Intimidation's Silence - A Poem of the Streets and Homeless Realities

Distanced as I am
from the evnts that shake
through the Homeless community frequently
by my being a camper,
I still hear
the aftershocks.

Rumbles that spread out,
like rippling Secondary Wave propagation
to leave emotions stirred about fiercely.
Fear, Anger, even some joy,
over the violent episodes
ignored by most.

And violence is high.
Again this week the tremblors
race through our fractured rumor mill
of what goes on there,
in Hell's Block, recently
and its surrounds.

Which left me pondering
over what those outside hear
through the biased mass media channels
of our trials and tribulations,
as the war rages
around our "caste".

Perchance that word fails.
It's more like a concentration camp
where we are rounded up regularly
shoved into a milling mass
to contain worst elements
under watchful eyes.

Eyes that sometimes fail.
Such as happened Wednesday night.
When even with cops spotlighting crowds,
a fight broke out suddenly
escalating into 'steel' flashing
before reactions occurred.

Not blaming the police.
All I've heard spoken about
indicates that altercation erupted so fast
they'd just begun to move
when the knife struck
and blood fell.

This kind of trouble
has been on the rise
with a rash late last year
that included one death known of
and others left in air
as the mass media
failed to follow-up.

Not their problem, perhaps?
Beneath their radar for stories?
Who knows their strange reasons why?
I know the code of silence
seems to works strong
among the homeless.

Which leads to belief
among leaders and the "homed"
that we are all guilty somehow.
That silence comes from fear,
as we're forced into
living with criminals.

Checking the news reports
I see no story there
about the events that went down
to use as a balance
to grapevine's sharp shudders
over the event.

And looking further back
only the fatality seems persued
as police released "person of interest"
they'd like to talk to
about that one event.
A hypocrite's silence.

Living with the criminals,
the drug abusers, and drunks
leaves one exposed, if they talk,
to perpetrator's allies and others
who hold "prison mentalities"
about speaking out.

Not to mention mistrust
between the Law and Homeless
created by actions on both sides
that widen that rift daily
thus preventing some move
to prevent violence.

You cannot really trust
that person on next bunk,
who might take offense at words
that implicate them or friends,
not to take retaliation
when least expected.

That is the blockade
for so many crimes there.
The fear invoked by intimidation's shadow,
as the criminals weave around,
leaving threats in air
veiled or openly.

So, I ask this.
Why should not the media
take up for those so fearful
to keep quiet about crimes
committed among the homeless
and keep pushing?

For courage is fine,
until the revenge falls down
and you suffer a painful event
that sends a warning harshly
that you best learn
to stay... silent.
As Journalists do,
in jaded disdain,
apparently.

17January2014 - Dyfedd Rex

The Addicts - A Poem of the Streets

Mistaking their DT's
for chilly morning shivers,
you'll see them bundled up,
even those rare warm Autumn days
when the mercury rests higher
than their coats indicate
as they wander.

You know them
by their dirty blankets,
folded around them like skirts,
or turned into full body sheaths,
looking like grey mummy wrappings,
or a zombie's tatters,
our drugged undead.

These are the ruined souls,
spoilers for the we few
who avoided Addiction's siren song.

They wander about
twitching for many reasons;
some still riding their highs,
others crashing into detoxification's danse macabre
as their night of using
catches up to them
with a vengeance.

Mistaking their intentions,
you'll cross the street
or shift off onto grass
avoiding their haunted gazes while passing
their antics and angry displays
trying to avoid them
but still failing.

These are those cast aside
by even the most pious
for heeding Narcotics' damning call.

Some wander steady,
others stagger about slowly,
never given a moment's notice
until they collapse from severe reaction
to their dark, personal demons
in some public place
during daylight hours.

A rare few
manage with stuttering steps
to move about the park
despite levels of intoxication rarely seen
outside their own little cliques
surviving it, means unknown,
despite tempting Death.

They are just lost souls,
seeking some dark, strange release
from the pains of Life.

Many younger ones
live only short lives,
seeing this lonely, homeless life
as their long, fun, final party.
Which leaves me to ask:
Why is this so,
who crushed hope?

Even older ones
see naught but fun
in this dark ballet performed
upon the cold, bleak cement ways.
It's just a long celebration
as they slowly descend
into another Hell.

They are fogged in wanderers
drifting about amid Drugs' murk
No purpose, besides scoring highs.

There's no answer
to ending this shit.
Forgive that word, but realize,
it's the only one that fits.
For what else says it
about lives torn apart
by various Narcotics?

They are lost,
perhaps still with chances
to break their dark cycles
of abusing various substances each day,
but lacking a reason to,
or failing to see
their approaching deaths.

These are your lost children,
siblings, friends, maybe even parents.
Lost by lack of care...
...from a callous broken Society.

30September2013 - 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