Seasonal Exodus.- A Poem of the Streets and Homelessness.

With the warmer nights
the great exodus beings,
as the braver souls
come out of Shelters
seeking peace from noises,
and places violence free
to spend a night
under the starry skies
amid Spring's welcome return.

Each spring it happens
and not as stated,
but driven by beds
reduced to certain populations
as they try consolidating
the folks to places
where the services are
more easily accessed daily,
shunting some to streets.

Not all are troubled,
not all seek crime.
While many do bring
the substance abuse problems
with them each night,
a few are refugees
from the troubled areas
surrounding the homeless shelters,
wanting a hidey-hole.

We who dared elements
during the Winter's duration
now find our places
pushed by varying folks.
Some we might tolerate
if they just asked
instead of invading camps
demanding we let them
take them over now.

So it will go,
the war of vagabonds,
as the summer arrives
it will get worse.
All we can do
is hold the line
and pray the worst
head some place else
besides our sleeping places.

Some we welcome returning,
Drifters passing back by
who we know well,
or those weather forced
into the shelters warmth
due to health issues,
or just the weariness
the streets grind us
with each passing day.

Myself, I will resign
myself to hearing snores
as two per camp
means one more chance
to hear the approach
of evil intended feet
sneaking up to steal
your gear to fund
a drug addict's binge.

So, good-bye sound sleep,
it's been somewhat nice,
but the season changed
when you slept in,
and now the lurkers
will wander about town
seeking new, fresh prey
or old familiar faces
to hunt each night.

7April2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Dangers Rise Up - A poem of the streets

Dangers rise up
as the cold builds
and Winter reaches out claws
to rip up sup
as we wander.

Currently, we wonder
who is our stalker
and rumors talk of one
who likes stabbing backs
with real knives.

I don't venture
west of Third West
myself now that my allergies
rage up so easily
so it's hearsay.

Or is it?
Been warning folks lately
about the new, darker element
that walks the streets
of Salt Lake.

Now, at night
I do worry some
about those guys I know
who have gone back
to the shelter.

And those campers
who brave that area
at about the same time
as these crimes occurred
at Coffee Line.

Eyes narrowed warily
I survey those about
seeking some clue, but fail
to see where threats
may be waiting.

Oh, I see
some that cause concern
but none match what happened
or am I blinded
by my misconceptions.

So I walk
with a different gait.
Hiding the bum knee's pain
to make the target
look less inviting...
and warn friends
to beware.
7November2013 - Dyfedd Rex

The Drug Storm Rolls On Around Us All - A poem of the streets, even yours perhaps.

I've heard a lot lately.
Rumbles from Hell's Block,
Whispers from City Creek
and warbling cries on streets.
But this morning's eavesdrop
gave me a clue it is indeed
as bad as those trapped
down on Rio Grande say.

Went in to the Sev,
noted freshly broken tank lid
on the throne I borrowed
to avoid a Public U violation.
Commenting to the clerks
they told me the story
of the guy who danced in
and back out too often.

But the real horror here,
is what else he did
leaving his junkie needles,
called points by many street-folk,
on the phone booth outside,
in the trashcan inside
and guess why the porcelain broke?
Yep, even in there, I guess.

Some folks in Outreach admit
it will only get worse now
as funding is up in air
and volunteers leave them
short-handed during the busy season
as the druggies and drunks
turn to rehab to stay warm
until their next big relapse.

Seen evidence all around,
like yesterday morning at CandC
where two camped on the sidewalk
at the corner of State and 4th south
waking up to panhandle
their fellow homeless,
as no one else was about
or yell at passing cars.

Ether and dog crap smells
rule the Library restrooms
and there is no safe place
to escape things I want to avoid
due to my allergic reactions
to the recreational chems of others.
The guards here try their best
but are totally outnumbered.

Skunky odors warn me off
from the smoker's corner
far too often here of late,
as the dopers return in droves
from the camps and hideaways
to hold hands out during give-aways.
Mouth wash smell spells dangers
as some drunks sink that low.

Seen soap dispenser spigots
broken off and used for rocks
last winter and early spring,
so I wonder what destruction
this coming cold season carries
as it wraps around the mountains
in clouds as bleak and ominous
as the mood I now am in.

Tweakers jitter about nervously,
who knows which cocktail
sets off their rapid pacings
and mutters of obscenities.
Some sit slumped over,
victims of the near seizure
the hand sanitizer drinkers
call their precious highs.

Every where I look these days
I see the signs of abuse
and the toll on those using
as well as the society around.
Not to mention the devastation
I'm sure their families suffer
worried about their lost sheep
but not enough to really act.

Over the last two years
I've seen it getting worse.
When I first went homeless
the hills held only the drunks
and occasional stoner camps
they always had in past,
but now, more dangerous breeds
are moving around the streets.

They prey upon society
hunt out those who won't share
the highs, lows and money
they seem to always need.
They trash the caches used
by those not among their ilk
and ruin it for those of us
who have not managed escape.

Welcome to your dark underbelly,
oh you of Society's prudes.
The very ones preaching like you
are the ones using narcotics,
abusing booze and prescriptions,
and experimenting dangerously
with household cleaning products
to find the face of God.

25September2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Driven Down - A Poem of Homeless Desires

Driven Down

Been months,
but it still hurts.
Losing camp
to other folks' idiocy.
Driven down,
forced to "Urban Camp".
Not happy,
can't sleep well lately
as longing
for the open places
takes hold
and refuses to release.

Too long
without a silent night.
No peace,
no time left alone.
Always someone
ghosting about scoping me.
No release
from the City's tension,
no freedom
to sit smoking quietly
gazing down
at Salt Lake's lights.

Miss darkness,
not to mention crickets
who serenade
you to deep sleep.
Well, yeah,
but hundreds, not handfuls.
Yearning for
the deer to watch
like sentinels
on a castle wall,
over me
as I finally rest.

Needing it,
I look that way
each day,
feeling my camps calling
stirring desires
for those safe havens
I'd carved
out for just myself
even if
others felt I shouldn't
be there
even under the sun.

Can't wait
for eyes to turn
back downtown
to the shelter area
where trouble
seems to like congregating
so I
can slip back up
spread out my roll
lay down
and find some peace.

Damn, folks.
Just let me go.
It's not
like you want me
down here
holding a sign often
or sitting
in the library daily.
Grant me
just a few nights
each month
with some blissful solitude.

Ain't like
it's a big bill.
After all,
my camp was clean;
no bugs,
no piles of trash
just backpacks
cached for the day
so I
could rest my back
a bit
from their heavy burden.

Want it.
Need it, more likely.
Feeling anger
overwhelming my broken soul
seeking destruction
of me and others.
So if
I manage to disappear
don't pout
just let me recover
from pain
inflicted by your brethern.

26August2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Seven-Poppa Situation in Humor - A poem of streets and poor planning by others.

It was a seven-poppa situation.
Those who know that military phrase
can chuckle over that, ducking heads,
while everyone else looks around confused.

The race put up no signns
for directions around the closed areas
where the festiveal blocked the way
and construction prevented a safe passage.

With just a little more forethought,
They could have avoided the chaos
or having the homeless give directions
on finding their Start-Finish line!

So, this guy flew a kite
telling them the signed for 10K!
Three just finding the Registration Booth,
five ran, two back to cars!

Got some smiles, a few dirty looks
and even a bunch of laughs
on telling them you knocked off
half K cutting past the C&C.

Still thinking I oughta bill 'em
for providing entertainment and good directions
over not staging their own voluteers
strategically along the proper route there.

So next time you see me,
the guy in that battered hat,
Remember, I tried to help out,
and toss me a friendly wave!

22June2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Call of the Elephant - A poem of anger management gone to ego inflation.

Mom will probably invoke
that dreaded Rule One
as the towers rise
in the sky above
tempting me to dance.

The Elephant stalks today
calling me to cavort,
with black clouds rising
over the mountain ranges
yet to drift near.

Do those thunderheads soar
in response to moods
I feel down here?
Or is my anger
fueled by resonating rumbles?

Above me they rise,
like angry gods' fists,
as air spirits toss
their spite to mortals,
and occassionally, the Finger.

I feel their call,
to dance under anvils
where Thor's hammer falls
and lightning races beneath,
something I've always known.

Am I so powerful?
To raise those tempests?
Or is that vanity,
twisting me around wickedly
on her fickle fingers?

I need those storms
to break across me,
cleansing my soul again
of worry and stress,
leaving my slate clean.

But I know not,
even deep within me,
if I call them,
or they beckon me
to a doom fore-ordained.

Watching, I feel turbulence,
not just amid atmosphere,
but that dark place
others still have hearts,
calling out in anger.

Break, oh might storm,
let that old beast
flick his tail now,
towards me or away
that I may know....
... is it just me, or real?

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex between lines of boomers forming still.

Bird of Sunset in Nature's Temple - a poem of Nature and Civilization's Meeting

Amid the bustle of the city
things fall to the waysides fast
and we forget where we originated
until we touch the urban interface
where the wild still comes out.
Even if it's just the backyard
where an open handful of seeds
can bring down bits of sky
as the bird of sunset's flame
settles down on soft fingers
to feast upon offerings to Nature
amid her temple we never see
unless we awake, opening our eyes.

8December2012 - Dyfedd Rex
A person on twitter shared a picture of feeding a cardinal from someone's hand... and this came from it and their caption. I hope to get permission to link to the picture... but imagine it if you have to.

Edited 9 Dec for adding this link to the photo! thanks for letting me Liza! Enjoy her art too!
https://twitter.com/LizasArt/status/277488128162418688/photo/1

Wilderness Withdrawal... a poem of Nature

It sneaks up on us
after our return
the withdrawal pains
as what we just saw
finally sinks in
and our hearts shatter
at leaving that place
the Wilderness deep
where thinking was all
we could do at night
amid Nature's glory.
So it always is
we know not the loss
until the moment
we face that construct...
....civilizaion.

15November2012, missing the Wilderness himself a bit
-Dyfedd Rex