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.

Suffering Sojourns of Users - a Poem of the Streets

The addicts are restless, today.
Why, one never can tell,
with the mood swings suffered
from their drugs of choice.
They are either dancing high,
or deeply immersed in paranoia
seeking new places to use
as doors begin closing hard
against their visits by day.

Two were recently behind me
here in the Main Library,
one so tightly wound up
he could not sit still
if his life depended upon it,
while other hunkered over "fixings",
claiming to clean his backpack
but complaining about the "tar"
as he fidgeted in chair.

Others roam around the area,
raging over things as small
as one not loaning lighter
to one seeking his high,
or just mumbling while waiting,
and some get too bold
panhandling only their fellow homeless
for smokes or spare change,
too lazy to "fly" themselves.

They keep trying to wiggle
into conversations and safety packs,
awaiting their chances to poach
a conversation into some rant
about how the cops persecute
them over their bad habits.
The worst are there "shopping",
looking over your gear constantly
for something to quickly steal.

Not sure if I'll survive
with my sanity partially intact
if they keep milling around
seeking to draw me in
to embrace their strange culture
that I find so repulsive
giving me a small insight
as to how others view
my tobacco pipe from afar.

Wish there was a place
where you never need worry
about who ghosts around you,
using others for some concealment
as they do "Their Thing"
in such place often frequented
by kids seeking some joy
amid the books and media
almost as if they're recruiting.

That drive to be high,
is something I don't get.
At least not that way.
I settle for my coffee,
an occasional smoke break taken
when eyes I trust somewhat
can watch my two bags,
which is more, by far,
than these users carry around.

Most spread out about Three,
heading off to buy again,
perhaps cadge a few coins
to fund their strange hazes,
moving with no clean clothes
not caring about their appearance
as pants sag too low
and they pull shirts high,
almost off, just to scratch.

The short respite now here,
I lay this question out.
Where is this Drug War?
The little attempts I see
oft prove merely fool's gold.
During most busts around here
dozens more deals are made
within feet of the cops
busting the few they catch.

But, I cannot stand judge
over those I barely understand,
but only take some precautions
against sudden violence boiling over
or theft of my stuff
as they drift about today
without a discernible time table
for their ebbs and flows,
just sudden, annoying, bothersome sojourns.
5Feruary2014 - Dyfedd Rex, and yes, I'm suffering allergic "itch" issues after the latest. Mild, but annoying and making me cranky.

Drifters' Season - A Poem of the Streets

Like an over-due migration,
the Drifter's Season is upon us
out here on the cold streets
as the homeless begin moving
seeking greener pastrues now
with the end of Giving Season.

Some are just discouraged,
beaten down too many damned times,
denied a chance to find footing
that let's them rejoin stand up
with just some dignity
as they claw back into Society.

Others are always movers,
drifting from place to distant place,
seeking to remain in perpetual obscurity,
to continue their evil ways,
be it criminal actions
or drug abuse and alcoholic bouts.

Been told fervent good-byes
four times in as many days.
Folks heading to places seeking warmth,
job opportunities, or just leaving.
Happens about every January,
this strange migration to other places.

Some just outright disappear,
no farewells or warning to others,
just fade off into the distance
leaving friends with no clue
if they are safe,
as they leave town in silence.

Before next full moon
I expect to see fewer folks
I know among the milling crowds
as they drift away slowly
each to some place
where they feel a chance awaits.

So, Safe Journeys, Travelers.
Keep the faith as you leave,
and if it don't work out,
remember, we'll still be around
though our own feet
might feel that itch to travel.

And if we stay,
don't chastise us for sticking around,
remember, we all drift about ocassionally,
even if just in where
we hold our signs
as we seek our way out.
13January2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Predators Seek the Panhandlers - a poem of the streets.

I'm starting to worry.
The kite flyers talk,
some of it boasts,
others some sound advice,
but they mentioned money
and ears around perked
that should be noted
by all of us.

They're comparing their takes,
and the rough elements
that drift in yearly
just to feed upon
their fellow homeless hear.
Now even I'm jittery
as someone mentioned today
I had work recently.

It's one more hazard,
beyond the normal predators
who seek next highs
and see those dollars
as easy way out
of their own bind,
just hit and run,
who cares how hard.

The streets are uncaring,
some should know better,
others note the looks
but give them back
with that nasty grin
telling the beasts "Try",
as they're spoiling themselves
to take it back.

Two "Giving Seasons" now,
this makes my third
here on the streets,
and I walk soft,
but won't back down
if a fool tries
cause once you do
you're only rolled more.

One little, bright ray,
the beasts head in
once the weather turns
so tonight's dark clouds
make it safer now
for at least campers,
but those at Shelter
better watch their backs.

Don't care what's said.
It's a new crowd
hunting the panhandlers now,
though a few faces
seem a bit familiar,
more are probably just
from before my time.
Or maybe they're not.

Keep your mouths shut
never count your cash
in lonely, dark places,
or out in open.
And don't push luck,
for she's often fickle
touching your life wickedly
with her left hand.

Best defenses there are,
keep to a crew,
tell others where flying,
and only those trusted
the path returned by,
lest the rabid monsters
hunt you down swift
and leave a corpse.
--- and that will happen
several times this  year.

9October2013 - Dyfedd Rex, walking soft and safe as he can.