Urges and Gut Feelings

Folks urge you
to keep the Faith,
fight off Fate's evil hands
and keep pressing on
not seeing things.

Others know not
what you might face
in the daily trials Life
tosses you about with
as you survive.

The speak loudly
about it being Depression
not hearing that you passed
that point long ago
progressing to Disgust.

Born of Anger,
fueled by other's attitudes
I now walk more carefully,
as their minefield attitudes
leave me worried.

Hear the lament of the outcast
who denies the urges of others,
instead following those baser Gut Feelings
to find a new path ahead.

They walk the streets you do,
but have no hopes left inside,
only anger and distaste at what
their Nation has turned into lately.

Fools dare judging,
even against their Commandments,
what others must do now
to find some Redemption
back to Society.

Idiots speak loudly
accusing the fallen often
that losing Faith is Depression
failing to see faces
twisted with Disdain.

My path ahead
is not yours, morons.
It is mine, and lonely.
I will walk away
not in fear...

...but in Disgust
at how we failed
the dreams of our ancestors
of a better Society

Hear the Lament of the Outcast
Damned by foolish Judgement of others
who know not the roads walked
to reach this point of surrender.

We walk into the dark shadows
not seeking oblivion and final solutions
but to regain our own grounding
amid the storms that ruined lives.

We seek not your medication bottles,
but a peaceful place to meditate
upon the road to that point
and where we also went wrong.

You can ignore
the words I lay
here into the electronic "Cloud",
but not the Truths
I speak of.

We were exiled
for many, varied reasons,
but all seek but Redemption
not at Society's bench,
but in mirrors.

I need time.
Time to heal wounds,
time to reflect on actions,
time to choose words
for my return.

I will return.
Not avenging angel style,
nor as Doom's Dark Prophet,
but an outside observer
of your Society.

Hear the Lament of this Exile,
cast out of your vain Society,
and realize your own parts involved
in my fall from high places.

I speak now the last words,
Lay out the final, sad poems.
One last yet to share here,
then I fall into brooding silence...

...As I reflect upon the failures
not just of my own self,
but the Nation once so great,
and how we let Her fail..
.
The Promises made in Her name...
The Oath about Justice for All...
The Dreams of Land of Opportunity...
The Hopes of Better Days Ahead...
The Future now tarnished so vilely
by what we all let happen...

Not just to me...
but others also,
fallen aside,
forgotten.
Cast Out.
29September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, ready to walk away, pull out his soul, and give it careful scrutiny for damage and ability to repair.

Thoughtfully Bemused and Thankful - A poem of weather and the streets

Today, the Lake is "on",
which means the warm waters
out to the city's west
breath out moist, dark breaths
forming clouds and rain showers
that carve the mountains down
through optical sleight of hand
to dark and long mesas
punctuated at the clouds' seams
with lone straggler island peaks,
and the big canyons spread
wide as a monster's mouth
seeking to consume the valley.
Despite the ill weather outside
the Library lays calm, abandoned,
by most of the regulars.
Perhaps the weather locked them
within other walls for today,
or they braved the elements
to fly their kites quickly
before the darkest roiling streams
off the Great Salt Lake
bring rain to the city,
ruining their weekly cash cow
of payday on a corner.
I won't need to fly,
got a helluva shock earlier,
when a stranger came up
handed me a goodies bag
and pressed fiver to palm
saying he'd been here himself.
All I can do is
say something here with reverence.
"Thanks, Pal. Every bit Helps."
And someday, hopefully, pay forward,
as I tip the hat.

27September2013 - Dyfedd Rex in thoughtful bemusement.

Briers as Sanity's Anchor - A Poem of my pipes and being homeless both

The briers are cracked,
beaten about in pockets
as I walk the streets,
but I've held on to them
despite my homeless wandering.

The stems are worn,
holes forming in several
at the tip where teeth grip
frustrations drilling them through
as I keep slogging on.

Tape keeps them connected
as lack of funds sometimes
forces me to skip cleaning
and tar builds up inside
from lack of proper tools.

Yet I still smoke them,
and cherish each bowl
wreathing a grin in fumes
as I watch the world
racing around me like rats.

I try to keep them going
but know the battle is futile
soon they will give up ghosts
to ride up with the aromas
my blends send out from them.

Still, it is worth it.
Each day, they are my anchor
keeping me sane down here
on the chilling streets of life
as autumn closes in fast...
...and my smoke mingles with leaves
---falling and rising in the air.

23September2013 - Dyfedd Rex
(And no, its not a plea for a new pipe, trying to get work to cover that.)

The grey skies arrived.
Sneaking in overnight,
cloaking the stars above
from our upward gazes
to adore Heaven's Vault.

Wet and cooler air,
aleady I see the hints
of color on the over east,
where Fall's first touch
lays out colorful dots.

Campsite was trashed
and where it wasn't,
the herd staked claims
on the little coves
where I prefer sleeping.

Cleaned what I could,
left the rest for Nature
to scrub away this week
with expected rains
these clouds promise.

This is the warning:
find a safe haven folks.
As Winter starts stretching
for his cold marathon
across us pretty soon.

Ain't where I wanted
this old boy to be
back in the spring.
No built up place,
no home in offing.

But, I enjoy cold,
as long as toes
ain't freezing until dead
or nose running constantly
to keep the pipes clear.

Third season of snows
I will spend homeless,
less the world relents
and Fate convinces Karma
I've paid for my sins.

So, when you pass by
some person holding sign
on a cold, windswept corner,
remember, it could be you
or a loved one there...

...for you're only a mistake away,
even if you don't admit it.

10September2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Winter's Minions Are Here - A poem of fall and fear

The colors do not explode
across the landscape this fall.
It is more an implosion
brief in nature and destructive
though some trees do better
shining for more days now
than its neighbors seem able.

Then the blizzard truly begins
with the brown and dead
falling to the ground softly
before being whipped by winds
to scatter away from trees
where they once resided calmly
until Winter sent his minions.

Fall and the Killing Frost
dancing around me with joy
telling me that soon indeed
their Master will rule here
driving me down the foothills
to seek safer marginally better
places to sleep each night.

Now the games truly begin
the war between this man
and the ravages Winter brings
to the campsite, and flesh
where the chill settles in
seeking to freeze joints solid
as life's spark dies away.

19Oct2012 - Dyfedd Rex

Church of Autumn - a poem

Reverential

In the sacred ways they gather
watching the changing season
as the colors explode around them
standing in reverential silence
as the birds give one last hymn
before hiding away or leaving
while the falcon perches for a moment
upon the light pole seeking
one last pigeon for the long road south.