World Building and Life Intrudes

Into the blank spaces,
marked Terra Incognito
my tale has moved
with this chapter.
Leaving me to scamper
about amid notes
and see what ideas
I can use
for this place entered.

Into this damned Chaos,
Life tosses grenades,
with fickle Lady Luck
tossing her finger
into the bloody fray,
leaving my life
even more stirred up
than the West Desert
after wind storms,
which was 'Status Quo'.

So I assert a mighty pen,
(okay, just dancing fingers),
across a blank slate of electronic canvas,
and craft out something more stable
than the currents of Chaos I navigate.

Starting at the known,
I dive down
creating layers beneath it,
not underworlds, really,
just better detailed maps,
narrowing the focus
of my mind's eye
upon the places
the characters now walk.

The only map crafted
for this tale
or my turbid life,
for the moment.
What map I had
for rebuilding myself
others seek to expand
beyond the scope
I saw for myself.

Dropping in the Icons with care,
I lay out the world I control,
ignoring the reality I merely ride
the rapids without paddle or life-vest.

26July2016 - A frustrated Dyfedd Rex

Summer's Toll - A poem of my experiences.

Others love it,
and don't doubt me,
so do I.
Just not for reasons
that are shared.

Summer creeps up
and steals my sleep,
longer days meaning
shorter nights for sleeping,
amid the heat.

I walk about
gazing up after sunset
at the stars,
seeking the racing meteors
faint smoke trails.

And stay up
way too damned late
for that pleasure,
losing out come dawn,
light rousing me.

I cannot sleep
while the sun shines
like years before,
something broke in me,
stealing that skill.

Now, I suffer
the lack of sleep
from May's warming
until September's chills arrive,
unless August preempts.

Staggering about daily,
I try to press on,
not as easy
with more years added
to my burden.

But sleep will
eventually come around (please!),
and knock me
down for the count,
on some days.

27Jun2016 - A tired and frustrated Dyfedd Rex.

The Toll Must Be Paid - a poem of Life and its travials

Each year on the streets
built up a terrible debt
of pains and rest denied
that came home at last
knocking me on the ropes.

A month for each year,
my body hath loudly decreed,
I must give it rest,
lest it break down hard,
and it collected this year.

Since January's winter snows flew,
each week my body ached,
and refused to let mind
wander the paths of exploration
about stories, poems, even gripes.

This is the recovery week.
The one when I rose
back from the thiick ennui
and lift up my pen,
metaphorical, in these electronic days.

Now I will write again,
though no where as prolific,
until I build a desk
to work out tales upon,
and use at my leisure.

But, first there will come
a bed, real not floor
grabbed by spreading a bedroll,
to sleep upon at last,
and regain a pinch more
of humanity.

27May2016 - A slowly rising back up from the fog Dyfedd Rex.

The Lone Observer? - A Poem of Morning Skies.

The sky burned pink
above the Oqquirhs this morn,
telling me, along with aches
the body talks with,
more snow's coming.

Yet the chilly air
did not taste of moisture,
all that wrung out slowly
the last few days
by the inversion.

White clad mountains sat
under that salmon tinged vault,
a band nearly a handspan
above the valley's horizon,
touched with beauty.

Few see this sight,
or take that crucial moment,
to slow down, look around,
inhale a breath deep,
and just enjoy.

For most, the cold
means warming their cars up,
even against the current law
about idling that long,
for their comfort.

Somedays, I feel alone,
the only one enjoying such,
a tiny person amid masses
of rock and ice
that ring me.

Others, someone notes it,
speaks up about the beauty
and leaves me with hope
that not all suffer
blindness to nature.

As I sit here,
sipping coffee, the moment gone,
I wish for a camera,
to share that moment
and its serenity
with others.

12Jan2016 - A Peaceful and thoughtful Dyfedd Rex.

Nailed It, This Time - A poem about last month

Amid the chaos
of the holiday season
the old boy took up pen
and once more tried
writing a novel.

Did much better
this time around, folks,
succeeded at the set goal.
Doubled the word count
that they wanted.

So, be merry,
celebrate the season's change
and the coming big holiday season,
as I pull out
that dreaded chainsaw.

Editing, re-writing, polishing,
fixing tons of grammar,
doing more research, at coffee shops,
as I seek something
to offer up.

Not for here,
this one was raunchy,
due to a friend's jesting dare.
So it will need
a new pseudonym.

Or, maybe not.
Still up in air
about how to deal it out,
whether to share it,
or hide it.

But, I lived,
despite many challenges,
and scored a very impressive win
during NaNoWriMo, this year,
to toast to,
come the New Year.

7Dec2015 - A merry Dyfedd Rex.

Three Things to Avoid (Mental Note)

Avoid these three,
and with more care,
for the evils aboud now,
that you work again,
seeking your demise.

The stinging insects
that wander about more
as the days extend out
and warmth wakes them
from winter's sleep.

The old pride
that you once held
as you did your jobs
about your work there,
versus being yourself.

And the bait
others toss out constantly
to stir you to wrath
on the webs and
in real life.

Avoid them, indeed,
as I move forward
seeking some better way now
to deal with them,
unlike the past.

27March2015 - Dyfedd Rex

Taking Other Paths - A poem of perseverance.

Energy surges,

crackling power chords

dancing in grey matter,

as the tales begin rising

back from their long hiatus

to fill my head

and hopefully pages

with words.

Clouds loom,

dark and hateful,

all around my path

as I walk the trails

designated for me by Fates

who desired my downfall

for some reason

beyond me.

Others scoff, 

find me foolish

for trying this path

which started to work before

they hauled me back down

to their murky streets

claiming I was 

being insane. 

And now?

Having proved it,

that your society turned

its back upon me firmly?
No, they still cannot see

that I must try

some other road

to survive. 

Sparks kindle,

daring against darkness

as the ideas catch

amid the creative tinder pile

I jokingly call my mind

and tongues of flames

marked by words

beckon me.

Chasing dreams?

Perhaps you're right.

But, given the failures

at landing a normal job,

would you not truly say

that I did that

following your paths

to failure?

Four years,

trying to gain

a regular job again

all for naught to now

and still no hint comes

of when it ends

so I turn

back again.

Dusting off

the keys again,

settling the face into 

that grim, go away look

to keep the distractions down

and unleash uncouth side

to drive away

the distractions.

Parting ways,

I can see

coming soon for many

who will turn away again,

as I lay aside resumes

and pick up pen,

paper, and hope,

to write.

Damn you, 

if you chide

me for trying this,

for I have nothing left

to try on your paths,

but must walk mine,

alone if needed,

for now. 

Last bits

of wrapping up 

the old, wasted ways

of the man now dying

amid phoenix flames of rebirth

as Dave passes away

amid Dyfedd's rise

from ashes.

Or not, 

as the pipe

will sit cold, now.

No tobacco, no coffee left,

just the man and dreams

battling over the keyboard

for some tale

to come.

Despite it all,

I still have hope.

You ain't broken my will.

Just made me look

to another path

to walk. 

28February2015 - 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.

Another Day, Another Dance.

The old phrase
about steps forward
matched to ones
in other directions
leads me now
to believing truly
in Life's Dance.

Shifting around obstacles,
some moving about,
others stationary things,
I find myself
caught up daily
in this dance
around other's perceptions.

It's another day,
with new songs,
but the steps
remain so static,
one difficultly forward,
two side shifts,
and then backwards.

I cannot proceed
until others allow
this stupid party
to end gracefully,
and none seem
willing to stop
the preset motions.

Wondering what they
would do someday
if I refused
to play games
they feel necessary
to move around
this damned life,

After all, folks.
I'm a klutz.
One cursed with
two left feet,
and no longer
willing to prance
about this way.

Screw the music,
damn the moves,
and forget norms
set by others,
I change moves
and begin moving
forward only, determined...
to end it.

17Feb2014-A frustrated Dyfedd Rex.

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

More stuff being taken off blog to go into new project

Another 'words' project is coming... one that will be brutal to read, tough for me to honestly write, edit, and gather, but needs to be done. This is something a friend urged me towards this summer, and I am only ready to slam together now.

I'm calling this project: "Words from the Curbs & Under Cold Bridges", and it is a gathering of my poems and stories about being homeless,
Tonight, in one of my moments of rage and determination, I finally took that friend's advice, and started laying it out. This will not be some gritty thing to give folks hope, but one to offer a taste, and that is all you will get, a small taste, of what being homeless, jobless, and beaten down feels like. It will not win me friends, I'm sure. Some bridges already burnt during this period of my life will take further destruction, I'm betting, down to the very footings deep in murky waters that each side peered across before, and now have to try seeing through that crap filled water to repair. That is, if enough will survives on either side to do so.

Just a taste now, the opening section... of a work that will be ongoing even beyond the moment it finishes, 'cause this shit ain't over yet for me.

Every tale of woe starts somewhere. Mine started with the usual place for me. A moment of anger, being asked to lie by some corporate fool, who admitted in that same request that it would be lying, but for the good of the company. A company that stressed, until then, its ethics and standing in the world of commerce. So, I lost it, said very loudly some words discussing the requestor’s ancestry, habits, and soul’s probable destination, which lead to a request for my resignation. This started my downward spiral to the streets, an ugly chain reaction, which my temper did little to curtail. Hell, it kept pulling out the reactor control rods, draining the cooling pond, and tossing in more fissile thoughts. Yeah, in the beginning, it was all on me, apparently, as few think I should blame the screw-loose thumb-sucker who triggered it all.
Well, from there, the job hunt began, and like any other time I get pissed off, things kept going wrong, despite my best intentions. No job appeared, so, I was forced to do something drastic… This is the tale, not quite all in order, given by poems and stories I wrote along the way, on my blog, or never shared, that show how things went.
One thing, before I pass the baton to the next point in my life… I’ve seen a lot of stories online and in the mainstream media about folks who spent time homeless to understand it better. Not a single damned one of them can. You see, they all knew when their planned time on the streets would end. They never faced the real doubts, fears, anger, and frustration the REAL homeless do, day in, day out. If they wanted to wimp out, they knew home was still there, waiting for them. So, before you say “I went on the streets to see what it’s like, and I know…”, stop. Just stop. You ain’t got a clue. Few will. Unless they really went through it, with no hope of return, no fall back position to retreat to, and truly no home. All you got, at best, was a taste of the dangers, not the darkest moments, not by a damned sight. Stop fooling yourselves, and lying to others that you understand the true meaning of being homeless. You could walk home anytime… and did. The homeless don’t have that option.

Sermon’s over. Or, maybe, just beginning.

And for me, the first hints came when I had to start selling my possession to make rent. Something I’d done before, but never at the level this time around required. 

Like I said, this will be brutal. Both to read, and for me to write. But I'm tougher than you think, the real worry is are you going to be tough enough to read it, accept it, and understand it. 

20October2014 - A very pissed off Dyfedd Rex. 

I am no Frost - A poem about my skills as poet.

I am no Frost.
I lack the skills
to bend the words
to my intent.

To carry my feelings
and deeper meanings well
amid commentary on Life
as he did.

I am not Kipling,
not by damned sight.
Missing the deep insight
of the heart.

And that easy twist
to lay out Truths
we often miss out
seeing around us.

I lack the rhymes
that others craft skillfully
dealing out just words
in some manner.

I will never stop,
though others urge me
to lay aside pen,
just being me.

For words are me,
as much as blood
carrying something else out
from my soul.

I am Dyfedd Rex,
and still another guy
known to those met
as just Dave.

One last day posting
one last pass over
the tales and words
left to tell.

So far, it ends
on that jolly holiday
amid the winter snows,
when hearts warm.

That'll be The End
of the words, perhaps,
lest some spill over
into New Year.

But none will rise
to post in real-time
after two more sunsets,
for silence falls...

Needed silence, indeed.
Time to reflect upon
what I have said,
or not spoken.

We all withdraw inside
our shells at times,
so let me "turtle"
and find myself...

To see what failed
to come out before
and still needs lain
out for eyes...
besides the ones
in that mirror
which judge
most harshly
the guy
who meets them.

29September2014 - Dyfedd Rex.

Skills in Doubt... A poem of Life and Belief

I have my doubts

things that crawl through my soul

seeking to chew it up

then spew it back

onto that core

of myself.

It's not my writings,

not my job skills I doubt,

but the personal relations stuff,

where I rub folks

entirely wrong ways

every time.

Fears abound around me,

about my ability to read people

to see past their faces

and read the messages

the eyes send

amid interviews.

Worse thing rise up

when out on the cold streets

as I seek out safety

and wonder who there

I can trust

these days. 

My words on screen,

or of ink upon some paper

I know convey my thoughts,

but those across tongue

wander far astray

of targets.

Only one thing left

that I truly have misgivings about,

and that is my heart,

which never chooses well,

for my safety

or sanity. 

Yes, I am flawed. 

despite the projected image I have

of always being so "right"

and not giving in

to others demands.

Very flawed.

Yet, I keep on

moving through this life under burdens

not just this time around

but all those before

that others forget

I endured. 

And held out...

winning some how...

despite the odds...

over others wishes...

through those flaws.

22September2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Things I'll miss on weekends = A poem of walking away

Weekends once filled
spending time with a buddy
watching the various college and pro games
now will be silent times
communing with Nature.

Saturday's ache already
as the game nights fade
lost to my situation and growing isolation
even before heading to hills
to winter over.

Sunday morning coffee
the last few warm cups
are savored before I'm reduced to instant
and have to drink cold
those lonely cups.

Friday Bar Nights,
long ago abandoned by me
will be remembered during forced abstinence soon
as I seek only stars
for my company.

Dark roads ahead,
Dangers I cannot dream of
or have and still dare those trails
that will become my home
during snowy season.

These few things,
once taken for granted weekly,
I will miss out there, under skies
dark enough to allow stars
to be companions.

Wrapping it up,
shutting down my old lives
all of them, not just homeless days
to walk away with resolution
that things will
improve once
I'm alone,
and settled
into hole
like turtle
closing shell
to hibernate
until found
by Spring
and warmth.

Smoking Lizard is Driving - a poem written just for that failed idea of a poetry eBook

In the darkness,
as the road rolls
under my wheels,
empty-headed dreams rise.
On this highway
I know every dip
and twist now
so bloody well,
my mind wanders away
into fantastic Aethers.

It seeks something
for my next project
to work on
against the deep boredom
broken only by
the threat of deer
leaping onto pavement,
Reptile brain drives,
as others gallivant
into the dream worlds
seeking story ideas.

They rise up
out of lowland fogs
as we move,
the three part beast,
the smoking lizard
faithful at the wheel,
shaggy mountain man
eyes hunting threats,
as the wandering dreamer
dives into imagination.

Neurons gauzed thickly
by Aetheral fog banks
that hold secrets
or just strange bits
around which the bard
can build his tales
for telling later.
Or right now,
as I find myself muttering
bits of dialogue.

Despite the risks,
each trip this happens.
Wyoming whiteouts swirled
and the mind wandered
trusting elder remnants
of caveman and reptile
to use reflexes
as the dreamer
wanders amid that threat
seeking new visions.

Even severe thunderstorms
broiling across arid landscape
of High Plains
during the hot summers
never stopped quests
by my various egos
who each hold
some vital skill
that makes the tales
come to life.

This trip peaks,
along the Great Divide,
amid red clay
turned grey under moon
as tires thrum
the road's siren song
that calls me
back to reality
as the primitive bits
bathroom locations often.

After that break
the dreams return quick,
as we begin
that difficult, twisty part
of path home.
I crack the window
to gain air
fighting sleep off
as the lizard puffs
through my pipes.

Mountains around me
as we rise up
and descend repeatedly,
watching awestruck for moment
when the moon
sets beside streaking meteor,
which tickles ideas
inside my skull
and the dreams arise
one more time.

Across the sage-lands,
winding past lonely Evanston,
the body drives,
and all but dinosaur
circle around ideas
seeking to bag prey
he alone ignores,
knowing the dangers
of hunting those dreams
during dark journeys.

Entering a draw,
deep reddish orange cliffs
taking their hues
from the growing light
as swift twilight
overtakes the dark night
and me rolling
down this road.
Her light gives body
the reins back.

We all tumble
back into one being,
save the lizard
who clamps on pipe,
begging someone please
to load two more.
"We still have
those damned canyons,
and all the idiots
racing to work".

His warning works,
as I become one,
bits melding together
over cup of coffee
long since cold
bought along back trail
probably on prairies
I once called home
before these mountains captured
my roaming heart.

Weaving my way
up Silver Creek Canyon
I begin assembling
the guy others know
from those inside,
forcing them back together.
Crossing Parley's Park
the welding complete
as I become Dave
not Dyfedd Rex.

Emerging from canyons
the Great Basin spreads
before my eyes
under the grey dawn
my eyes seek
remains of inland sea
long since faded
to shallow lake
holding more salt within
than most seas.

The dream remain,
now a bit faded,
tattered thought bits
that I can weave
when chance allows
into poems perhaps,
or a story
if characters co-operate
and the smoking lizard
releases the wheel...
after parking car
before my home.
-August 2014 from kernel idea September 2010.

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.

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. 

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