Some Parting Thoughts

One last post after this one, that is all, folks, unless some miracle occurs.

So, here are some parting thoughts.

I hope those who visited more than once did so for enjoyment, not obligation, spite, or for proof the homeless are worthless. I wish more of my favorite poems had more hits, but such is the ways of the Fates, cruel wenches they are. If you want to see my best, it is called Deerboy on a Bicycle, in my opinion. A firm "Tip of my Hat" to those who read and enjoyed, spreading the word by sharing the blog. Thank you.

I'm sure many felt my "drama-queen" attitude the last few weeks was just a cry for attention, and they are right, but not as thought. The posts were to bring your attention to the fact that your Society is broken, terribly. I've been saying for the whole time I was homeless that you cannot end homelessness without giving at least those trying to rejoin your world a chance, and few gave me the chance, none offered the time it would take to repair the breach between me and your Society. Yes, YOUR Society, not mine. The one I stood up for, wearing woodland camo on one weekend a month for nine years, believed in "Justice for ALL" not Injustice to the poor, and Corruption's Rule.

Yes, Corruption's Rule, the corollary to Mob Rule, where those with influence use it to enrich themselves at the expense of the freedom, dreams, and lives of others.

So many I knew screamed about Mob Rule, and how it would destroy America, all the while using Corruption's Rule to ensure that the Mob Rule would be indeed unruly, rancorous, and tainted with crimes, to hide their own.

I was trying to get your attention to the issues, and that treating only the symptoms, not the root causes, dealing with only the "experts", not those in the situation, while trying to fix it might make things worse. And does, to be honest. You want to reduce homelessness, talk to the homeless, get their take on what road blocks are there, what they endure in getting off the streets or out of the shelters, and be supportive of them when they do, don't just forget them and move on.

Also, to those trying to help other homeless out of their situation, if they have an artistic skill, and try to use it for getting out of the pinch they are in, LET THEM! Don't decry those attempts, especially, if like me, they say it is a fall back plan, to have at least some way to earn a few coins to eke by their miserable lives on. Urging them to use it as supplementary income is okay, but do NOT block them from moving on with those skills, and trying to gain back some cash for their art.

Last, I've spoken my last bits about your messes, folks. They are your messes now, not mine. Today is the drop dead date for a job. That said, I have little faith in any appearing, and less in my ability to hold it, as part of the agreement I settled out was to hit the streets, or hills, so there is no place that is stable in my life to live from, if I were to accept one. I'd try, but without showers, laundry, and the like until that first paycheck? No, it would not be fair, to the employer, their customers, or me.

Like I said, one more to go, no more rants, no more anything really, left in me. Save two things.
Goodbye, good luck, and take one last whiff as I pass of what belongs in a pipe.

oh, and yeah, I am burning, and will keep burning via canned postings here, the rights to much of the writing I did during this last few years. I that pissed off, I'm tossing all this to the winds, forgoing the money I might have had a chance at, just to show a few people I thought were my kith and kin that I was not just sitting on my ass doing nothing. At least, not most days. Bestcase, them being right,  this was a few hundred bucks, worst case, I just burnt a few million, and fame, to show them up. Yeah, when I get pissed, the monetary loss for a little taste of vengeance, which I've held back, numerous times from taking, and they knew it, is something I will stoop to. Congrat's, people. You finally have me furious.

Answering the Question of Who Am I? - A poem of self reflection and friends

Who are U? She asked.
Which stirred my murky soul
into a roiling mess of questions
about what I really am,
to her, myself, and others.
So, I had to answer the call
and define myself outside
the boundaries of social media
into that realm more spiritual.

I am but a figment
of my own wandering imagination.
Stirred out into the world
beyond that strange, solitary realm,
by the dipping of friends' fingers
into muddy waters of that unreality,
calling me up to support those
needing words to soothe their souls
or enrage them to action.

I am the smoke
that sails from my pipe,
irritating the hypochondriacs noses,
yet stirs Memories in those
who had beloved relatives and friends
that odor calls back to them
from the place beyond this life,
to lay ghostly hands upon shoulders
in gentle support against Life's pressures.

I am but a dream
shared with some in brief moments
of vivid colors or monochrome starkness,
across the new aethers dreams rule,
called an internet and social media.
Evoked by prompts, teased back by images,
to weave the smoke and words together
amid the grids of Reality's structures,
and show you worlds beyond it.

I am the wanderer,
walking the streets and trails,
seeking a place called home
that never materializes in quite the way
others think should be there for me.
But, accepts what he has gained,
until the next time feet itch
and the roads and paths summon me
to wander their wonder lined ways.

A silent lurker around the word ponds,
I hunt the prompts and images
that stir my inner bard to compose
words or tales quite strange.
Then toss them into rivers of electrons
for others to enjoy and be inspired
towards raising their own voices
into song, prose, or verse
to lift even more souls up.

I am just imaginary,
conjured up by you,
in those moments when
you need a friend.
Built from the streaming bytes
that dance along cables
into something not quite me...
and yet totally is me,
at least, as you see me.

3September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, with HUGE tip of the hat to my internet friend Nunya for prompting this out of me, not the first poem she's tickled out with some bit she shares and pushes out there. Thanks, Ms. Bidness. Or is that Muse Bidness?

Fairer Winds Blowing - A poem of better times that came at last

After the long cold,
true warmth enters my life
giving me hope of better days
as the winds of fate
shift to fairer directions.

I've done my time
of being a homeless bum
and won't need to hold signs
this winter for hot coffee
as a job came.

And that started avalanche
of change in those winds,
as they kicked me from duldrums
back onto the trade lanes
where things look hopeful.

A short story sold.
A poetry e-book almost ready
to offer for sale real soon,
and that was the flap
of Fate's butterfly wings.

Now, I steer careful.
Have the stars showing clearly
where I am, where I'm going,
and just have to remember
where I once was.

This ends one chapter
in the tale I'm living.
The one that tore me up,
beat me down to earth,
then lifted me up.

There are friends waiting,
ones still needing that hand,
like I once did, during this.
Folks I need to thank
when I get chance.

Including my readers here.
For lifting my spirits up,
for keeping my passions burning bright,
and most of all believing
in a homeless bum.

I'm free of it,
others are not, so remember
when you pass some worn panhandler,
this poet has been there,
and asks most kindly
that you not
ignore them,
insult them,
but give them hope.

Like you did me.
17August2014 - Dyfedd Rex, Riding some good waves and winds, headed.... to a home.

This is my season.
When the meteors race
across the warm nights,
God's own fireworks show
better than any man-made,
over the few fireflies
dancing over the grass.

I love this time
spent outside in darkness,
staring up at stars,
dreaming of better days,
some in memories only,
others things never happening,
or still to come.

The hot, dog days,
when smoke taints skies
with orange hues throughout,
and the moon hides
let you see them
those trails of light,
Mother Nature's nightly skyrockets.

I like to lie
out under that attraction,
or sit up smoking,
letting the world fade
into that deep black
laying betwixt shimmering points
and just enjoy it.

As dusk falls slowly
the sunset colors blaze,
some nights distant storms
(or ones much closer)
flicker and flare about
like the insects hovering
over fields and lawns.

Some nights stay hot,
others cool off fast,
yet there is always
that show up there,
slowly moving from East
to West's faint glow,
which gives such pleasure.

Call me a fool,
say I'm a bum,
but you cannot find
anywhere on this Earth,
a better free show
than the skies perform
on hot summer evenings.

So, step outside, folks,
look up past glows
your cities cast high
into the dust above
and watch for them,
faint trails and races,
or brilliantly colored fireballs.

Better yet, join me
beyond the light pollution
out in the wilderness,
or some other place
where there are still
just a few lights
scattered far and about.

Look up, and relax,
breath deep, allergies permitting,
and let the tensions
of your daily life
flow off with each
of those fiery trails,
it will feel good.

And, no one complains, if you doze off...
Unlike the theaters or concerts.
Well, if you snore, the crickets and cicadas will,
for ruining their nightly recitals.
22July2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Long after that Giant Leap, we still are "Groundhogs". - A poem of Sci-Fi and Space

Being a science fiction fan,
back in my formative days,
I have some pressing questions
to ask of all around.
And top of that list,
the one showing my gender.
Where the hell are the skin-tight space-suits?

Now, stop shaking your heads,
all you ladies out there,
as I know you wonder too,
where the heroic guys are,
having seen romance novel covers.
And that don't end it.
Where the hell is my flying car now?

As we celebrate this day
something I actually remember, vaguely,
that man walked off Earth,
our first pioneers leaving footprints boldly
in the grey lunar dust,
I just have to ask things,
Like when do we get space vacations?

Look, I'm just pointing out
that we have some things
so many laughed at then,
when in books or comics.
Dick Tracy's TV watch thing,
and flip-phones from Star Trek,
So, when will we colonize other star-systems?

Wait, they did that already,
over in Japan just recently,
though it still costs tons.
But still, of the dreams
Science Fiction offered us all,
What others still languish sadly,
Like when can we travel the stars?

Still no moon-bases to visit,
no zero-G sports channels,
we lack the vision now
to press on beyond low-orbit,
but I hope someday soon,
we each live those tales,
but I still want my own planet.

Buzz, You asked a question
Where was I at when
you walked on the moon?
Mister Aldrin, glued to TV,
Dreaming of being an astronaut
when the four-year-old body dozed.
Now, Can you get NASCAR to hold....
Lunar Buggy races on Fiftieth Anniversary?

Just joking (okay, I'd go),
But, folks, these are only
the first steps to take,
on our long journey ahead,
to spread out across space,
realizing that writers went first,
If only in tales mom's screamed over,
when they saw the racy covers bearing
gals in skin tight suits moon walking.

So, press on, you dreamers,
aim high, comic book readers,
we might not get super-heroes,
but we hold the potential
for most science fiction stories
to appear at last factual,
save that one bit about us nerds
always getting the girl in the end.

She'll always follow the money, fellas.
Unless we show them our brains.

20July2014- Dyfedd Rex, still wanting to have a batting cage on the Dark Side of the Moon, where can I buy that franchise at?

Okay, seriously, yes, a lot of the sci-fi tales are proving out slowly, and I know, the fiction was getting budgets to balance and pass quickly and consistently, that would let us live on the moon someday, sooner in tales than reality. But still, we got the guts, the tech, the brains, the desires, and most of all, the dreams.

And, thanks to the last few decades, we have the sparks lit in our youth, even if dimmed a few times by the reality that space is a dangerous place, and getting up there, and back down more so. But we should press on, and soon. I'd like to try space travel myself, before the ol' body gives up the ghost.

 So, Besides the batting cage, where can I get the moon's first liquor license at, so I can open the first, true bar in space?
And, Buzz, if you see this, I tip the battered brown hat to you and the others who have been in the Black (in terms of my favorite sci-fi show. One of my first memories is of the landing at Tranquility.  I wish things had gone different enough that I'd be on the moon right now, serving you a beer for the celebration, but I'd take the keys from your Lunar Rover, if I did, leaving them in that jar on the back-bar. Gotta have some responsibility. I can see you sitting down with Han Solo, James T. Kirk, Jean-Luc Picard, Malcolm Reynolds, Mister Garibaldi, and some others, tossing one back, as we celebrate making the first steps to their worlds, or our versions of the dreams those characters inspired in us, as did you, Neal, and the rest of the NASA astronaut corps and those other space pioneers out there. And I promise to make Han and Mal check their blasters/guns at the door.
And, thank god we have yet to see....
Asimov's robotic detective (other than on the silver screen)
Heinlein's practical joker computer (then again, seen a lot of checks with extra zero's issued by number crunching boxes).
Clarke's big monolith (but I really hope I live long enough to see a Beanstalk that works!).
Herbert's Butlerian Jihad and the mess it would create.
Whedon's Alliance and the Reaves they made.
and all the other bad things that we'll probably screw up and do anyway.


Oh, and everyone else. Keep the dream alive. Show your kids those stars, and dare them to get there.

And maybe, just maybe, we will come again in peace, to the moon, and many, many other places.
Except the bars. We know we'll have fights between the Trekkies, Browncoats, and Lucasites over which ships are faster. Guess I'll need Doc Savage as a bouncer.
-D.R.

Unexpected Gifts - A Poem of the Streets

It sometimes happens,
holding that cardboard after dark,
the kindness of strangers expands beyond expectations
leaving me to stand stunned
that others notice.

I never aim
for more than tomorrow's needs
as I "fly my kite" most times,
just want some hot coffee
after I rise.

Then events turn
after a slow evening standing
with just enough for half my goal
that a twenty slides out
a lowered window.

You thank them,
deeply moved, suffering some guilt
at needing to do this begging often
as Unemployment was firmly denied
when this began.

It leaves impressions,
and a motivation to succeed
at getting back on your own feet
so you can start recovering
by paying forward.
21January2014 - A grateful Dyfedd Rex, who won't fly for over a week now.

Momento Mori Salvaged Safely - A poem of my anxieties (yes, I have a few, strange ones)

He was saved,
lifted at the last moment
away from that dreaded corner waste basket
to live on a bit
until given rest.

Worn, battered oilskin
held together I sometimes think
only by my will and residual smoke
that permeates his failing form,
barely holding cohesion.

That old hat,
it holds many dear memories
and some I'd much rather leave behind
but that isn't my way,
or Santayana's advice.

You must learn,
from mistakes one has made,
and this tattered covering for my head
traveled those paths with me
as I wandered.

So, he remains
to someday take up residence
in a case like some memento mori,
to remind in future days
where I walked.

Taking care now,
to keep him at hand
for that day, hopefully not far off,
when that yet crafted container
can hold him...
safe from further harm,
able to remind me,
once I was homeless.

6January2014 - Dyfedd Rex, relieved his traveling companion was not 86'd by friends with good intentions.

The Hat Was Retired - A Poem of Worry and Thanks

Retired.
The best way
to describe what happened recently
to my hat.
Retired.

Unceremoniously.
Tossed aside casually
by my friends who cared
just about looks.
Regretfully.

Gone.
No case awaits,
despite my plans to contrary
for it's residency
within.

See,
I wanted her
to stay around to remind
this boy of
travails.

But
others had plans
that leave me pondering deeply
if she got
Respect.

So
I sit writing
under the new hat slowly
praying others recognize
me.

For
my Identity Card
she was for these years
as I wandered
streets.

Yet
A new hat
leads me to hope fervently
that better days
await.

Still,
I miss it.
She had character and memories,
despite worn brim,
cherished.

Hope.
That remains now,
for me to grasp firmly
as I tip
replacement.

Rest in Peace, old oilskin,
and may your successor
last as long.
Farewell.
30December2013 - Dyfedd Rex, with thanks and misgivings both.

Dangling Tattered Threads - A poem of celebration

You'd be surprised
at how tattered a thread
you can hang hopes upon
when you're homeless.

Little things grow
into wonderful moment sin life
like finding yourself alive still
when sun rises.

Today it happened
that my moment finally arrived
and I found great news
waiting amid emails.

An Acceptance Letter,
just a little, tiny thing
that changed my day totally
into something brighter.

Not a job
but a story I submitted
being green lighted for publishing
in an anthology.

It's not much,
at least not to most,
but for me, right now,
it is enough.

Thanks, and yes
I eagerly said "Hell Yeah!",
leaping at that frayed rope
leading somewhere else...
...hopefully much better.
8October2013 - an elated Dyfedd Rex.

Well, it happened. I opened my e-mail today, and found an acceptance letter for a short story I wrote this year.

Does this change my situation any? Not yet, sure improves my attitude and outlook a bit, though.

So, here is a tip of the hat to the folks who accepted it, will post full details once they are finalized and have the outlet you can get the anthology "Weapon of Mass Demoralization Test" appears in from!

Now, excuse me while I do my Snoopy at supper time impersonation. Then it's back to the grind to see if I can write my way out of being homeless, instead of waiting for someone to hire me.

Thoughtfully Bemused and Thankful - A poem of weather and the streets

Today, the Lake is "on",
which means the warm waters
out to the city's west
breath out moist, dark breaths
forming clouds and rain showers
that carve the mountains down
through optical sleight of hand
to dark and long mesas
punctuated at the clouds' seams
with lone straggler island peaks,
and the big canyons spread
wide as a monster's mouth
seeking to consume the valley.
Despite the ill weather outside
the Library lays calm, abandoned,
by most of the regulars.
Perhaps the weather locked them
within other walls for today,
or they braved the elements
to fly their kites quickly
before the darkest roiling streams
off the Great Salt Lake
bring rain to the city,
ruining their weekly cash cow
of payday on a corner.
I won't need to fly,
got a helluva shock earlier,
when a stranger came up
handed me a goodies bag
and pressed fiver to palm
saying he'd been here himself.
All I can do is
say something here with reverence.
"Thanks, Pal. Every bit Helps."
And someday, hopefully, pay forward,
as I tip the hat.

27September2013 - Dyfedd Rex in thoughtful bemusement.

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.)

Aromatic Sorcerous Enchantments and My Blends!

Dave's Tobacco Blends....

Rum Raider = 2:2:1 ;  Black Cavendish, Natural Cavendish, Buttered Rum Burley
Hobo Cherry Balls = 1:2:2:5 ; Cherry Cavendish, Black Cavendish, Black Truffle, Whiskey Cavendish
Hat Wizard's Mocha =1:1:1:1.5:0.5 ; Black Truffle, Mellow Mocca, Black Cavendish Natural Cavendish, Whiskey Cavendish
All based off a 2.5 oz pack at purchase. 
What will I tinker with next? Who the hell knows... Thinking a Chocolate Whiskey thing straight up or a Pure Black Cav Mocca... but letting the mind perk this over a bit more. These smoke great in briers  but were best in my Osage Orange wood brier from Kansas.

Black Cav is still my goto tobacco
but here of late, I've been experimenting
touching on other flavors and different cures
seeking that perfect blend for all occasions.

From the under the hat it drifts
the smoke from my last few pipes,
seeking to enthrall folks by aromatic sorcery
to make them see someone not here.

This is now my Life's great mission
to show the world I still exist
a lonely gentleman from forgotten past era
walking among the world still, with pride.

So I tip my hat at the ladies,
make the kids laugh at my faces
and wander amid streets of Yule's joy,
leaving some to wonder if Grandpa returned...

... or Santa wants his own pipe back.
Season's Greetings all! And No, I won't share,
save the bits of odor left behind
as this homeless bum walks amid you.

20December2012 - Dyfedd Rex

Thoughts roamed away - a poem of cold mornings

It got away...
I had this idea
just the gist of a poem
rolling around amid the skull boulders
but removed my hat
letting it escape.

I chased around
looking like a fool
trying to track damned thing down
but it left so few tracks
amid the light dew
never found it.

Sitting down now
waiting nervously to see
if it will wander back here
under its own or never again
wishing just one thing..
Warmer morning air....
so I can write things down.

8December2012 - Dyfedd Rex

Cowboy bondage romance novels - A poem from a tweet I saw.

Rounding up the words in her corral
she crafts braids them like her lariat
into a beast rarely seen back east
creating for fun cowboy bondage romance novels.

Running before the crazy chuck wagon driver',
seeking more meat and beans to mix in
along with the grit from riding drag
to give it a truly authentic taste .

Then into the sunset she rides off
seeking the next wild bronco to ride
leaving behind her brand seared in hides
still smoking from this fanciful passing through.

Not seeing the big debate she started
among the cowgirls still working the roundup
of whether to let the boys free
or leave them victims to her bulldogging.

(19May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

And a tip of the hat to @ActuallyAisha for the promt on this on!

Drive-by Flamers in Upside-down Beemers - a poem about flame tossers

Background: So, there was this person who flamed and flounced on a writing group I have an association with... and reading some of the comments, I realized I missed some great groans and laughs as it went down on the sidelines and I missed it... until the "Strike Three" call was issued....
This was my take on the way it may have went, from the banter I entered into.... and if the person who flounced don't like it, tough... unlike the others, being homeless has given me asbestos boxers (okay, I wear jockey styles, but still....) so blast away.

From the shady internet alleys
their fiery projectiles of words fly
as they duck silently in
only to flee faster yet
tipping over the virtual wheels
as they take the exit
way above the posting speed
and trash their imaginary Beemer
(the real one already upside-down)
into the guardrails of etiquette
of the boards they defile
as they do their drive-by's
to deflate other folks' egos
with hateful and inappropriate posts
while impersonating folks with skills
they never demonstrate bits of
despite pumping their own press
thinking the bigger the balloon
the better their chances are,
not seeing the flames igniting
the cattle by-product they sling
nor the fall to come
over Polite Discourse's steep cliff.
Leave your own requiem, please.
(22Apr2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

This one was made for a friend, who in the course of a converstion we had, laid the query out, and I answered, only to have that 2x4 called inspiration smack me upside the head about the idea laying within.

Q: why can't everything else go as smoothly!
A: Cause Life and Fate refuse to learn the reading of the choreography we lay out for them!

It never goes smoothly
this dance with Life
because Fate separates us
trying to cut in
and the leading lady
refuses to even learn
the most basic steps
or any choreography now
that she understands indeed
how popular she is
among we still seeking
to find our ways.

Each song the same
start out on floor
lady on my arm
then some event intrudes
by Fate's evil hand
to take me away
leaving those ladies dancing
together with nasty grins
as I head off again
to put out fires
set in my life
by my dance partners.

My sole remaining satisfaction
comes from my genes
as those oversized treads
they cursed me with
find their delicate toes
as I turn away
leaving the parquet floors
to be their playground
as I wander about
stubbing toes in wilderness
with too many rocks
and holes seeking ankles.

She ain't so fair
that Lady called Life
and Fate is Mean
when not being fickle
but still I dance
with them each night
for they have me
set aside from others
forbidden to build relationships
with any human soul
who might even read
a dance card correctly.

Oh what the Hell,
next time my plan
is more than wicked
approaching down right nasty!
I will stand up
and grab their hands
hauling both out together
and avoide the embarassment
by dancing with two
instead of just one
and thus I may
make the song's end....
...unless I trip over my own two feet.
(2011 -Dyfedd Rex)