At the Writer's Festival

the sadest old man painted a picture

of how he felt dying

I saw a river in the Canadian north

with rapids and calm stretches

completely surrounded by wilderness

while he painted he told me

he gave up on art when the cancer took

hold of his wife

he told me now of his aloneness.

yet somehow he was here, with a quivering voice

and a tear in his eye

delivering his message to untutored youth

when finished, I saw the darkness release him

and he smiled

sitting in his canoe without fear of the inevitable

Colin and Co.

In Other Wards

there are things I want to tell you,

not exactly secrets

more like seeing the game from the other side of the rink

– i used to think they did this for the second period –

in other wards

backwords.

what I'm going to tell you

won't make much sense

until you jump the boards

until you jump the fence

what I've got to say

may make you upset

until you see through me

until you choose to forget

Colin and Co.

Response

Am I responsible for you?

my brother's keeper,

my reader's teacher?

I'm not sure yet.

Here's a piece, take a bite and tell me what you think:

There are these words

about love and loss

with some chains and freedom thrown in.

I saw the chains as a result of stale love,

possibly a false love (lust?, mistrust? thrust?)

most likely an incomplete love.

So these words of loss led me to believe

that freedom was simply understood once

one separated from this incompletion.

But the 'teacher' told us these chains represented

the suppression of the middle class

and all that commie crap.

And freedom came (according to teach)

from a woman able to stand up for herself

and dare to challenge the satus quo.

So I ask again: am I responsible for you,

my reader, my brothers and sisters?

I'd say, I'm trying to say something.

But if you get it wrong I won't kill ya for it.

Colin Long Time No See Co.