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.

Nervous Laughter in the Offing - just gabbing today, nervously.

There is this great feeling when things finally go right in your life.

Looking back over this long slog to this point, I'm laughing a lot right now. You see, the last half-dozen or so interviews, when asked about a five year plan, I tell them the only one I can make right now is to get published in five years, as I'm just a homeless guy. Published for money, that is. It warned them all that while I had a bet with myself that I'd not mind losing, that writing would send money my way before a job might, but would love losing that bet. They all laughed.

I'm waiting right now, thinking, gee, I get to have that special root beer float at the Baskin-Robbins or Hire's Big H, maybe.

So, I wait, hoping to win the bet, yet praying I lose it. The next few weeks will tell me how that bet comes out. I might have to revise that five year plan, updating for a slightly more ambitious goal. Be nice, fun even, if I do. Starting to think it can happen. And if it does, plan on rolling out that e-book of my poems, when I get a moment to take a few breaths, and maybe add a dollar figure on poetry collection money to it.

So, if I look nervous the next little while, as I hold my cardboard sign the rare times I have to, cut me some slack. I'm just getting used to the idea of maybe having money earned, rather than resorting to the charity of others for my coffee and tobacco funds. And, maybe, down the road, a dash of other needed things, while laughing as I walk about, over a bet I made in jest, to lighten a moment around a question I've always hated.

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.

Predators Seek the Panhandlers - a poem of the streets.

I'm starting to worry.
The kite flyers talk,
some of it boasts,
others some sound advice,
but they mentioned money
and ears around perked
that should be noted
by all of us.

They're comparing their takes,
and the rough elements
that drift in yearly
just to feed upon
their fellow homeless hear.
Now even I'm jittery
as someone mentioned today
I had work recently.

It's one more hazard,
beyond the normal predators
who seek next highs
and see those dollars
as easy way out
of their own bind,
just hit and run,
who cares how hard.

The streets are uncaring,
some should know better,
others note the looks
but give them back
with that nasty grin
telling the beasts "Try",
as they're spoiling themselves
to take it back.

Two "Giving Seasons" now,
this makes my third
here on the streets,
and I walk soft,
but won't back down
if a fool tries
cause once you do
you're only rolled more.

One little, bright ray,
the beasts head in
once the weather turns
so tonight's dark clouds
make it safer now
for at least campers,
but those at Shelter
better watch their backs.

Don't care what's said.
It's a new crowd
hunting the panhandlers now,
though a few faces
seem a bit familiar,
more are probably just
from before my time.
Or maybe they're not.

Keep your mouths shut
never count your cash
in lonely, dark places,
or out in open.
And don't push luck,
for she's often fickle
touching your life wickedly
with her left hand.

Best defenses there are,
keep to a crew,
tell others where flying,
and only those trusted
the path returned by,
lest the rabid monsters
hunt you down swift
and leave a corpse.
--- and that will happen
several times this  year.

9October2013 - Dyfedd Rex, walking soft and safe as he can.