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.)

Poking holes in Philosophy

Wandering the Wilderness
above the valley sprawl
I take a deep breath
ground, center and all that crap
after dealing with some fools
whose mouths were better
when left shut.

Like starving leeches
they came into conversations
seeking to draw their points bold
by spouting off ideas that fail
logical and coherence tests
with blind abandon.

Our only defense
is dropping smart bombs
loaded with thought and knowledge
and let go the hilt
Poking holes in Philosophies
only imbeciles follow.

When the retreat
we sigh in relief
then laugh at things unleashed
from the mouths of fools
and the parries used
driving them away.

To this day
one stands out loud
for foot in mouth crimes
like "Assault with Intellectual Vocabulary"
and my personal favorite
someone "posthumously pontificating".

So I inhale
and listen to birds
wiser creatures than most credit
for while they chatter constantly,
they stick to subjects
they actually know.

(2Jun2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

yes, you will meet strange folks when on the street/in shelters. Not all have coherent thought processes.

Other Economies Yet Untaxed... a poem of the streets.

There are economics beyond any measure
that any Treasury man can wrap in numbers
transactions done in the shadows deep and dark beyond view
where the little men try breathing free
not bound by paper and plastic.
There things are measured much differently
not just in dollars and cents as others
but by rollies, bags, sandwiches, cans and other food items
as we trade what we managed to score
amid the streets and work done.
And if they ever try taxing
I want all that back monies owed me
for denied services, pay and other compensations I lost dout on
over this last year and those from before
so please, make that effort.... Fools.

(31May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Admissions and Denials - A poem of life

There are things you never admit
like what you think of others
if their outfits really interest you
or being lost in familiar settings.

There are things you should admit
breaking wind in very confined spaces
that you have some vile habits
and knowing where you are going.

Then there are things totally unknown
even to your self when seen
for they slide by under stealth
like BO and other such things.

There is a lesson here folks
never admit to having an opinion
for any who disagree with you
will call you crazy or ill.

But never admit to being stubborn
ignore that mea culpa with everything
for being muleheaded about things leads
to losing friends or voting foolishly.

(15May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Naughty, Naked, Nuclear Ninja-Nuns! - A poem inspired by a conversation with others

In the darkness the Evil thrived
Hiding amid the clouds of confusion
Raising all Hell over minor issues
Playing havoc with our internal politics
Until the Gods of Last Resort
Unleash their instruments of Sanity Redemption
(or perhaps Tools of Sanity Breaking).

Dancing across the posts amid electrons
Race Naughty, Naked, Nuclear Ninja-Nuns
With those deadly green atomic rulers
crafted with wily intentions for this
the tactical smiting of all asshats
who disrupt the flow of conversations
as dictated by Political Crotchety Fascist.

They leap and bound with joy
happy to be free to punish all
blazing measuring sticks just verdant blurs
as they seek knuckles to rap
or butts to swiftly smack hard
until once more chained amid clouds
behind our teary eyes and shame.

Winds of change will always blow
but deep inside we all harbor
demons in whimples and nothing else
to prance about with whistling sticks
all from stray words dropped here
that stir strange images within minds
made of slime and other media.
(28Apr2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Thanks to those who stuck these images into my head! Terri, Elysa and anyone else who tolerates me on the Authors Helping Authors group on Facebook.
But they can only take credit for the images, not the slime that came out of my head via fingers and keyboard... blame me for any psychological or psychic damages incurred.