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

Next Project of Poems and Words

So, with "Words from the Pipe & Under the Hat" just needing some format work to head to e-book, I am already pondering the next such project, which I feel should have a strong reflection on the time I spent homeless the last few years. Considering telling tales amid the poems, and dealing with the issues around those stuck in the ruts of homelessness and joblessness. Working title, as I tinker with this idea, is "Tales and Verse from the Curbs & Under Various Bridges", which seems to fit, and yet not fit.

Not set in stone, or convinced it can be done in the respectful way that is needed to both convey the issues and yet give hope of resolving some of them.

Then again, who better than one who has walked in those moccasins to tell the tales and dreams of such?

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. 

What Level Have I Reached - A poem of self-doubt.

There is now way I'm a pro,
not at this point in my life.
Writing is still a time-eating monster
that crawls out from under the rocks,
where I live and sleep most times,
to grab me with its broken fangs.
Revenge for using power tools when editing?

This is something I still am learning.
The stringing together of words and thoughts,
to convey where I am, my dreams,
not to mention the nightmares stalking me
as I wander the streets and libraries,
seeking a way out of my situation.
To a better life, sooner I hope.

Yet, am I still a rank amateur?
Untested by a paying byline, accepted submission
or attempt at the larger elusive game
called a book deal or story serialization?
Two poems seeing ink leave me questioning
whether to keep trying other writing ventures
or stay with what worked to date.

Semi-pro? Professional? Aspiring Writer? Or Dabbler?
Which is the title I truly deserve
at this point in my writing path?
Or is there something else floating around
to hang my hat and pride upon?
This is where I walk about now,
that place of indecision, crossroads of choice.

Poet? Author? Writer? A Storyteller? Something else?
Who knows which way I may head,
when the writing begins to pour out,
fingers dancing across these wearing out keys,
as I kill time between job applications.
Which way should I turn? I ask,
but my reflection refuses to give answer.

Things I enjoyed, now turning into chores,
yet I seem to improve each time.
I will always have the tales within
seeking release in some strange, painful way,
so I choose to press onwards, if cautious.
Seen pride take too many down fast
and God knows I am a klutz...

..prone to missteps even when walking about,
let alone when venturing into uncharted places
where your feet have no purpose treading,
let alone even existing amid stray thoughts
that seek release and semi-permanent recording
upon the dance of electrons moving quickly
along this network so very fragile.

Hell, who cares? The stories pile up,
carving their way out of my skull,
creating canyons in my head if dammed,
so open the sluice gates, releasing them
seems my only option for sanity's sake.
I will continue with this venture,
but will I step beyond? Not sure.

God may know, but He likes surprises.
18April2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Projects Update.

My life and projects are colliding, in weird ways. Everytime I get a head of steam worked up on a project, work falls into my lap. When the work ends, the boiler in my brain needs to be refired to get that steam back to power levels sufficient to carry on. But such is Life.

This is just an update today. No poems...yet.

I am currently dealing with 3 projects: two related, one unrelated. First is the Steampunk novel I did for NaNoWriMo last fall/winter. Its in 2nd draft/info-verify stage. Second is an Urban Fantasy short story that is in 5th draft, waiting for feedback from some folks reading it. Last is another urban fantasy short/novella (won't know how long until I get it flowing out, but aiming for short) with the same characters that cropped out of the first somehow.

So, yes, I am writing, just not what shows here. Then again... maybe I can. There is a short I did a while back where this character and some of his bits came from. I can share either the original I did for a forum writing challenge somewhere. Or I can rework it for what the character evolved into. Perhaps both?

We'll see. But that may create a 4th project. But I like being busy over being bored.

New Project Alert.... A short story of CRAPP...

So, this idea has been bouncing off the rocks in my head for a while now, and its flowing out today...
Imagine if the EPA had a special division to do the cleanups behind all the Vampire Slayers, Zombie Killers and Wizards that roam around in fantasy these days...
Then give the main character all my worst tendencies, amplified... and an attitude about bureaucracy that is beyond even mine. Make him a Luddite (Technophobe), only able to love women unavailable to him and hate paperwork even though its his mealticket.
Then toss in a division of the Army that creates problems all the time he has to clean up, two demons who follow him around and his dog, which has allergies to paranormal phenomenon and those with abilities in such.
Not sure where its going yet, other than out to Dugway Proving Grounds.... This may get ugly.

Restoration via the Park - A Poem of Walking Amid Life

I find my daily bit of peace
walking through and about the park
just absorbing the calm from life
feeling the breeze soothing my torn soul
as my smile returns watching waterfowl
who wander about on land and pond
and Nature herself speaks inside my heart
reminding me I am a living being.

The green of grass and trees soothes
as the flames of anger dampen slowly
stirred before by foolish things all do
not just others, but this idiot also
as I keep trying too hard to suceed
not seeing that life can be won slowly
until here amid naught but fresh air
the soft ground reminds me of joy.

Life has its burdens we all bear
but in a park you can find
a place to lay them down briefly
and reconnect with that joy once felt
when as a kid you came here
by watching others around you relishing it
or just finding moments of near silence
that allow your sanity and innocence restoration.

(24May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Updates and Notes

Well, I have a new tale, but unless it gets totally rejected out of hand, it will not be posted here. Sorry, folks, but this guy is making his try at the semi-pro writng market. I will keep you all posted as to whether this tale gets accepted or not, as well as something else still being shopped around.

Now, you should get chapter 7 of Clansman this weekend, and perhaps even chapter 9 from the rewrite of Billenius' Tale. Unless I get job, in which case, well, Clansman just needs a good edit, so I may still get it done, but no time promises.

Last, I am on my way to true insanity, working on 9 Works in Progress, which means don't stand close, if my brain boils over, the splatter will be ugly....
Its 4 novels in some stage of writing, four shorts in progress (counting Clansman) and a poem I am still not happy with. Its a Small Town America one, which is what makes it harder to do.
So, be well, hope to have folks enjoying tales soon, and please, leave a comment, even if its just using the buttons at the end of the tale or poem.
Sinc.,
-Dyfedd Rex