asking
where he could score some weed,
and I almost sent him down
to the shelter area.

The fighters seek blood,
trying to get others to toss
that first, damning blow in it,
so they can walk away safe,
laughing at jailed fools.

Some are out "Shopping"
as we tend to call it,
that fast pass-by, looking over gear
for something worth pawning for fixes,
as they wander about.

There is no "safety"
out here on the winter streets,
until they either burn out hard
or wind down slow before dying,
but such it is.

Smell the skunk reek
off so many that bespeaks weed,
and the ether smell leaves me
seeking a scratching post when meth
gets smoked in bathrooms.

This is the winter
when the druggies dance with delight
at how they got funded well
towards binges that last nights, weeks
and some even months.

I'm ready to walk
back into the dark foothills now,
seeking a quiet place to hide
until this frenzy at last dies
back down to normal.

But it won't soon.
New Year's Eve will be bad,
and the days leading to it.
Then the predations will truly begin
in the name of...
just staying high.
26December2013 - Dyfedd Rex, walking carefully tonight.

I Forgot a Few Things - A poem of the streets.

I've got the gear,
to deal with this weather
but I forgot a few things
this long, hot summer past
about its current state.

Just some little things,
like the bivy bag's seam
and that little pinhole leak spot
right over my right hip
that lets water in.

Then there's my backpack,
which has serious strap issues
mingled in with a broken frame,
and those worn out spots
where the fabric tore.

The sleeping bag's good.
Still rated for twenty below
but that zipper needs some waxing
and reattaching down at bottom
so toes don't exit.

The coat needs washing,
with a touch of waterproofing
and the hat is still here,
if only mostly by spirit
and some duct tape.

At least my gloves
ain't given up the ghost,
though my liners made the effort
as the fingertips gave way
just the other morning.

Still, all in all,
I'm well equipped if compared
to the ones not all there,
who try sleeping outside nightly
while they get stoned.

So, I'll slog on,
wading through the morning snow
in boots needing resoling pretty soon,
hoping I don't fall down
and break my butt.

Or concrete upon impact.
5November2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Better Vibes from Hell's Block - A poem of the streets.

A different rumble echoes now,
up from what I call
Hell's Block on this blog.
Word that a crackdown's begun,
way overdue by most accounts
on the thieves who prey
upon their fellow homeless travelers.

Heard of it just today,
some guys headed down there
to grab dinner at Vinnie's
(Saint Vincent de Paul Center,
for those not knowing slang)
where they saw something rare
volunteers watching who grabs bags.

You see, the spice monkeys,
users of that synthetic dope,
tend to walk off regularly
with bags not theirs rightly
to fund their smoking binges.
So this is an improvement
compared to past open seasons.

Yeah, open season I said.
A happy stealing ground thing,
where they walked off with
any bags not attached firmly
to your back, hand, leg
or other body part  available
to keep your gear safe.

There is still some doubt
if they will keep strong
in this new found resolve
to give us some security
as we take a repast
at their tables, when able,
and betting edges for short.

Still, glad to echo out
a positive vibe and words
from that ten acre land
I no longer even dare
to venture near from fear
of a severe allergic reaction
to the dreaded narcotic fogs.

Hope they keep it up.
14October2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Bad Weather and Users - A poem of the streetlife

Grey skies,
rain and cold,
these trigger the fall
not just of the leaves
but those who dance
upon razor's edge
of addictions.

Three times
the ambulance arrived
and not done yet
as the day drags slowly
and the addicts slink
looking for places
to use.

Despite gathering
of various cops
here in the library
they do their stupid stunts
like rolling joints openly
on changing tables
in restrooms.

Rattling bottles
mark the poppers,
seeking water to wash
away their minds and souls
they feel no need
to keep handy
seeking oblivion.

Spice monkeys
were all spastic
jerky motions and energy
then comes the deadly crash
as the darkness within
renders them down
into zombies.

Ether's reek
in the restrooms
tells all homeless travelers
that the tweakers are here
smoking where they please
and the hell
with others.

Bad weather
brings it out
or at least inside
where others can see it,
the self destructive impulses
that run amok
amongst users.

Yet I
still manage, somehow,
to avoid those lures
walk away from their offers
to join them awhile
get stoned, pass-out,
awaken robbed.

Drunks speak
with slurred voices
some loud, bordering obnoxious,
others quiet as church mice,
still holding a shred
of situational awareness
about cops.

All because it's raining.
10October2013 - Dyfedd Rex

The Stalkers and Lurkers Abound - A poem of today's streets

You see them stalking
bundles of pure rage
high on some drug
looking for a fight,
making one when able
just to notch guns
they don't (hopefully) carry.

This year is different.
Worse than last year,
beyond the memories held
by the chronically homeless,
they all talk daily
about these proddy punks
and the fights avoided.

Already, the word's out.
Watch your backs, fellas,
these wannabe's are hunting,
looking for hair's hesitation
then marking that person
as one to roll
when the opportunity presents.

Been seeing them around,
hanging out at Library,
stalking the streets wildly,
lurking around convenience stores,
waiting for their prey,
that one who forgot,
and flashed his roll.

Not just money sought,
but your precious gear,
sleeping bags are tight,
so they're going pricey
as all the agencies
gave out their last
months ago, if had.

Electronics, cell phones, food
and the SNAP cards
all in high demand,
and easy to move
when the cops leave
to respond to fights
sometimes staged as diversions.

Hug the lights nightly,
yet use shadows wisely
to check your six,
making sure your safe,
not followed to camp,
where they invade often
seeking off guard moments.

This is the life,
it ain't easy, folks.
Nerves begin to fray
as we stay tense
for far too long,
never able to relax,
lest we seek death.

I watch them myself,
trying to see clues
as to who scored,
who's still hunting prey,
and who's just lurking
itching for a fight
to make a name.

9October2013 - Dyfedd Rex.

The Addicts - A Poem of the Streets

Mistaking their DT's
for chilly morning shivers,
you'll see them bundled up,
even those rare warm Autumn days
when the mercury rests higher
than their coats indicate
as they wander.

You know them
by their dirty blankets,
folded around them like skirts,
or turned into full body sheaths,
looking like grey mummy wrappings,
or a zombie's tatters,
our drugged undead.

These are the ruined souls,
spoilers for the we few
who avoided Addiction's siren song.

They wander about
twitching for many reasons;
some still riding their highs,
others crashing into detoxification's danse macabre
as their night of using
catches up to them
with a vengeance.

Mistaking their intentions,
you'll cross the street
or shift off onto grass
avoiding their haunted gazes while passing
their antics and angry displays
trying to avoid them
but still failing.

These are those cast aside
by even the most pious
for heeding Narcotics' damning call.

Some wander steady,
others stagger about slowly,
never given a moment's notice
until they collapse from severe reaction
to their dark, personal demons
in some public place
during daylight hours.

A rare few
manage with stuttering steps
to move about the park
despite levels of intoxication rarely seen
outside their own little cliques
surviving it, means unknown,
despite tempting Death.

They are just lost souls,
seeking some dark, strange release
from the pains of Life.

Many younger ones
live only short lives,
seeing this lonely, homeless life
as their long, fun, final party.
Which leaves me to ask:
Why is this so,
who crushed hope?

Even older ones
see naught but fun
in this dark ballet performed
upon the cold, bleak cement ways.
It's just a long celebration
as they slowly descend
into another Hell.

They are fogged in wanderers
drifting about amid Drugs' murk
No purpose, besides scoring highs.

There's no answer
to ending this shit.
Forgive that word, but realize,
it's the only one that fits.
For what else says it
about lives torn apart
by various Narcotics?

They are lost,
perhaps still with chances
to break their dark cycles
of abusing various substances each day,
but lacking a reason to,
or failing to see
their approaching deaths.

These are your lost children,
siblings, friends, maybe even parents.
Lost by lack of care...
...from a callous broken Society.

30September2013 - Dyfedd Rex