Impish Urges

The ad dangled,
hung out there sweetly
like a low, inside heater,
so I swung away
aiming for bleachers.

Not an application
to the job offered
but a correction of error
some HR flak made
about qualifications needed.

Why a job
inside one particular state
needs a licence from another
lying with another between
still gives mirth.

I was nice,
just advising them about
the error made in haste,
rather than tossing snark
about substance abuse.

Still, I wonder.
Why can other make
mistakes like that one there,
and any of mine
cost me dearly?

I shade eyes,
watching the moment sail
out of the park slow,
no snark, no vitriol
save this poem.

So, beware all,
I'm in a mood,
likely to "T" off hard
on your errors now,
instead of letting
sleeping dogs lie.

26February2015 - An amused, but still jobless, Dyfedd Rex.

Celebrating Bad News Milestones

Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the bad news in your life.

Take today. Four companies who I applied for positions back in September to December just had a race to see who got to be Job Rejection #2000, emails flowing in over a 45 minute period.

And, that started me to howling in laughter. I'd left after that milestone, to pull out my January royalty money, all 4 bucks and some change, to buy an ounce of pipe tobacco to deal with reaching this dubious mark, and when I got back, lo and behold, the other three emails were there.

First, it was just a chuckle, then I lost it, and started howling with laughter, which jars many folks nerves, over this debacle.

Okay, not the sanest response. Or is it? Look, at least I'm not grabbing a hatchet and seeking fame as an ax murderer, no, I'm just trying to do my best Joker laugh, without the accompanying mayhem that villain wrecks upon society.

And, deep down, this is funny. You see, it means that jobs I was passed over on, I am still considered as the fall back guy if the ones chosen fail to prove out. This means, yes, that things are not as clear and dry as they seem on all these rejections. Yeah, I could still snap the losing streak, but does this mean things will improve? How the hell would I know? I'm just the punching bag for the economic downturn, or one of them, at least.

So, if you hear my horrid laugh, realize there is a reason. Let me alone as I smoke a pipe in the last few good hours of weather this week, and find my center again. Then, back off, and let me figure out what goal to set next. Should I offer a free ebook of my poetry to the HR flak who rejects me on time #2500? Write the next set of interview givers into a tale, complete with my equivilant of a red shirt on the original Star Trek Series? Maybe offer to never write the person who hires me into a tale or poem?

Yeah, I'm feeling quirky, after this milestone. If nothing else, at least I was considered for 2000 jobs seriously, by polite companies, as I lost track of the times I watched the resume find circular file 13 before I got out the door when dropping an application in person.

Wait, maybe the real need is to write some fool into a tale who causes job rejections. Is there a Job Rejection Fairy? Or did the Fey folk farm that out to their lesser pixie kin? Is it a goblin, or some recently evicted troll, pissed over his bridge crumbling to the point that the local code forced him out from under it?


Yep, Life gives you lemons, slice them up for mixed drink side pieces. If only I could afford some rum and coke to go with them.

Insert your own image of me sticking my tongue out while making a weird face. I'm too busy laughing to do it myself.

The Internal Debate

To go on, or just walk away, saying the hell with you all.

That is the place I am at.

After four long years of being without a job, without permanency, with only hope, I've finally hit the bottom of the barrel on that last.

Oh, I could draw down my morals, and turn to a life of crime, as many in my situation do.

I could sell my soul, and body, on some street corner.

I could just walk into a heavy flow of traffic.

But I still have my faith, not in the world, any god, or such, but in me.

But, even faith can only take one so far.

And today, the final test arrives. After this, there will be no more of YOUR way, but only MY way.

Sounds harsh, uncaring? How do you think it sounds to me, coming from a society, from people, who have not a fucking clue?

And that one cuss word should say a lot. Over the years, I try not to cuss. I'm good, really, at dancing with words to avoid it, so, realize, when I start cussing, it is usually all over, save the hollering, threats of retaliation (usually from the other side, I just warn them they don't want to push me any further these days), then the long silence.

One last try today. It better go well, for a change. I don't have anything left in the tank to keep pushing on the way folks want me to. After this, we go to my way. Or you can all keep on trucking, down your highway to hell.

The Physics of Damnation

Time dribbles by,

slowly melting tachyons darting

free of Inertia's cold grip,

or so I hope, 

as I wait. 

Life has compressed

down to a singularity

where all is jammed up

unable to move about,

before critical mass. 

Within gravity's well

my soul is bound

as well as the flesh,

within relativity's firm grasp,

even if mental.

Few see this, 

that physics applies aptly

to the mind and soul,

when one is sinking 

into entropy's grasp. 

The other end

of that terrible cycle

applies just as well, folks.

The implosion leads up

to big bang.

Releasing the power,

the matter, the heart and

even the fate of those

trapped within that point

where all combined. 

Will that moment

when mass combines perfectly

to force gravity to release

all from it's pull

come in time?

Or be late,

like so many times

before when hope's tiny glimmer

broke into black hole

leading to excitement.

Still I sit

waiting for that mass,

the tiny photon, the electron,

even a Higg's boson

might prove enough.

Just the shove,

to create the mass

that overcomes gravity's foul grip,

and pushes back hard,

with potential energy..

released suddenly

along with all

trapped within this darkness

that my heart created here

when it gave up,

until this moment.

Or the next,

or the last, 

I may not know, 

for here, time twists,

memory fails,

and hope 

better be silent. 

6Jan2015 - Dyfedd Rex, wishing others would make up minds, so I can grasp a tachyon or six...

Rejection Echoes. = yet another poem of job hunting and its agony.

(And probably the last for a while, stayed down to help some folks move this week... once that's done, I'm headed for the hills)..

Wandering the canyon maze,
trying each draw you pass,
to find a way back up
to where it's less confined
the options fade away.

Each job application tossed
into those snarled, shadowed gullies
leaves you like a loud shout,
and only a few times
finds the way back.

Rejections, though, they echo,
for some reason such return
over and over again for months
until at last withering away
along with your soul.

Not just one time,
but several bounce off walls,
distorting your perception of the source
amid their confusing origin points
as the litany builds.

You're not the candidate,
we moved on with others,
a decision not to fill position,
all come back to you
with each cry made.

Even the most steady
will lose their path eventually
under such a barrage of sounds,
even if only blinking letters
upon a small screen.

Long after you surrendered
and moved to the next,
those echoes leave on very befuddled
about if companies are lost
as you in here.

Four years, nearly, now.
This is no longer fun.
Stopped being that long damned ago.
Now, I no longer find
amusement in those echoes.

Where others find despair,
I gain only deep disgust
drinking the bitter waters down here
in the Canyon of Unemployment
seeking the tablelands above.

Months after job yodeling,
the answers come back gathered
into rolling thunder sound wolf packs
that crush one before fading
the last echo soft...
in you soul...
which whimpers.
surrenders...

You want just shelter,
or to lay out gently
into the violent stream carving this
deep groove in your life
and be swept away.

All because things echo,
keep coming back to haunt
your hopes and dreams with those
bitter words, between the lines...
You're not the one.
No One Is.
Keep Trying.

With nothing left inside,
the echoes of rejection letters
enter your mind and broken soul,
never to fade away again
bouncing around in there...
eroding your will...
breaking spirit...
until...
you give in
or find at last
the canyon's mouth,
or the pass atop it
to move over ridges
to a gentler place.

14November2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Answering Questions Asked Of Me.

It is time to answer a few questions I've been asked the past few years. Most won't like the answers. Sorry, but the time has come to say these things, to my friends, family, and Society as whole

Do you really think writing is your only answer to your financial situation? No. I never thought I could thrive on my writings, I don't feel I will ever have a bestseller, but was just looking for a little cash to sustain my few bad habits, my morning coffee, smoking my pipe, an occasional meal, with. Honestly, I don't even see that , as the one try I make, folks toss road blocks before, not seeing I am doing what they do, spending money to make money, just not in that fool's game called the stock market.

Why don't you try harder to get a real job? I think that at now over the 8000 jobs applied for in less than 4 years, I've done more to get work than most folks who at least were given the support of Unemployment checks, which I never got.

When are you going to settle down and be reliable? I'm the guy who showed up, often even when sick, got the work done, and covered the others who took time off for silly things like hangovers, parties, and the like. When the bloody hell will the rest of you settle down and stop asking me to do your work, and deny my time off requests (I rarely got to use all my time off at ANY company I worked at.)

Who would read the stuff you write? Won't know, unless I try, right? Now, want to get out of my way, or help?

Why should any company give you a chance? you never stay. I think my past history, of staying until just before the issues blew up, actually is a firm reason for companies to give me a chance, just realize, all those before you have limited my patience, so that is the reason for the year and a half mark, not the five everyone desires. Remember, my first full time job, 60-80 hours a week, no vacation until two weeks before I quit, and that was given grudgingly? And other companies along the way that had things that went south, that I held on, only turning into the "rat off the sinking ship" once I realized I could not be their life preserver?

When are you going to start dressing for success? Folks, I long ago decided that my personal comfort takes firm precedence over "style" and "fashion", both of which are things I never had any sense in. I choose my clothing for utility and comfort, nothing more. Besides, everyone freaks out at my lack of color coordination, so I tend to stick with grey clothing, standard blue jeans and t-shirts. Stop asking me to wear a tie, remember, I had to cut one once to keep from being sucked into a machine, and that was with a tie clip on it! I despise suits, and am not comfortable in them, feel long sleeves are there to roll up when you need to show folks it's time to get things done, and prefer tennis shoes or hiking boots over dress shoes, as they at least come in sizes and shapes that fit my feet.

Why don't you have a five year plan? No plan I have ever made survived contact with the enemies I have, of time, fate, and reality. Besides, five year plans are so "Stalinist" or "Communist", in my view. Nowadays, I just have goals, without firm time limits. Gives me better flexibility towards making them happen.

Anything I miss, that folks bug me about? Post it below, but be prepared not to like my answers.

Deadlines and Dropdead dates - A commentary on my Life.

It sucks, but I have to set these again.

yeah, things are not holding up. A job offered fell through on their end, I cannot gain any traction in writing, as folks keep discouraging me from doing the eBook, if it means spending money on it to get it formatted, and then, I keep finding the guy in the mirror looking away, disgusted at how I sell my soul for some things in life, lacking the spine to say: "Take me or leave me, just do it fast."
Stop blocking my one path left for showing I have desire to make money, folks, let me move on, prepared for bad times, so they avoid me instead of lingering over my days like some conjured up thunderstorm of doom.

So, here are the deadlines.
To survive, I need a job, soon. Like, starting before September 29th.

October 1st, I'm back out on the streets, actually, into the wilderness this time, and the hell with ever coming back for another try at joining a broken society that bitches about the homeless and jobless not being productive, even as they snub them on the jobs they put in for.

On that date, if no money is coming from any source, I walk away. Period.

Ya'll wanted a five year plan? Screw that, here's a much shorter one. Give me a rope to pull myself up with, or hang by, either way, do something world. You can't, then don't bitch when you stumble across my planned hermit hole, and leave me alone, like you did when I asked for your help in being one of you, which cost me a lot, in the way of sacrificed beliefs.

14 September2014 - Dyfedd Rex of the Frayed Faith and Patience.

Grinding it out - A poem of life, writing, and the hunt for a job

Demons and ghosts haunt me,
as fingers do their dance,
seiving the tale from slime
that sloshes in my skull.

Dark thoughts bounce around, wildly.
The day of job applications,
and nights and monrings writing
are piling up without results.

Some is my stubborn attitude
about learning new fangled things
that morph about faster yearly
beyond my keeping up easily.

Each thing that goes wrong
seems like an evil indictment
against the paths I choose
to walk these gloomy days.

Characters' dialogue spins the wheels
amid the slippery brain matter
forcing me to slow down
instead of driving to end.

This is my long haul,
still going on these days.
Sixteen tons of doubt, despair
that leave you without hope.

Save those brilliantly clear moments
when things just fall right,
as the leaves up high
set the mountains on fire.

Fall is never my best.
Give me winter or summer
when I can do things
due to heat or snow.

Keep tossing out the apps,
persevere to finish the stories
and offer advice and help
for other writers out there.

This is my life, now.
Just a gathering of randomness,
set out by cruel fates
and the schedules of others.

Still, the words continue flowing,
burbling over the literary logjams
that my thought stream becomes
when things weigh me down.

Those words hold the promise,
and dreams still drive me
towards goals others laugh at,
even as I make progress.

Another tale accepted just recently,
and cajoling from some corners
that I crank out more
shows I was absolutely correct...

Writing my way back up
will work, before a job.
Though I have been wrong before.
And hope I am now.

18September2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Another plan unravels

Yet again
the Fates reach out,
scissors shredding my plans viciously,
before the weaver snarls the tapestry
my life has become lately,
into a matted thing
of ruin.

Driving on
as I always do,
I push my limits harder
trying to find a way safely
to appear as a conformist
yet keep my soul
from rebelling.

Five years.
That is the issue
I have to dance around,
as I have no meaningful goals
that others would respect now,
after the last years
of troubles.

Some how
I have to balance
the things others dearly cherish
in making everything be charted before
you set out down roads
less traveled, Frost said,
with beliefs.

It's tough.
Damned near impossible, really,
when you remember I'm not
some schmuck with not skills left,
but a guy who wants
just a simple job
these days.

Never planned
my life in minutia
the way so many others
do in plans, goals, or riches.
No, I prefer the respect
of the reflection looking
out mirrors.

Surrendering finally,
I make one out
over on my rant blog
to see how it flies now,
and if folks will salute
to such a path,
or sneer.

Nor sure
I want to possess
such a damning measuring stick
for my life to be evaluated with
but folks feel I need
such a bloody thing
and soon.

Read it.
Tell me it works,
or where it bloody well
breaks your mind about my potential.
Just realize, I'm already compromising
by holding back replies
used before.
12September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who feels he's selling his soul in doing this. Read it over on the Private Island Kingdom blog, Click on "My Other Blogs" tab at the top of the page, then read down to find "Five year plans".

Killing Time - A poem of job-hunting's misery and hopes.

Frustrations build.
Answers come slow,
blocked by delaying tactics
and other little tricks used
to shake out some
with less patience
than desired.

I'm hurting,
aching psychic wounds
deep in my soul
from the long draught suffered
waiting for a job
to finally arrive
hopefully soon.

Staring hard,
at the phone,
nervously checking each email
for that wanted good news
of a start date
or at least
simple rejection.

New policies
driven from recession
mean few companies send
out even a notice they
have moved onwards beyond
those interviewed for
a job.

That silence
cuts into spirit,
leaving me raw, surly,
well beyond my normal orneriness
deep into the realms
of agitated anti-matter,
implosion imminent.

Fighting off
the anger, depression,
even as other obstacles
to the alternate paths rise
as folks again discourage
my writing efforts
for cash.

Waiting sucks.
Drains the soul down
until there is just froth
ringing the bottom of your glass,
like a fast chugged beer.
Each moment drags by
nearly frozen.

Applications done,
you move onward, cautiously.
Not daring to leave unattended
your computer as many companies now
time your response to emails
or try messaging replies
for elimination.

Phone nearby,
mind too churned up,
appearing as sea's clogged up
with buckets of chum, to lure
in the nastiest of sharks
to chew you up,
by chance.

I persevere.
Wait out the moments,
fingers dancing over the keyboard
or doing little make-work things
to pass the time quicker
and keep my mind
on focus.

I write.
Poems like this one,
or stories for future sales,
just to keep the darkness away
or embrace it with arms
that know nothing else
these days.

Keep trying.
Keep on writing tales,
seeking that golden short story
or much longer work that sells
enough to fall back on
if job hunting fails
to succeed.
Grind on.
Drive on.
Truth said?
I'm bored.

10September2014

Why I write - A commentary on Life, Myself, and Society

This blog, the tales and poems on it, and the few times I rant and rave about things, all have purpose.

They get me through the travails Life tossed my way, the hurdles the Fates, evil wenches they are (sorry, ladies, but those three gals, no matter which Incarnations you chose, are wenches, serving up dishes oft better left untasted), lay on my path, and the many frustrations stemming from the seemingly (to me, and others in similar situations) excessive application of Murphy's Law to events affecting me.

I write to keep my sanity, to vent frustrations and hopes both. I write to show I won't give up, that I will find some way out, no matter how much rubble, trash, and other offal get thrown into this pit I'm in, cause I'm just too ornery to totally quit. Step back to regroup, maybe. Stand aside while assessing a situation, definitely time to write, just to see if what rolls out has an answer or that analysis gives you a better understanding of the wasteland I stand in.

And this is a wasteland. A place where Society has tossed aside members to, ignoring their concerns and the reasons they fell from grace. I see the dirty underbelly of our Nation, and it ain't pretty. In fact, the sight is mighty revolting. Not just the rampant crimes, garbed in clothes with blue and white collars both, but the foolish ideas, blind ambitions that drive us into bad situations, and worst, the pure, uncaring hearts of stone that so many have, while spouting words of Faiths that condemn that very attitude.

We can be better. All of us. You, me, our kith and kin, our neighbors, even our enemies and allies. But we fail to see where we can improve.

For me, it's all about the attitude. After over 8000 (yeah, let me emphasize that a bit, that is EIGHT THOUSAND, not a typo) job applications over the last four years, more than required to obtain the benefits many survive such a stretch for a period via Unemployment checks, I'm still trying. Yes, I often tell folks now I have a bet with myself that writing will start giving me money to live on before a job materializes, but that is just my pessimism talking, not optimism. That part of my attitude makes me keep tossing resumes to the winds, trying to find a steady job to live off of, instead of wandering away as I often threaten.

How does writing lift that optimism. Simple. Each view of this blog, and my others, tells me folks do care, might cut me enough slack to get a shot at rising back up, and best of all, it lets me take out frustrations, instead of on real folks, upon characters and words, to relieve the tensions between my ears and shoulders, that ache for some release. It also reminds me, each time I get a sale, a hit, or even just a comment, that I have skills never tried, ones just getting their first real shots as these fingers do their dance across the keys. A slim opportunity to use those skills to haul myself out.

So, don't laugh at the writers. At least they keep trying, plodding forward with determination and grit so many lack, who start something, or only talk up an idea, then let others do the work for them.

I'm here, I'm still trying, and will keep on writing, until the cold fingers of some destiny I have no clue about close on my throat, fingers, eyes, and mind, to rip me down as worm fodder.

So, lead, follow, or preferably, get out of my bloody way. If you don't, well, we writers have another form of revenge. Writing you into a tale, then claiming the resemblance is purely coincidental (that coincidence being you irked me just as I needed a character or event in a tale, and thus got immortalized in verse or prose). Or, better yet, to poke fun at you, and remind you that Satire is protected speech, and has a long, great history of being an agent of change.

So, tonight, when I write, don't laugh. After all, it might be something you'd enjoy, either reading yourself or watching others read, just for their reactions. And remember. I write to show I am not dead, not broken, just frazzled, but still slogging onward, to some goal I myself have no clue about, but it's out there. That, and to shut up the characters that my dreams and daydreams seem to keep spawning, having a fairly fertile imagination.

28August2014 - Dyfedd Rex

An Update I Never Thought I'd Post

So, this is just an update on life for this guy, and the strange ways and twists Life likes laying out for me. Nothing earth-shaking, no real changes to my status as an "unproductive" member of your foolish Society out there, just a step taken that gives me hope to end this Homeless crap on my terms, not the terms of those fools who think they know the ways to do everything.

What step was it? A strange one to have taken, quite honestly. I collected on a bet. A bet made with myself and society about my writings and job search. One I am not really happy to have lost, but that makes me proud. You see, it proved that I knew what I was saying last year in interviews. I kept telling folks, over and over in them that "Personally, as my writing is at last taking off, I'm betting I see money from it before I get a paycheck from any jobs I'm interviewing for. Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if you prove me wrong."

And, in the end, I was right.

Saturday, I collected the bet from myself, in the form of a milk shake, as where I was at did not offer root beer floats.

Yes, something sold. Nice, cashy money is headed my way.  I will make a formal announcement later this month, directing folks where to look for it. Once all the details are locked in.

But, I won. I was right, everyone else once more was wrong. Not taking pride in that. Just saying that you all might want to listen more to me, hear me out. I am not insane, folks. I just have a brain that runs about twice as fast as most folks, and can see things many ignore. I see the obstacles, prejudices, and red-tape issues that hold down the homeless and unemployed far better than you can, in your cars and job sites. My eyes note things you overlook, or dismiss as trivial, until they break your nose slamming into your own faces.

I'm finding it sad, really, winning this bet. It means you out there actually don't give the south end of a north-bound rat about actually ending these issues. So, I'll keep writing, and still toss out job apps. My voice will be raised even more over the next few weeks and months about the ways you use to keep those on the bottom of your Society held down. Words will be written now more carefully, not from fear of reprisals, as before, but to maximize their impact on your over-inflated egos as you sneer at me, eyes firing dirty looks along the slopes of your noses. And I will keep trying to get more stories out there for cash, assemble that collection of poetry and try selling it as an e-book, and carry my packs with pride, not shame. For that load I bear, much like those metal links born by the dwarves in mys stories, are my Chain of Sorrows. Ones I will lift to back knowing this. They mark the price YOU make others pay in part.

Yes, YOU make me, and the other homeless, bear this kind of burden. Too stuck up to hire a homeless person? Then accept the fact that to survive, we will be there, on those corners holding cardboard signs, rummaging through ash trays and gutters for "snipes", as we call those cigarette butts you toss aside with only  a puff or two left, and lingering about waiting for that opportunity to rise up once more.

Sure, not all of us want out. But why hold down those who do? Scared that one with hunger and cold nights so close to their present moment will make you look bad? Fear that we will do as some who you lift up act, and rob and assault those holding out the hand? Yeah, there are bad apples. Even in the barrel you live in now. Folks who preach the "Rule of Law" but fight at following it with lead feet when behind a steering wheel, lazy buttocks that refuse to leave their couches to shovel the snow off their sidewalks as required by those Laws, and those who walk the blurry regions between Legal and Criminal in their business practices and personal ethics. I think you have more to fear from the person in the next cubicle than the homeless person that might need a job mopping your floors.

 And the next bet I'm making is forming even now. I dare you to make me forfeit on it. Double-dog-dare-ya even.

This fellow is now wondering and considering laying a steak dinner on whether writing is his way out, as he has mentioned in the past, over seeking normal employment. A fancy one, say at a real steak house, not some Village Inn or Denny's. The kind that comes with a cocktail to enhance the pleasure, not a milk shake.

So, Society, you willing to take me up on this one? Or, are you all still freaking out that I was right, and you were wrong before?

Be nicer if the bet was not with myself, but some one else.

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.

Diving Back In - A poem of Job Searching in Frustration

I have a confession to make.

Forgive me folks, for I have sinned.

Amid my determination to stand up for myself

I relented and started job searching

despite vowing months ago not to.

The real sin is not trying.

You see, tossing in the towel

was something done through my sheer disgust

at getting no where at all

these last three years of effort.

Now, don't get me wrong, folks.

I still have had enough crap

to last this homeless bum a lifetime.

But, I find to satisfy some

I must once more move mountains.

And mountains is how it seems.

Try getting a job without foundations

upon which to build back your life.

Things others take for granted daily

like homes, bank accounts, or transport. 

Some say I aim too high,

yet in the same breath berate

that I look at jobs well below

my previous levels of abilities shown,

hoping they make some small offer.

Dare I look at my emails?

Having already tossed out some resumes,

I know there might be replies there

but fear them to be rejections

from folks who don't understand me.

Already, six places have sent letters

demanding I stop applying with them.

Six places, with two others, now listed

in my little, evil, black notebook

to never do business with again.

One of those latter places lied,

another played games with my head, 

promising it was the first interview group

when they had another before it

from which they filled the position. 

I admit that for the moment

I am cherry-picking the places applied

not taking the big step down expected

for the time being at least.

But that will come soon enough.

The others? That first damning group?

Well, if you must ask indeed

it includes four firms owing me favors, 

one organization to remain unnamed forever,

and one government agency of hypocrites.

Still, for now I will try.

Once more into the breach boldly,

and all that crap from literature read.

But I still have a bet

that writing will pay off first. 

So, here I sit, nervously debating

over opening that browser this day.

Will it be good news, ill omens,

or just more of that silence

so many use as reply now?

Time to find out, before diving

once more into those job postings

on the internet while sitting so patiently

here in the sunny library section

trying to keep my hopes alive. 

30December2013 - Dyfedd Rex, hoping for better things next year. 

Commentary: Yeah, it wears on you. The constant process of application, rejection, and getting up, dusting off to try again. I do hope for better things next year, but realistically? No, things will probably stay the same. Look, after three years unemployed, many places claim I am unemployable. Despite doing volunteer work, pick up jobs and even stooping to shoveling snow on the sly to keep myself busy and in coffee and tobacco. But, despite those earlier disgusted moments, I keep going back to trying. Think about it, folks. Who would you rather have, the guy who keeps slogging on, or some super-model who looks good, but fails the test of time. Not that I have much better a record. My only redeeming quality, I feel some days, is that loyalty and pride that prevents me from looking for a job while taking another's dime, unless I'm working part time. 

    So, chide me all you want, for breaking that promise earlier this year to give up. And remember, I still think I will see money from my stories or poems well before I get another paycheck from a permanent job, but would love to be proved wrong. - D.R. 

Nuttin' but Nineteens - More Cribbage and Philosophy Mixed in Poem

Life's been dealing off the bottom,
nothing but crappy Nineteen hands
meant to break my spirits,
and wear me down to grist.

So I do what I can,
trying to peg my way
round that final corner
ahead of the Grim Reaper.

Fate is a fickle gal,
so I hope she turns
her back on the others
trying to catch me 30 back.

We'll see what she deals
once I make the effort
later this week at looking
for a job yet one more time.

Better be enough
to prevent the skunk
I've been smelling lately.
Or to slide to 121.

Been a rough spell,
these last few years,
enough to wear one out
and make one fear cards.

Still, never can tell
what a crib will hold,
especially in the game
life makes me play...
...Upon God's Cribbage Board.

23September2013 - Dyfeddd Rex

Scorched Earth of the Spiritual Flamethrowers of Rejections - A Poem of Jobhunting and Loathing in America

Unless you've been here
you ain't got a clue
about how it digs in
eating your soul from inside
when jobs finally reply
months after applied for
with that form rejection
saying they are moving on
with other, more qualified folks.

This is my dilemma,
the pain I deal with
as I try moving forward
only to get kicked hard
in that awkward place
that makes one walk
lopsided, even just spiritually.
Hope dies with each one,
as hate and disgust grow.

Been expecting it, really.
This total turn away
from a guy who tries
to keep his own faith
while dealing with others,
and not intruding in theirs.
Temptations abound about me,
drugs, booze, or others.
But I still drive on.

Phone is back on.
Against my better judgement,
and I have to try again,
diving into the web tomorrow
to find a job of some sort
even just something foolish
as asking about fries or drinks
to go with that entree.
Not sure I want to try.

Been nearly three years now,
and not sure I have
what it takes to come back
from this ass-whupping
I've been taking all along.
The spirit is broken,
the body is worn,
and my mind is wandering
amid dreams burnt to ashes.

Rejection is so awful,
like a spiritual flamethrower,
aimed into the heart
of each person you see
who is down on their luck.
Maybe Hump-day, perhaps,
would be better choice
to dive over this cliff
and give it another shot.

Not today, that's for sure.
Still stinging from two more
silent killer cruise missiles
launched by soulless drones
called Human Resources departments,
filled with uncaring munitions
that create scorched earth
where once hope and imagination
laid out a bright future.

Yeah, you do that damage
with each of those letters
sent to one without anything
to get by on now,
save that piece of cardboard
I promised not to hold
on some street corner
for another month or so
and give it one more try.

Then again, who knows
maybe this is the week,
month or year I break
this long losing streak.
Yeah, and perhaps this year
the Cubs have a shot,
the Utes win through
and I get a job.
Well, one out of three?
...Please?

23September2013 - Dyfedd Rex
(who's still pretty disgusted with America and society)

Into the shadows until dawn comes - A poem of the streets

Some-days it really sucks being me,
unable to partake of the stuff
other use to escape our reality
thanks to my nasty allergic reactions.
Too proud to crawl into bottles
the other guys take swigs from,
leaves this good ol' boy wondering
What the Hell can I do?
Other than sit by the water fountain
in the small designated smoking area
filling up my tobacco pipe occasionally
tossing out smoke rings to watch
drift off from under my hat
sailing away as I'm unable to.

So I sit here waiting patiently
for the night's soft velvet colors
camera dead weight in my pack,
stuck on F-stop plus five thousand
judging by the whiteout pictures taken
the last few sunsets and rises.
Still just rising up, waxing moon
the laughing man nearly all there
as the mad ones howl loud
anticipating their night to rule all:
streets, alleys and lonely dark parks
harassing me about being out here
the only sober guy this weekend
when they enjoy their wild parties.

Folks stroll past on the pathways
giving me dirty looks down noses
forgetting who their Carpenter walked with.
I'd rather be in the Foothills,
sitting in a grove real quiet
waiting for God's pastel sky paintings
and the racing of Summer's meteor showers
across the vault so dark above,
even as the crickets serenade me.
Six bucks lie in my pocket,
a few swigs of Coke left,
the a pop bottle of water
filled before the library shut down
and I had to leave it.


The shadows cast by the buildings lengthen,
as the sun seeks other places
to give her warmth down to.
Chill breezes cross the park's grass,
making my layers a needed thing
under their gentlest of feather massages.
Another night out on the streets,
just seeking a quiet, safe place
to layout my bedroll at,
set aside this load I'll lift
when I set out to sleep.
Dark hours spent hidden from sight
so I won't offend some folks
for being denied benefits and homeless.

Falling water soothes my soul's aches,
flowers give my eyes balm's touch.
Still, deep inside my thick skull
barbs tossed today my way sting.
Rejection from jobs, stories won't flow,
not even those simple toss-away's
I use to clear internal buffers.
Insults, spoken and silent, still burn,
salt to wounds opened by acts
of arrogance, greed and other sins,
I once was guilty of also.
Motorcycles stuttering call, headed up state,
cruising for their Friday night rides
say its time to head on...
...back into shadows until dawn comes.

21June2013 - Dyfedd Rex.

This Demon Does Exist! - A poem of Job Hunting Frustrations Personified!

I am working out his taxonomy,
that damned Ethernet spirit of vexation,
who haunts me every bloody day
ripping up my hopes for jobs.

He's related to lawyer Cousin Murphy,
with a dash of Perversity's Imp,
and a strong dose of Satan,
topped by Mammon's greedy genetic heritage.

Damned if he ain't stalking me!
Every job app goes awry somehow!
Don't tell me its just paranoia,
until you taste his nasty venom!

Tried almost every trick I possess
to sneak around his demonic vigilance.
Feints, bobs, ducks and weaves failed,
so I am left one option.

I'm gonna do a job application
that is all done with humor!
Make the bastard laugh so hard
he forgets to screw me over!

Now, like I said, I'm studying
his every feature and dirty tool
to prove he actually does exist,
and thus get my just dues!

Too bad demons are legally immune
to prosecution or civil law suits.
It'd be fun sticking him up
on the witness stand by surprise.

Call me crazy, label me mad!
Hell if I give rats' behinds!
This pervert is out there, laughing
even as I point him out...
... hiding behind all those dancing electrons!

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (Yes, I know, its cryptozoology to you, but to me it metaphysical biology!)

Real Reasons You're Passed Over - A Satirical Poem of Job Hunting.

Just say it folks, really.
Tell me the honest truth.
I don't get the job
cause I lack that one qualification
of society's perceived beauty.

Let the words come out,
speak them aloud at last.
"Sorry, we wanted a candidate
whose legs look more sexy.
Just to brighten office morale."

Or admit your deepest sins,
"You don't have the look
of the romance novel model
we really have in mind
to fill this position with."

Fess up that nasty prejudice.
"No way we'd ever hire
a hippie looking stoner dude
even if you pass tests
made to screen you out!"

Admit the brutally harsh truth.
"We like looking down noses
as the homeless trudge by.
It makes us feel superior
despite our inferiority complex issues."

Yeah, I'm having a day
plagued by anger and depression.
But I have a skill
you cannot break, despite trying!
I can mock back here...
...and just call it art!

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (feeling better after venting nightmares).

Misuse of Impressive -

"Your skills are certainly Impressive.."
just don't pay the piper,
as the job search continues
for permanent place in society
and a return to stability.

Impressive is not the word
you really should use there.
Stop stroking my broken ego,
and build it up instead
by laying out job offers.

If I really made impressions
besides in the psychic ground
they would not be shaped
like that famed Coyote's form,
despite my affinity to him.

At least the stray cats
loan me a few lives,
or a bit of agility
to land on my feet
despite the spills I take.

This is the daily pain
as the homeless guy tries
to get back on track.
You fight through the depression
to stay positive about Life.

So I write my stories
to channel the pain away
into a safe emotional dump.
But still I keep trying,
with those immortal military words....
   ... "Eff it, drive on."

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (Still trying)