Urges and Gut Feelings

Folks urge you
to keep the Faith,
fight off Fate's evil hands
and keep pressing on
not seeing things.

Others know not
what you might face
in the daily trials Life
tosses you about with
as you survive.

The speak loudly
about it being Depression
not hearing that you passed
that point long ago
progressing to Disgust.

Born of Anger,
fueled by other's attitudes
I now walk more carefully,
as their minefield attitudes
leave me worried.

Hear the lament of the outcast
who denies the urges of others,
instead following those baser Gut Feelings
to find a new path ahead.

They walk the streets you do,
but have no hopes left inside,
only anger and distaste at what
their Nation has turned into lately.

Fools dare judging,
even against their Commandments,
what others must do now
to find some Redemption
back to Society.

Idiots speak loudly
accusing the fallen often
that losing Faith is Depression
failing to see faces
twisted with Disdain.

My path ahead
is not yours, morons.
It is mine, and lonely.
I will walk away
not in fear...

...but in Disgust
at how we failed
the dreams of our ancestors
of a better Society

Hear the Lament of the Outcast
Damned by foolish Judgement of others
who know not the roads walked
to reach this point of surrender.

We walk into the dark shadows
not seeking oblivion and final solutions
but to regain our own grounding
amid the storms that ruined lives.

We seek not your medication bottles,
but a peaceful place to meditate
upon the road to that point
and where we also went wrong.

You can ignore
the words I lay
here into the electronic "Cloud",
but not the Truths
I speak of.

We were exiled
for many, varied reasons,
but all seek but Redemption
not at Society's bench,
but in mirrors.

I need time.
Time to heal wounds,
time to reflect on actions,
time to choose words
for my return.

I will return.
Not avenging angel style,
nor as Doom's Dark Prophet,
but an outside observer
of your Society.

Hear the Lament of this Exile,
cast out of your vain Society,
and realize your own parts involved
in my fall from high places.

I speak now the last words,
Lay out the final, sad poems.
One last yet to share here,
then I fall into brooding silence...

...As I reflect upon the failures
not just of my own self,
but the Nation once so great,
and how we let Her fail..
.
The Promises made in Her name...
The Oath about Justice for All...
The Dreams of Land of Opportunity...
The Hopes of Better Days Ahead...
The Future now tarnished so vilely
by what we all let happen...

Not just to me...
but others also,
fallen aside,
forgotten.
Cast Out.
29September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, ready to walk away, pull out his soul, and give it careful scrutiny for damage and ability to repair.

Crossing to the shadows chapter 18 - where I realized it was a Billenius tale as well

"Dare I ask why your face is that way, vir?"

I am certain the innocent expression I was trying to cultivate failed to overcome the fat lip, black eye, and broken nose. Avunculus was in fine form as he dressed me down. He let that comment sit a while, then picked up the night log. Custors worked the walls here in Radixium, the streets as well. One of the few towns that demanded that aid as part of our rent on land in or nearby. My fellow custodi did not appreciate the riot I started in toasting Sir Basil's memory.

The local Thieves Guild even went so far as demanding my head, via an executioner's block. Not that enough of them were able to lift a knife this morning, let alone slide it into my back. More due to Ringelius and my new friend Dzhino.

"Let's go over the charges again, shall we, viri?" Dux Mattio glanced at the parchments on his desk. "Opened the gate after dark, contrary to orders. Allowed entry after dark through that gate. Exited the city by unauthorized means. Instigated a fight. Property damage in said fight. Instigated a riot on the streets. And, my favorite here, drew a weapon on a citizen of the city."

He let it all sit, acting like I would correct him. While I had that kind of urge, at the moment, the fat lip limited my ability to respond coherently. Nor did I want him to see the broken tooth. Damaging Custodi property would be added then. I hate that we get treated like slaves, even while free. It is understandable if the injury prohibits doing your assigned duties.

My silence was not sitting well with him. "Fine. For a moment, forget I am your commanding officer, and tell your uncle...."

"Sir, if I do that, Avia will hear the tale. I like my ears attached to my head." Ringelius laughed at that comment. Laid out on a bench, arm in a sling and not facing a disciplinary action, he could afford that.humor. I was looking at losing that first command, if not my career.

The Dux did not relax as he said he would. A ploy, and I fell for it. "Lost my right to remain silent?"

A faint smile. "Yes, you did. Not a bad stonewall until then. Remember, your grandmother will get invoked a lot, as she is in service, though among the diplomats." He winked at me. "Sit, tell the tale. I won't be too hard, Fair, but not harsh as some are agitating for."

Now Norbanus, standing next to me spoke. "I take it you mean those fools from the Left Hand."
That comment provoked laughter from the two veterans in chair along the other wall of the office.

"I think the Dux is more worried about the demand to have you executed, viri." Keth leaned his chair back, holding a cold rag to the eye that was turning a deep coppery red around it. "The Centuria Sinistra would be glad to abandon Radixium, and all Amoeni Terrai, given an excuse. The locals will still be here, causing him problems after that."

Rico merely snorted over that issue. I was learning the old spearman was a tough nut to crack, as the saying goes. Somewhere out in the brawl, those two joined our side, luckily.

"I may no longer have any jurisdiction over you two, but don't tempt me to recall you to duty to stand charges with the boy." Avunclus's expression spoke the seriousness of the charges. "As you have broken silence, you might as well tell the tale, Custor."

Rolling my shoulders reminded me of the knife wound above my right wing stub. Looking around, I could tell the tale would come out in a light not good for me, judging by everyone's injuries and moods. "I cannot prove it, sir, but I think the local thieves set up Sir Basil to be slain. We know that he was outside their ranks, not appreciated, and many here were jealous of his success. Especially at evading the law when caught."

The Dux shook his head. "We are not sure he is dead, Billenius."

"I am, sir." Meeting his eyes, tinged green from a lack of sleep, reminded me of rest I also missed. Unlike most my kinfolk, I prefer a few turns of the sand glasses a day sleep, not a few each hebdoma. "The young dyermo in the outer office found his corpse, at least judging by the equipment he salvaged from it." I hoped Avunclus would forget this part later, looting a corpse is a sin and violation of our laws, even if the event took place outside the borders we kept up.

"And you know this by what?" The momentary levity left him. Now he acted as the local Questor, the other hat he wore here, investigating the crime.

What little air I'd managed to bring into my lungs without pain left me fast. He wanted confirmation of some action to discharge me. "Sir Basil was not just a legend to me, sir. He was my informant." Being dead, I felt Sergei would not mind that coming to light.

That at last got a word from Rico. "Legitimate contact, Mattinius." Leaning forward, bandaged forearm on knees as his left hand sought to keep his spear off the ground, disturbed by his movement. He met the glare the Dux tossed him with one of his own. "Hell, we all have shady friends, Matt. Don't make me mention your contacts in the criminal worlds. Boy cultivated a good one. You never let a death of a good source go unavenged, you might delay it, but never forego it entirely." After a brief pause, the old legionairre said something unexpected. "Never told him about that affair in Chiga, have you?"

Avunclus face told more of the tale than his evasion. "No. Never intended to speak about it again, you old reprobate."

Family gossip came to my mind. When I was still a boy, Avunculus suffered some set back in his career, which led to demotions, a transfer home then to a hardship posting somewhere none spoke of, followed by a rough time climbing back to his former rank, and a fight to ever command numeni again. This event, it appeared, paralleled my own here, somehow.

"Two rain seasons ago, you lost your source. This mess came from that, I take it?" The Dux avoided any further comments on the matter in his past.

"Yes, sir." This time, I felt the need to stay formal. "Word came to him of a family issue he needed to deal with. As this word arrived amid the mess of the jewel thefts and death of the guild master here in town, I tried warning him it might be a trap." The old ache rose, losing a friend to rashness, not that I am any less guilty of such actions to defend my own kith and kin.

Avunclus sat quietly now. Eyes closed, head tilted back a bit. "Yes. I remember that period. Bloody time in the River Ward then, all those murders and stabbings." Silence for a few, as he recalled the information once provided by my friend. "Sir Basil. Perfidio, Billenius. I never guessed you had him as your source. I figured it to be some young thief who wanted out of the guild. As to his being dead, that I doubt."

I dislike admitting to certain abilities I possess, as most with them wind up in monasteriies or temples, secluded away from life. "I cannot, Avunculus. His shade follows the young dyermo. They were brothers."

Norbanus stirred a bit, finally speaking. "Gods. Your donum..."

The elbow I tossed to my cousin's ribs was not fast enough to forestall a new line of questioning.

"Donum?" Avunculus leaned forward over his desk. "You saw this, with the sight? Auras or fate, Custor?"

Silence as a tactic against a commander is not always effective. My dislike of my gifts from the gods is well known, but I do use them, just not as others believe a seer should. Outside, the campii came to life slowly. I heard the brays of onagerum, screeches the desert lizards called (need a name!), and the lowing of the oxen used by some to move across the plains in wagons. I did not wish to answer this question, especially to a member of the gens who supported my resistance to entering the temples as a flamens and augur.

Rescue arrived with a knock on the door.

"Permission to enter?" The Praetor Emeritus, now the Triari, opened the door softly.

"You never need ask that, Nerva. Maybe you can convince my fili patri to talk of the visions he seems reluctant to share." With that, Partuus laid matter of my silence before a court I could not be silent before. The Triarium are the sacred order of spearmen who guard the temples and priests of our people. The Triari is the head, and thus a priest in his own right. One must answer a priest about visions and what your donum have shown you.

Luckily, the Triari had yet to ask himself.

"Visions? The boy is not talking about them again?" His steps were slow, age and injuries suffered over an age of service taking their toll on a once firm stride. "Not a wise idea, vir. Have you not paid enough prices in your life to learn such yet?"

I have a bad habit of making a half sneer when shamed. That let the air hit the tooth, which turned the whole gesture into a wince of pain.

Patruus found that somewhat funny. "Did I forget the damage to Custodi property charge?"

There was no way I was going to win this match now.

"Just snippets of visions. But yes, my aura sight told me the ghost following the dyermo was Sir Basil, same aura, dimmed by death to a shade." Shifting my feet, I moved from attention to a more natural stance. "Before he left, I tried to warn him of the visions. He chose to ignore them." I glanced to the Triari. "We spoke of those visions Praetor."

That classical face, hawk nose and all looked shocked. "Last time I passed through this town. Yes." Now worry creased his brow. "Not a solid dream to base feelings on. He is off the hook for that, Mattio. He understood the visions better than I. How much matches what happened?"

Now I found myself having to betray some confidences Dzhino gave over drinks. Luckily, it was all speculation. "The mother was indeed dead. He was found in a ruined building, but the dyermo has no idea how his brother got there or what the building was in the past."

"Nor do we have records left from the days of contact before the dyermo retreated beneath the earth." The Triari nodded sagely. "Boy did better than I, and the temples gave me much more training on dream and vision interpretations. Let that ride, for now. There are cases of augurs being called by the gods to be amongst the people, not locked away."

Patruus nodded. "Very well, Nerva. I shall take your word."

"I would be curious as to his current visions, though"

Here, I had to speak before uncle could. "This being my first crossing of shadow, I cannot say which are nightmares or visions." Dredging my memories of the past weeks, I found only one that stood out. "I have one that strongly echoes. The only one so far to repeat. A hanging, but the noose breaks, followed by footsteps into the Dunes as the shadow covers the land." The Dunes are the largest and most dangerous area of the Desert of the Shifting Grey Sands. A place of sands and winds few enter willingly. Less than a handful of that few have returned to tell tales of the place during my time of service.

Norbanus shifted suddenly beside me, breaking his parade ground stance. "Viri, there is a hanging slated for just before the shadow falls. A human, for necromancy."

"Gorlot. Yes. I remember that case." The eyes meeting mine now were those of commander not relative. "That is a bit of information I could have used during sentencing. The humans do not understand the power the Shadow grants to the Ars Nox. That vision may have turned the sentencing."

Now I stood uneasily. My donum are not as reliable as most think. "I distrust this vision. It was as if I was the one tracking the fugitive. But my patrol is nowhere near the Dunes."

Silence met that comment for a bit. Only Ringelius showed no signs of worry over this vision. Norbanus shifted his feet uneasily, not a good sign from a legionnaire used to standing still for long periods of time. Even Patruus failed to meet my gaze now, looking out the window over the muster grounds. Fingers of sand fell from the blue first glass of the horarium on the Dux's desk. The yellow sand of the fading hour stood nearly ready to turn over. Even for our kindred, this was a long contemplation of the issue.

No longer able to wait, I at last defended one of my actions. "Keeping the others with the dyermo out held more repercussions. The Eyes and Ears of the Tsar rode with him."

That brought Keth's chair back to the ground. "I thought I recognized that hammer saving your head." His laugh was loud. "No, keeping Garzog and Jaochim outside the walls at night would create a nightmare in relations with the Karleekie, Dux. The boy made a good call there."

Patruus grunted, still looking out the window. "That is the least of the issues. The riot and call for his head are more worrisome."

"Actually, Bill had the whole mess defused before I lifted my tankard and toasted the local guild as a pack of amateurs and pathetic cutpurses." Ringelius deep voice takes many by surprise. Not just in what he says, but the elven words coming naturally in the tones and cadences of a dwarf.

Both the Triari and Rico chuckled at that comment. Rico gave his advice. "Seems you have a confession there, Mattio. Better take that troublemaker to the council and let him face the charges."

"And, not being in the service, you can say Bill's efforts were more to keep the damages down not spread the mess." When I took a look at him, my patraelis winked. "After all, I'm a known disaster when it comes to dealing with folks. They'll buy it. I have enough to pay the damages. Maybe." For the first time in a while, he looked ashamed. "Unless they want me to rebuild that rat hole. I was the one who tossed the lantern."

"I think we will keep silent on that, Ringelius. Most believe Grazon started the fire. Given his reputation, and long list of crimes unpunished for, I say let him accept the responsibility." The Dux rose, no longer my uncle, once more the leader of the catavernae. "But, Billenius, you will take a punishment. Marius gets your command, you take his run west with messages. Even if it places you by the Dunes. I trust the gods and the visions, even if you do not."

Lost my first command, before I even started. "Yes, Vir."

"Choose five to ride with you, Billenius. You still get a command. Antonius is available, and despite his gens, I recommend you take Drinius as well. Other than that, its up to you." Those choices were orders to choose, not hints at who to accept.

"Yes, Vir. I promised the dyermo boy a post with us, wrangling the pack animals."

"Out of your pay. The toast was the issue, not the fight. If I show you have a fine or loss of wealth, it will go better in council." He looked us over over again. "But, I think you go the north route, not the south. I would prefer the Tres Triconis be separated for a while, lest I see more charges and damage bills arrive on my table."

We nodded, Norbanus off without reprimand, myself already feeling the loss of my pastry monies for the next few greater moons, and Ringelius grinning. He enjoys being in a court over altercations like last night. Says the attention makes up for all the things folks overlook him for on account of his size.
"Dismissed, Viri. Ringelius, back here at noon so I can take you before the council."

The three of us left our elders to discuss anything, happy to be off so light.

Skills in Doubt... A poem of Life and Belief

I have my doubts

things that crawl through my soul

seeking to chew it up

then spew it back

onto that core

of myself.

It's not my writings,

not my job skills I doubt,

but the personal relations stuff,

where I rub folks

entirely wrong ways

every time.

Fears abound around me,

about my ability to read people

to see past their faces

and read the messages

the eyes send

amid interviews.

Worse thing rise up

when out on the cold streets

as I seek out safety

and wonder who there

I can trust

these days. 

My words on screen,

or of ink upon some paper

I know convey my thoughts,

but those across tongue

wander far astray

of targets.

Only one thing left

that I truly have misgivings about,

and that is my heart,

which never chooses well,

for my safety

or sanity. 

Yes, I am flawed. 

despite the projected image I have

of always being so "right"

and not giving in

to others demands.

Very flawed.

Yet, I keep on

moving through this life under burdens

not just this time around

but all those before

that others forget

I endured. 

And held out...

winning some how...

despite the odds...

over others wishes...

through those flaws.

22September2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Amid the Amids... A Poem of the toll I've suffered.

Amid the words,
there lay hope, once.
Now scattered to the winds
as some fools attack
tossed them aside.

Amid the dreams,
I once crafted words,
to build up the hopes
others still longingly nourished
to get something.

Amid the winds,
I still will wander,
watching the world from afar
as I sit, smoking,
seeking to recover.

Amid the storms
that have battered me,
the soul still yearns comfort
as I prepare now
to walk away.

Amid that soul,
stories still beg telling,
and I fight them back
telling them to wait
until peace arrives.

Amid the chaos
others created for me,
by turning me aside, rudely,
an island of peace
still does exist.

Amid the stars,
a tale slowly builds,
so I pack writing supplies
in case it springs
out of mind.

Amid my mind,
there is nothing left.
The grind broke the will,
the spirit, weeping, fled,
to seek succor.

Amid it all,
my fingers still dance
across keys, paper, and life
seeking to keep moving
as I fade.

Amid the silence
that soon shall fall,
others wonder why I quit
not seeing the effort
and its toll.

Amid the wilderness,
where I am headed,
there are no damned fools
or so I hope,
to crush me.

Amid those trees,
lulled by whispering breezes,
I pray my soul receives
just a small recovery
from his load.

22September2014 - A weary Dyfedd Rex.

Things I'll miss on weekends = A poem of walking away

Weekends once filled
spending time with a buddy
watching the various college and pro games
now will be silent times
communing with Nature.

Saturday's ache already
as the game nights fade
lost to my situation and growing isolation
even before heading to hills
to winter over.

Sunday morning coffee
the last few warm cups
are savored before I'm reduced to instant
and have to drink cold
those lonely cups.

Friday Bar Nights,
long ago abandoned by me
will be remembered during forced abstinence soon
as I seek only stars
for my company.

Dark roads ahead,
Dangers I cannot dream of
or have and still dare those trails
that will become my home
during snowy season.

These few things,
once taken for granted weekly,
I will miss out there, under skies
dark enough to allow stars
to be companions.

Wrapping it up,
shutting down my old lives
all of them, not just homeless days
to walk away with resolution
that things will
improve once
I'm alone,
and settled
into hole
like turtle
closing shell
to hibernate
until found
by Spring
and warmth.

Smoking Lizard is Driving - a poem written just for that failed idea of a poetry eBook

In the darkness,
as the road rolls
under my wheels,
empty-headed dreams rise.
On this highway
I know every dip
and twist now
so bloody well,
my mind wanders away
into fantastic Aethers.

It seeks something
for my next project
to work on
against the deep boredom
broken only by
the threat of deer
leaping onto pavement,
Reptile brain drives,
as others gallivant
into the dream worlds
seeking story ideas.

They rise up
out of lowland fogs
as we move,
the three part beast,
the smoking lizard
faithful at the wheel,
shaggy mountain man
eyes hunting threats,
as the wandering dreamer
dives into imagination.

Neurons gauzed thickly
by Aetheral fog banks
that hold secrets
or just strange bits
around which the bard
can build his tales
for telling later.
Or right now,
as I find myself muttering
bits of dialogue.

Despite the risks,
each trip this happens.
Wyoming whiteouts swirled
and the mind wandered
trusting elder remnants
of caveman and reptile
to use reflexes
as the dreamer
wanders amid that threat
seeking new visions.

Even severe thunderstorms
broiling across arid landscape
of High Plains
during the hot summers
never stopped quests
by my various egos
who each hold
some vital skill
that makes the tales
come to life.

This trip peaks,
along the Great Divide,
amid red clay
turned grey under moon
as tires thrum
the road's siren song
that calls me
back to reality
as the primitive bits
bathroom locations often.

After that break
the dreams return quick,
as we begin
that difficult, twisty part
of path home.
I crack the window
to gain air
fighting sleep off
as the lizard puffs
through my pipes.

Mountains around me
as we rise up
and descend repeatedly,
watching awestruck for moment
when the moon
sets beside streaking meteor,
which tickles ideas
inside my skull
and the dreams arise
one more time.

Across the sage-lands,
winding past lonely Evanston,
the body drives,
and all but dinosaur
circle around ideas
seeking to bag prey
he alone ignores,
knowing the dangers
of hunting those dreams
during dark journeys.

Entering a draw,
deep reddish orange cliffs
taking their hues
from the growing light
as swift twilight
overtakes the dark night
and me rolling
down this road.
Her light gives body
the reins back.

We all tumble
back into one being,
save the lizard
who clamps on pipe,
begging someone please
to load two more.
"We still have
those damned canyons,
and all the idiots
racing to work".

His warning works,
as I become one,
bits melding together
over cup of coffee
long since cold
bought along back trail
probably on prairies
I once called home
before these mountains captured
my roaming heart.

Weaving my way
up Silver Creek Canyon
I begin assembling
the guy others know
from those inside,
forcing them back together.
Crossing Parley's Park
the welding complete
as I become Dave
not Dyfedd Rex.

Emerging from canyons
the Great Basin spreads
before my eyes
under the grey dawn
my eyes seek
remains of inland sea
long since faded
to shallow lake
holding more salt within
than most seas.

The dream remain,
now a bit faded,
tattered thought bits
that I can weave
when chance allows
into poems perhaps,
or a story
if characters co-operate
and the smoking lizard
releases the wheel...
after parking car
before my home.
-August 2014 from kernel idea September 2010.

Deadlines and Dropdead dates - A commentary on my Life.

It sucks, but I have to set these again.

yeah, things are not holding up. A job offered fell through on their end, I cannot gain any traction in writing, as folks keep discouraging me from doing the eBook, if it means spending money on it to get it formatted, and then, I keep finding the guy in the mirror looking away, disgusted at how I sell my soul for some things in life, lacking the spine to say: "Take me or leave me, just do it fast."
Stop blocking my one path left for showing I have desire to make money, folks, let me move on, prepared for bad times, so they avoid me instead of lingering over my days like some conjured up thunderstorm of doom.

So, here are the deadlines.
To survive, I need a job, soon. Like, starting before September 29th.

October 1st, I'm back out on the streets, actually, into the wilderness this time, and the hell with ever coming back for another try at joining a broken society that bitches about the homeless and jobless not being productive, even as they snub them on the jobs they put in for.

On that date, if no money is coming from any source, I walk away. Period.

Ya'll wanted a five year plan? Screw that, here's a much shorter one. Give me a rope to pull myself up with, or hang by, either way, do something world. You can't, then don't bitch when you stumble across my planned hermit hole, and leave me alone, like you did when I asked for your help in being one of you, which cost me a lot, in the way of sacrificed beliefs.

14 September2014 - Dyfedd Rex of the Frayed Faith and Patience.

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?

An Update I Never Thought I'd Post

So, this is just an update on life for this guy, and the strange ways and twists Life likes laying out for me. Nothing earth-shaking, no real changes to my status as an "unproductive" member of your foolish Society out there, just a step taken that gives me hope to end this Homeless crap on my terms, not the terms of those fools who think they know the ways to do everything.

What step was it? A strange one to have taken, quite honestly. I collected on a bet. A bet made with myself and society about my writings and job search. One I am not really happy to have lost, but that makes me proud. You see, it proved that I knew what I was saying last year in interviews. I kept telling folks, over and over in them that "Personally, as my writing is at last taking off, I'm betting I see money from it before I get a paycheck from any jobs I'm interviewing for. Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if you prove me wrong."

And, in the end, I was right.

Saturday, I collected the bet from myself, in the form of a milk shake, as where I was at did not offer root beer floats.

Yes, something sold. Nice, cashy money is headed my way.  I will make a formal announcement later this month, directing folks where to look for it. Once all the details are locked in.

But, I won. I was right, everyone else once more was wrong. Not taking pride in that. Just saying that you all might want to listen more to me, hear me out. I am not insane, folks. I just have a brain that runs about twice as fast as most folks, and can see things many ignore. I see the obstacles, prejudices, and red-tape issues that hold down the homeless and unemployed far better than you can, in your cars and job sites. My eyes note things you overlook, or dismiss as trivial, until they break your nose slamming into your own faces.

I'm finding it sad, really, winning this bet. It means you out there actually don't give the south end of a north-bound rat about actually ending these issues. So, I'll keep writing, and still toss out job apps. My voice will be raised even more over the next few weeks and months about the ways you use to keep those on the bottom of your Society held down. Words will be written now more carefully, not from fear of reprisals, as before, but to maximize their impact on your over-inflated egos as you sneer at me, eyes firing dirty looks along the slopes of your noses. And I will keep trying to get more stories out there for cash, assemble that collection of poetry and try selling it as an e-book, and carry my packs with pride, not shame. For that load I bear, much like those metal links born by the dwarves in mys stories, are my Chain of Sorrows. Ones I will lift to back knowing this. They mark the price YOU make others pay in part.

Yes, YOU make me, and the other homeless, bear this kind of burden. Too stuck up to hire a homeless person? Then accept the fact that to survive, we will be there, on those corners holding cardboard signs, rummaging through ash trays and gutters for "snipes", as we call those cigarette butts you toss aside with only  a puff or two left, and lingering about waiting for that opportunity to rise up once more.

Sure, not all of us want out. But why hold down those who do? Scared that one with hunger and cold nights so close to their present moment will make you look bad? Fear that we will do as some who you lift up act, and rob and assault those holding out the hand? Yeah, there are bad apples. Even in the barrel you live in now. Folks who preach the "Rule of Law" but fight at following it with lead feet when behind a steering wheel, lazy buttocks that refuse to leave their couches to shovel the snow off their sidewalks as required by those Laws, and those who walk the blurry regions between Legal and Criminal in their business practices and personal ethics. I think you have more to fear from the person in the next cubicle than the homeless person that might need a job mopping your floors.

 And the next bet I'm making is forming even now. I dare you to make me forfeit on it. Double-dog-dare-ya even.

This fellow is now wondering and considering laying a steak dinner on whether writing is his way out, as he has mentioned in the past, over seeking normal employment. A fancy one, say at a real steak house, not some Village Inn or Denny's. The kind that comes with a cocktail to enhance the pleasure, not a milk shake.

So, Society, you willing to take me up on this one? Or, are you all still freaking out that I was right, and you were wrong before?

Be nicer if the bet was not with myself, but some one else.

Nervous Laughter in the Offing - just gabbing today, nervously.

There is this great feeling when things finally go right in your life.

Looking back over this long slog to this point, I'm laughing a lot right now. You see, the last half-dozen or so interviews, when asked about a five year plan, I tell them the only one I can make right now is to get published in five years, as I'm just a homeless guy. Published for money, that is. It warned them all that while I had a bet with myself that I'd not mind losing, that writing would send money my way before a job might, but would love losing that bet. They all laughed.

I'm waiting right now, thinking, gee, I get to have that special root beer float at the Baskin-Robbins or Hire's Big H, maybe.

So, I wait, hoping to win the bet, yet praying I lose it. The next few weeks will tell me how that bet comes out. I might have to revise that five year plan, updating for a slightly more ambitious goal. Be nice, fun even, if I do. Starting to think it can happen. And if it does, plan on rolling out that e-book of my poems, when I get a moment to take a few breaths, and maybe add a dollar figure on poetry collection money to it.

So, if I look nervous the next little while, as I hold my cardboard sign the rare times I have to, cut me some slack. I'm just getting used to the idea of maybe having money earned, rather than resorting to the charity of others for my coffee and tobacco funds. And, maybe, down the road, a dash of other needed things, while laughing as I walk about, over a bet I made in jest, to lighten a moment around a question I've always hated.

Walking Into the Fray Once More - A poem of job searching while homeless

Blanketed in white snow,
veiled in white to brown smog
the valley hides today
from my wandering eyes, torn away
from the job search
just starting back up once more
over my better judgement.

Wrapped in dark shadows
made of fear and some sadness
I try once more
to find a way back in
to a cold society
that only seems to value money,
over heart and pride.

This is how today
plays out in my strange life
as the cold pools
in the deep inter-mountain valleys nightly
leaving the place chilled
until the sun rises above sawtooths
of central Wasatch Front.

Yeah, I said it.
I'm trying once more to find
a job to lift
this tired old body of mine
off these cold streets
and back into someplace to call
a home for myself.

Not thrilled about it.
This will take tons of time
wasted efforts will abound
as some just don't understand ever
that only True Way
to end the Homeless Problem is
to give them jobs.

But, try I will,
until the will at last fades,
sapped by colder hearts
that refuse to see their idiocy
at turning their backs
on those in such dire need
of a way out.

Sad, really, I say.
That you don't look in mirrors
and see your souls,
eaten by the worms crawling within,
that destroy by hatred
the one thing so many preach,
that thing called... Forgiveness.
Not to mention, Mercy.

16December2013 - A pensive and productive Dyfedd Rex.

The Unexpected Gift - A Poem of the Streets.

How do you say "Thanks",
for a gift laid upon you
when all you were doing
is what you really should have?

This morning, I was gifted
by a family for holding open
the door at the 7-11
for them to enter before me.

They felt they just needed
to buy my cup of coffee
even when in my pocket
were the funds to cover it.

So, does the words said,
a heart-felt, sincere "Thank you"
with a bow India style
cover it in my ledger book?

Not really. At least not
as I keep a balance of
kindness done to my benefit.
So, how do you live up...
... when you were just being a gentleman.

25November2013 - Dyfedd Rex. Who plans to pay it forward, somehow.

Into the shadows until dawn comes - A poem of the streets

Some-days it really sucks being me,
unable to partake of the stuff
other use to escape our reality
thanks to my nasty allergic reactions.
Too proud to crawl into bottles
the other guys take swigs from,
leaves this good ol' boy wondering
What the Hell can I do?
Other than sit by the water fountain
in the small designated smoking area
filling up my tobacco pipe occasionally
tossing out smoke rings to watch
drift off from under my hat
sailing away as I'm unable to.

So I sit here waiting patiently
for the night's soft velvet colors
camera dead weight in my pack,
stuck on F-stop plus five thousand
judging by the whiteout pictures taken
the last few sunsets and rises.
Still just rising up, waxing moon
the laughing man nearly all there
as the mad ones howl loud
anticipating their night to rule all:
streets, alleys and lonely dark parks
harassing me about being out here
the only sober guy this weekend
when they enjoy their wild parties.

Folks stroll past on the pathways
giving me dirty looks down noses
forgetting who their Carpenter walked with.
I'd rather be in the Foothills,
sitting in a grove real quiet
waiting for God's pastel sky paintings
and the racing of Summer's meteor showers
across the vault so dark above,
even as the crickets serenade me.
Six bucks lie in my pocket,
a few swigs of Coke left,
the a pop bottle of water
filled before the library shut down
and I had to leave it.


The shadows cast by the buildings lengthen,
as the sun seeks other places
to give her warmth down to.
Chill breezes cross the park's grass,
making my layers a needed thing
under their gentlest of feather massages.
Another night out on the streets,
just seeking a quiet, safe place
to layout my bedroll at,
set aside this load I'll lift
when I set out to sleep.
Dark hours spent hidden from sight
so I won't offend some folks
for being denied benefits and homeless.

Falling water soothes my soul's aches,
flowers give my eyes balm's touch.
Still, deep inside my thick skull
barbs tossed today my way sting.
Rejection from jobs, stories won't flow,
not even those simple toss-away's
I use to clear internal buffers.
Insults, spoken and silent, still burn,
salt to wounds opened by acts
of arrogance, greed and other sins,
I once was guilty of also.
Motorcycles stuttering call, headed up state,
cruising for their Friday night rides
say its time to head on...
...back into shadows until dawn comes.

21June2013 - Dyfedd Rex.

Wrestling with Characters

A continual bane of my writing life is that I have characters who are used to getting their way, unless I am in a really crappy mood and run them through the wringer of heartbreak and written pain. They walk up to where ever I have set up to write, and talk about any damned tale they wish to. Rarely the one I am working on.

This makes me one hell of a slow writer. Often forced to use the above tortures on characters, then edit them out as I go to get them back on track. Unfortunately, my characters, I have learned, tend to exaggerate if not outright lie, about events in their life. Keeping that from floating through is even a bigger pain.

So, while I may not do a daily story, chapter or whatever, at least I give it a good shot on what is working. Characters permitting.

Speaking of characters... Billenius just sat down, but I do not have the time to make him a cup of tea, gotta pack up for the early evening, then beat him down later for another fib and big omission he pulled a while back.

Real Reasons You're Passed Over - A Satirical Poem of Job Hunting.

Just say it folks, really.
Tell me the honest truth.
I don't get the job
cause I lack that one qualification
of society's perceived beauty.

Let the words come out,
speak them aloud at last.
"Sorry, we wanted a candidate
whose legs look more sexy.
Just to brighten office morale."

Or admit your deepest sins,
"You don't have the look
of the romance novel model
we really have in mind
to fill this position with."

Fess up that nasty prejudice.
"No way we'd ever hire
a hippie looking stoner dude
even if you pass tests
made to screen you out!"

Admit the brutally harsh truth.
"We like looking down noses
as the homeless trudge by.
It makes us feel superior
despite our inferiority complex issues."

Yeah, I'm having a day
plagued by anger and depression.
But I have a skill
you cannot break, despite trying!
I can mock back here...
...and just call it art!

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (feeling better after venting nightmares).

Battling the Resume Eater Again - A poem of job hunting.

That demon tried today
but I was on fire.
Not a job app one
could he stop at all,
not even the feints.

This is a good day
most the little guy
wins this battle fast
leaving me beat down
amid ruined apps.

So today I smile,
take a long, deep breath,
then yodel my joy
at getting past him
at least this time 'round.

She Remembers... - A poem of Nature's Seasonal Gift to me.

She remembered me despite a year
walked towards me for a moment
then scattered back to her herd
scared off by the slowing bicyclist.

Backing into the brush for then
she wandered off amid the scrub oak
turning her head back on occasion,
until her buck imposed himself between us.

Few weeks later, after bad night
I went camping instead to the shelter
wandered back to my low camp
to spend a night away from crap.

In the early hours before dawn
I felt something walk in with hesitance
then a nose touched my neck
sniffing before giving a sudden surprising lick.

Looking through squinted eyes I noted,
she was there, as all around me
her herd settled into separate bowers,
and she took the one containing me.

I rose slowly, each move careful,
rolling up my gear, making my packs
trying not to spook this doe,
who watched me leave, taking my place.

This is nature's gift this season
the doe who remembered me from before
and knew I would leave warm
the spot she sleeps at by day.

8December2012 - Dyfedd Rex

"Sanding the Past with Reverence" - A poem of regret and hope

Every stroke of the paper destroys the past
ripping away the layers of varnish and stains
taking it back to a nearly clean slate.

I feel so guilty doing this part now
eliminating decades of deeds, misdeeds and rich character;
leaving the wood naked as a newborn babe.

Dust rises around my moving hand in clouds,
falling like a rain, finding every crevice below
becoming part of the floor until the cleanup.

This has happened before, oh so many times
the removal of the impressions of the living
upon the long dead parts of trees surrounding glass.

At least I know one thing for certain,
with a new family, they will build here
new things onto the wood frame over time.

So I keep sanding away the past gently
trying to give the cracked varnish my respect,
filling in cracked wood, to prepare this palimpsest.

10October2012 - Dyfedd Rex

Trust Me Not - just a poem, or perhaps a prophecy

I don't really care
but if you want to lead
don't be a roadblock
get out in front fool
and blaze a trail.

I keep doing this
each time someone over my head
tries the power route
while proving their lacks
testing my thin patience.

Still they do it
pressing on with grandiose plans
but never lifting fingers
to make them come about
while I labor on.

The day will arrive
sooner than most care to think
when the safety net
is missing altogether under them
as I walk away...
...and let them fall.

(5Jun2012 - Dyfedd Rex)