I have had an extraordinarily difficult time sitting down to write. In May, as I set out to film a small series in Penticton, my Grandmother’s health rapidly diminished and I lost her only days before we started filming. Not knowing how to cope with the grief I continued on with the project. I knew that isolation would be the wrong path for me at that time. I spent long nights working with a talented crew and muddled my way through as best as I could. After wrapping the project everyone went home to their lives, and my world became a vacuum. I continued working on music for the project, but began to withdraw from social activity. As my circle became smaller and smaller I began to feel the gravity of my despair pull me closer to dangerous behaviour.

I have made a conscious choice to return to anti depression medication as I’m not able to navigate my life in any meaningful way without the stability they provide. I’m grateful for your letters of support, but at the moment I feel they aren’t able to penetrate the shell I’ve built around myself. The world does not put itself on pause for anyone’s pain, and continues to turn regardless of how much you want it to stop. I have found no comfort since all of this has come to pass, and whatever moments of solace I can find are only a brief reprieve from my reality. The minutia of day to day things mark the passage of time, but fail to dull any of the sharpness of what I’m feeling. I don’t know what to do with myself at this time, but know also that I’m not allowed to shelter myself from the world at large. Bills still need to be paid, the garbage still needs to be taken out, her room still needs to be cleaned. All of it feels heavy with meaninglessness, but collectors don’t relent… their condolences ring hollow when they follow them by asking when they can expect payment. I supported us both with writing and touring, and though I feel little motivation to do either right now I know that I have to keep living. I’ve spent my life working out the chaos of my heart on stage for others, so I don’t really know what else to do. Part of me hopes that the stage and an audience will bring some clarity. In September I’ll do a small BC tour… this was in the books before the world fell apart, and will keep me in BC while I make some decisions. I’ve cancelled a lot of other upcoming shows so I can focus on putting a life together. I don’t know where I’ll go, where I’ll live, or what I’ll do, but I can’t stay in a haunted house much longer. I’m sorry this isn’t a happier message. All of this has happened at a time when the world feels much darker… at a time when hope is needed with greater urgency. I’m just lost right now and trying to stay alive. Good spirits seem distant, but so does everything if you aren’t putting one foot in front of the other to move toward it. You can support me at shows which are listed below, Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/shanekoyczan), or through the store. I’m posting a piece called “First Time Again” which is the one thing I’ve been able to pull out of myself during this process. Any support is welcome and appreciated. Shane

Video: https://youtu.be/D0G-MyLbenE

I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, but rest assured that I haven’t disappeared quite yet. I needed a long overdue mental health break. I had a grand time touring in 2017 and met some incredible people/poets/artists/creators, but the mental cost of having to exist in the same emotional spaces night after night was very heavy. The stories and pieces I share are personal, and not everyone understands what may be hidden in those pieces… buried under metaphors that allow me to address certain aspects of my life indirectly. Of course I know what those moments actually are, and from time to time those memories or feelings will resurface to invade my psyche. Sometimes “The cup runneth over”, and that’s where I’ve found myself as 2018 begins. I wanted to start this year by talking about resolutions. Many of us made promises to ourselves as the clock clicked over into a new year. Some of those promises have since been abandoned by that whispering voice inside our heads that suggests “now isn’t the right time”. A voice that insists there’ll be a better time to quit further down the road. Most of our resolutions have to do with sacrifice, or at least what we feel is sacrifice. We believe that we are losing something that helps us cope with our pain. Let me be clear in saying that addictions survive by our making more and more space for them. The more space we give an addiction in our lives the more space it will occupy in our minds, and the voice meant to bolster our confidence, or determination, gets the volume turned down by an addiction that insists on playing it’s own music louder. I started drinking one year after a bad break up. I wanted to feel anything other than what I was feeling so I picked up drinking, and found that it allowed me to push other hurts out of my life as well, at least temporarily. I didn’t have to spend late nights wrapped in a cocoon of depression. Alcohol would blot out those stains in my memory, and it often felt like I was taking a coffee break from anguish. I should also mention that I live with chronic pain… a two prong existence on that front. One stemming from an accident in my youth where I was hit by a van, and the other coming from a medical condition that effects one of my legs. Alcohol would numb those aches as well, and I found that I could just pass out if I could drink through it. I felt like it was a solution to my problems, and night after night people would offer to buy me a drink after a show (when I first started out all I ever got paid in was drink tickets) so it seemed to fit into my life rather perfectly, and I became what many would consider a functioning alcoholic. I didn’t have a regular day job to work; in a way being an artist allowed me to camouflage my behaviour. I would never drink before shows, but was always eager to let the late night drinking begin afterward. Drinking became one of the ways I was able to come down after a show. I’ve had other addictions along the way… I think to some extent many of us have, it’s just that some are more socially acceptable than others (cellphones, social media, etc). The first addiction I managed to overcome was smoking, and I was not a casual smoker. Toward the end of my run with nicotine I was up to 2 packs a day. That experience is now several years in the rear view mirror, and after that I kicked soda pop out of my life… that one doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it’s a lot harder to do than people might imagine as it’s everywhere, and no one bats an eye about having a pop. I had struggles with Dilaudid (especially post surgery) that I’ve managed to overcome, and I’m now a year and half into my life without alcohol. What I’ve gleaned from my experience is that quitting an addiction is impossible if the only way we see it is as something we are losing. I’ve only been able to have success with quitting by adjusting how I see my addiction; I look for benefits of its absence… what do I gain by leaving this behind? If all we do is attach sacrifice and loss to giving up an addiction it only serves to reinforce our trepidation, and doubt as we make our attempt to scale that particular mountain. I need to be clear in saying that no addiction is easy to overcome, but it's easier if you can reinforce your will with positivity rather than listening to a siren that keeps singing you back down into the fathoms where depression resides. So for my first offering of 2018 I wanted to put forward a piece that addresses addiction. I wrote some very simple music that Tavis Weir than developed into something truly beautiful. Dave Mai is a film maker here in Penticton that I’ve had the good fortune of working with on a number of projects, and Endrené Shepard is the artist who designed the cover for A Bruise On Light… here she is using her skills to translate metaphor into imagery. I’m blessed to have worked with this trio of artists who all brought their considerable talents to a project that is deeply personal for me. This piece is called Resolution and if you’d like to support more projects like this you can find my Patreon page, or buy the track from the website. As always you’re support is greatly appreciated. I hope you’ll share the piece with anyone who may be facing this problem, or even with those who have a hard time understanding what someone goes through with addiction. I can’t say I’m cured, but I’m doing better… much, much better.

Resolution

Mostly we get hung up on the stopping

the suddenness of abandoning

a tether we both love and hate

love with a devoted affection

for the calm it sings to our chaos

hate

for the shame it haloes above us

like an unflattering hat

mostly we think that in stopping

there is loss

that our spines will feel the impact

of a vacuum we cannot imagine

but nevertheless dread

the truancy of our determination

decaying the foundations of our belief

we are crushed

under the swollen density

of a perceived disgrace

our resolve corrupted

by the whispering razors of suspicion

skinning our confidence

to make trophies of our ruin

we convince ourselves to accept failure

before sacrifice is required

there is in us

a solemn hysteria

but also

a stray seed

taking root in the womb of hope

growing a philosophy that insists

any triumph over vice

is proof of a daring that binds us to our might

that if we succeed

we must then surrender the relief our excuses provide

that there will be no alibis to rescue us

from the indictment of our proficiency

and that the discovery of our own strength

means we can no longer deny our ability to make change manifest

mostly we are afraid of the ending

panicked at the certainty

that a tombstone will suddenly flower atop

our buried obsession

and that our goodbyes to the mania we once cradled

will land like glass roses thrown against the casket

when victory becomes a funeral

a lament

for the poisons we thought were cures

mostly we shudder at the purity of a fresh start

we pause

like skates in worship of untouched ice

like a pen in praise

holding ceremony for the start of a new sentence

in a story

it is changing.

Video: https://youtu.be/ZXTTTj1zYHQ

First let me thank the other artists who helped me bring this project to life. Tanya Tagaq and Kym Gouchie laid down some incredible vocals that were mixed and arranged by the always delightful, Corwin Fox. The visual component comes from an exhibit happening right now at the Penticton Art Gallery, and was curated by Paul Crawford. The artists whose works are shown are Joseph Sanchez, Janice Tanton, and Jim Logan. Accompanying their works are some of the mass produced works Paul has collected for a show called “Velvet Indians”.

There exists a stark contrast between these collections as works from the “Velvet Indians” show became an easily digestible image for public consumption, while the works of Jim Logan, Janice Tanton, and Joseph Sanchez represent the reality of what was happening while those images were permeating the public’s conception of indigenous life.

This year has been a polarizing one for Canada. While we celebrate 150 years as a nation we have also come face to face with our own dark history. I’ve spent the past few years reconnecting with my father, who has had first hand experience with residential schools. There has been a vast expanse of silence to traverse, and I’m only now discovering these missing chapters from my own origin. My hope is that this piece will continue the conversation. One of the things I’ve learned through this process is something about healing. To heal a wound you must first clean it… which is perhaps the most painful part. To clean a wound you must expose it to the stinging air. That is where we are right now; witnesses to the blood and pain. We face it now to heal it, or ignore it… letting the infection deepen and spread. Whichever path we choose the truth will not waiver. The cure will take as long as the sickness, and the sickness isn’t yet over.

– Shane Koyczan, July 2017

Inconvenient Skin

150 years is not so long
that the history can be forgot

not so long that
forgiveness can be bought with empty apologies
or unkept promises

sharpened assurances that this is now
how it is

take it on good faith
and accept it

except that
history repeats itself
like someone not being listened to
like an entire people not being heard

the word of god is hard to swallow
when good faith becomes a barren gesture

there were men of good faith
robbing babies from their cradles
like the monsters we used to tell each other about

ripping children out of their mothers arms
to be imprisoned in the houses of a god
who’s teachings were love

did no one hear?
did god mumble?

god said love

but the things that were done
were not love

our nation is built above the bones
of a genocide

it was not love that pried apart these families
it is not love that abandons its treaties
it is not love to not acknowledge these atrocities
to allow teenagers to freeze to death
after having been driven past city limits
and set loose to walk back in the winter cold

it is not love
when an entire culture is told
stop whining
by a country still lining its pockets
with the profits of these broken promises

this is not love

yet this is what’s been done since before year one

150 years
is just us putting birthday candles
on top of smallpox blankets, teen suicides
and missing murdered women

we can’t spin our history
into something easy to accept because it isn’t

it should never be

we the north
are not free to shed our history
like an inconvenient skin

we are not free to turn our backs on the children
still swallowing the hollowness of poverty

this nation is not so sturdy
that it can sustain the weight of this blind spot in our memory

as Canadians
we want to live up to what we believe ourselves to be
live up to each quality we value
kind
compassionate
honest
trustworthy
true
strong
free

if we ever become
who we hope we are
it will be because we see how far there is still to go
and we know that if we are not these things to everyone
than we are none of these things

if the world brings a challenge to one of us
it brings it to us all
we rise and fall together
the winds of change
do not show up in our weather reports
and yet they blow from sea to sea

we stand on guard for thee

funny
how those standing up for the water the land
and everything that sustain us
are told to stand aside
are told to make way for progress

we dress the future in such a pretty word
but without balance
these two wings of this same bird
cannot achieve flight

we hop about on the ground like a wounded sparrow

our fight is not meant to be with with each other
our fight is to be better
always improving
forever moving toward what we wish this nation to be

we can be better

we are a nation of neighbours who help neighbours
we are thinkers with hearts
we are feelers
we are problem solvers
and healers

and sometimes the medicine we need most
comes from remembering who we were

so we can reconcile it against who we wish to become

the drum is calling us in

like an anthem giving rise to a tide
these shores have been missing
like the vanishing languages of a stolen people

a nation forced to abandon their own good faith
beneath the steeple of a god who said love

I do not know the future
but I have read enough of history
to see patterns in its tapestry

I have seen resolve forged in adversity
and the voices we hear now
were once just seeds
that silence scattered amid a tangle of weeds
meant to strangle them away from sunlight

but some things fight the dark for so long
that they learn to grow inside of a shadow
and they are idle no more

at the core of our values
is dignity

and yet we strip mine a culture of its identity
allow our leaders to erode each treaty
and stab flags into the land
as if mountains can be owned
as if water is property

where is our dignity
if we cannot hold true to the promises we make?
what value does our word have
if all it ever does is break?

the choices we make today
will be felt across time

their consequences inherited
not by the echoes of who we were
but by the children our examples have taught

what future will they have
if our our only gift to them
are the lessons we forgot?

– Shane.L.Koyczan

Everyone is getting ready for summer, and for a lot of students it will be a welcome reprieve from another challenging school year, but for some this will be the last magical summer. They won’t be going back to school, or they will, but it won’t be the school they grew up with. Some will take a break, while others will hop right back into the frying pan and wade into the waters of higher learning, but what is that? Education is a pretty broad territory, and for a lot of people it starts and ends with school. Not just high school, but college and university. I always felt that I wasn’t educated correctly. I was certainly taught the lessons they intended to teach me, but I wasn’t educated toward my talents or my interests. Life is a lot more than what is taught in school so I wanted to take a moment to address both life and education for those stepping into new territory for the first time… those who are leaving home and having to pay rent for the first time. Having to buy your own groceries, toilet paper, do laundry, clean the bathroom, get a job, support your family, do your taxes… there is a never ending to do list that you’re about to inherit and no one really talks to anyone about it. With all of our time being eaten up by the things we’re told we must do… how much of that time is left to apply to our pursuit of happiness… how do we find fulfillment with no time to go looking for it? A lot of that comes down to discovering who you are in the world. This month I pass on what little I’ve gleaned about the importance of education… both what it is as well as how it will shape you.

Cheers, Shane

The Sum Of It Squared

To discover the thing you’re brilliant at
you first have to endure discovering all of the things you’re average at

in discovering this
you will discover something about yourself

not all of it will be good

but some of it will be wonderful

I can promise no more than some of it
because there will be a contrast

some of it will be difficult

you will not be prepared for some of it

there will be lessons
both sharp and unforgiving

letter grades
will become the promises of those
upon whom you cannot rely

meaningless

you will not receive an F
at falling in love
though you yet may fail
at loving the one you fall for

you will not receive an A+ at doubting yourself
though you will doubt yourself greatly

the tests you will come to face
will pit you against needles of terrible consequence

the night sky will not blaze with the light of gold stars for your achievements

you will be awarded nothing for your survival

pass fail will depend on how you view the world

if money is everything to you
but you have only a little
you may come to regard your life as a failure

but wealth comes in different forms

the form it becomes for you
will depend on what you value

if you prize knowledge
but have only a library card

you will be rich in a different way

your treasures will be dug
from pages of thought

chapters of imagination
wisdom
illumination
will open to you like a friend

curiosity will become a trail
you follow deeper into yourself
and the world

your mind is an open hand
ready to grasp whatever proficiency you reach for

you are free to pursue whatever knowledge you wish

if an answer exists
it will be yours to find

important to note
there will not always be answers

there will be times when confusion falls all around you
descending in slow motion like shattered glass
raining wounds into your confidence

you may at times
feel abandoned by your own instincts

the needle of your moral compass
spinning directionless
as the polarities of joy and despair
change their minds about beliefs once held firm

some of your questions
will move you beyond the dimensions
or true or false

true
you will have multiple choices

false
every choice you make will lead to the doorstep
of the outcome you desire

there will not be a teachers copy
of the book of life

no secret chapter at the back
indexing solutions to the problems you face

yes
there will be rewards
unexpected and dazzling

in the times most troubling to you

laughter will become a fortune
you pull from your own shadow
like candlelight from a womb of dark anguish

friendship
will become a jewel
sparkling against the intolerable might of isolation

a shining reminder
that you need never build walls
to keep trust at bay

some of it will be brilliant

some of it will spill from street lamps at night
as if weeping an incandescence

some of it will pool at your feet into a reservoir of valour meant to rescue you from
the inevitable eclipses of regret

there will be regret

you will hurt others
wether by accident or act of will

your simply being
will cause pain

you will not be able to mend all of the scars you birth

you may not care

but be cognizant
that while the present may never say it to your face
history will not shy to say it behind your back

you are
in the end
accountable for what you create

in composing fear
you will sculpt hate

in forging inspiration
you will author hope

each choice will present you with consequence or reward

from this point on
the most important questions you will be asked
are the questions you ask yourself

your education
begins with deciding what you wish to discover

in discovering this
you will discover something about yourself

not all of it will be good

there will be days of empty
that march through you like soldiers of diffidence
cheering on the surrender of your gallantry

the glory of this pain will exist in the fact that it is temporary
that whatever sorrow is aching to receive you

I promise you no more than some of it

some of it too
will be wonderful.

– Shane.L.Koyczan

As we head into May it marks the end of 2017’s national poetry month. Don’t despair… poetry is an everyday event… you just have to want it in your life. May is a big month for me in a lot of ways… my birthday is looming which I am usually out on the road for. Happy to be home for this one to spend it with my grandma. May 5th will be a different kind of anniversary for me. May 5th will be 6 years off of anti depression medication. I don’t exactly celebrate it because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having been on them. I needed the balance they provided me at the time, but it is nonetheless a peculiar anniversary that deserves to be noted. Not being on them doesn’t mean that my struggles are less or that my life has normalized… it only means that I’ve found some ways to manage my depression, but even they aren’t always a success. I am often asked for answers I don’t have. Some of the questions I get are funny, but others are more severe. They come from a place of fear, confusion, and pain. I struggle with not having to keys to unlock each person from their particular torment. It weighs on me that so often the only thing I’m armed with are the numbers to hotlines that can hopefully help more than I can. I’m not trained to counsel people in from their individual ledges. I do what I can, and sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge people… sometimes they just need to feel seen or heard. Other times I’m at a loss… I try to respond and all that comes back is “page not found”, so I’m left wondering what became of the person on the other end of line. I don’t think I could count to how many sleepless nights it’s led to. There’s a lot more to unpack here than I’m able to at the moment, but I wrote this piece that I started to think about while staring at a piece of graffiti I came across while on a walk. The piece was beautiful… the colours lush and vibrant, but I couldn’t read what it said. It got me to thinking that we don’t always know what it is we’re looking at, and that just happens to be a parallel for our lives. Sometimes we stand back to look at it, and while we can admire the line work, the textures, and the gradient, we miss the meaning. We aren’t able to translate it into something our consciousness can digest. I wrote this about trying to find acceptance in not knowing… I’m not sure that peace is possible in this regard… I don’t know.

Cheers, Shane

Graffiti

There are stars
now long gone
who threw their last spears of light
across an unending darkness
but to us
they will ever only be
the stars we see our entire lives

they will never extinguish

if you ever need a reminder of the definition of I don’t know

consider that some of the light we see
comes from sources that vanished eons ago

which means maybe everything
is still exploding

I don’t know

our questions are tough pills to swallow
not exactly chew able vitamins

and yet the confidence in our uncertainty
somehow gives us permission
to hold one another’s sins
to each other’s noses
like a puppy held to their own shit
like a child’s arm to a cigarette

we turn regret into a hobby
doubt into a pastime
all of this while the winds of change dodge each chime
and the awful sameness of our pain rings out
like a sound we cannot stop hearing

fearing the worst
has become a career option for the brave

our leaders save themselves the trouble of having to care
until the graves dug by mental illness
make mercy a platform worth standing on

put the heart that goes out to us
back in your chest and start breathing
you have work to do

thoughts and prayers are not enough

not when there are razor blades so clever
that they bluff their way past the security guards of our compassion
and cross some wrists like the finish line for a marathon
we are too tired to keep running

not when there are nooses so cunning
that they tangle themselves away from usefulness
and refuse to become the rope needed
to pull us out of this nosedive
we are rehearsing for

I want to believe
that the sleeping pills scattered on your floor
are just dreams you dropped by accident
or the nightmares you tried to flush

but I know what they’re for

they’re for when the insistence of love sounds like a noise
you cannot bring yourself to listen to any longer

they’re for when you want to unplug the speakers
from the stereo
to go as silent as 3:42 am
when the only things still staring back at you
are the stars that might not even be there anymore

some of us run full force toward a closed door
that we come up against like a wall
but others bust through and fall into a room padded with oblivion
that time then seals shut forever

we cannot hit rewind on this track

your song plays only so long as you keep singing it
without you
we will not know the lyrics

I know you are tired of singing
I know your throat is sore
and your voice raw from overuse

I know that tomorrow can feel like an abuse
you are about to suffer

I know how tempting it can be
to want to put a period on the end of this incomplete sentence
because is anybody even reading this?

I don’t know

but maybe there is a paintbrush
that can carve it out better than a blade

because the things I’ve seen made from pain
are works of art
that hang in a gallery
displaying sculptures of relief

maybe when autumn turns a green leaf yellow
its stem becomes a string tightened to a cello
playing the song you never knew you loved most

maybe somewhere there is a ghost
wearing silk sheets
hoping to haunt the living a little more softly

maybe some ghost stories are true

maybe somewhere there is someone
who will love you better
I don’t know

I’m not certain of any of this
but at times I take comfort in leaning on the shoulder of I don’t know

to rest against the splendour it provides

it promises what could be
never what will be

I don’t know if love
is a talented enough hound
to track down any of us

but it could be

I don’t know

our lives are labrynths
and I’m lost too

I dance through its dungeons
I stumble through it’s halls
I vanish while I cry the invisible ink
I use to write my mind upon its walls.

– Shane.L.Koyczan

Each year it feels as if our challenges become greater… that they occur with a more alarming frequency. These days feel so urgent… like we are being called upon to shift gears and enact change that is overdue. We each face our own mountain to climb, and in our ascent we sometimes come upon obstacles in our path that we believe are insurmountable. Already, just a few short months into this new year, it feels as if we have come upon test after test. It scares me when I wonder how long our resilience can hold out. Today, for world poetry day, I wanted to offer a balm to perhaps soothe the ache in our endurance. This is for anyone standing at the base camp of their particular challenge. Your support is appreciated :)

Whatever Mountain

If you think it will be easy
If you think the path
will be laid out before you
or that the trail
will have previously been blazed
all obstacles cleared
every footstep
already pioneered by those who have gone before you

if you think that every barricade
will have been dismantled
or that every wall
will have been removed

if you think pressing your hands
into the wet cement of a foundation
will have proved to the world
you have left your mark upon it

if you think the grit
under your fingernails is evidence
that you have done enough

or that your rough and callused hands
offer sufficient testimony
that you have earned rest

if you think the test
will be anything less
than an essay question
aimed at unearthing
the answer of how much
your heart can bear

you will be disappointed

it will require more than
that there will be no welcome mat
waiting to greet you at the foot of this mountain

no medal
to pin upon your chest
when this is done

you will have won nothing by crossing this finish line
It exists
only to task you with discovering
how much deeper
you can go

it will insist that you drill past
the “I don’t know”
that has stood stubbornly in your way
since the instant
you first wondered if you could

it will burden you with the charge
of bringing to the surface
an understanding
of the misunderstood

the excavation
of an answer to the question
what now?

how do you keep going
in a world where the hellos
are outweighed by the goodbyes?

how do you train yourself to know
that you have to battle through the fall
if you ever expect to rise

you have to accept the fact that
the size of the mountain in front of you
is secondary to the fact that there is a mountain in your way

you don’t need a finish line to remind you
that the way forward exists because of the work you put in
forging the path behind you

effort isn’t weighed on scales
there will be times when the last breath in your lungs
must volunteer to become the wind in your sails

because who else is going to do it?

forward

faster than full speed
toward the colossus of uncertainty
that’s been laying bricks in your throat
to make room for the quiet impostor
sent to replace your roar your

strength is not diminished
because others think your struggle is futile

every time you broke
you learned to reconcile the pieces
and build a better self
using what you could salvage from the ruins of your slaughter

your alma mater was a school of thought
where the lessons were taught in reverse
test first
instruction later
it was a classroom dedicated to the teaching of what can be learned
from your failure

the answers were never meant to be easy
you’ve always known it
you don’t borrow the conviction it takes
to make yourself practice the impossible
you own it

the heaviest thing you will ever have to lift
are our own spirits

they will at times
be weighted down with the terrible gravity that is doubt
they will at times refuse to man the lighthouse
meant to steer you clear from disaster

you will never master being whole
without first knowing
that some of the pieces we lose stay lost
and that sometimes the cost of moving forward
is having to leave behind that part of yourself
and learn to exist without it

to face down whatever mountain is in your way
but then do what you’re going to do about it.

– Shane.L.Koyczan

The Age Of The Witness

I remember the volunteers
the way they would raise their arms like
trees refusing to be felled

their hands splayed open and ready to help
ready to give a destiny to their bones
and a purpose to their sweat

as children
we sat at our desks and watched in quiet admiration
we witnessed them grease the gears of progress
with their own conviction

and from their labour was born a simple but necessary truth



the truth doesn’t wear make up

it’s not trying to be pretty



it is our own embarrassment

that is the blanket

we throw on top of the truth

thinking that if we can cover it up

it will somehow stop existing



the truth is something we prefer not to see or hear

because the truth is about us

and we are terrified to feel it



we believe it will be unbearably upsetting

to learn the truth

to be forced to live with it

like some terrible cell mate

on a stretch of life

with no possibility of parole



no hope

of ever escaping the truth



so we shout at each other
birthing an ocean of noise
in which we attempt to drown the truth



and in the moments when the world is still
when a hush falls over us like a morning frost
when it finally feels as though we are ready to speak the truth



we offer silence instead

so frightened of what we might say

that we lay down in our coffins

and we are buried with the truth

having never shared it with anyone



the truth is

we are sick of the lies



the evening news was the spoon they used

to feed us their poison



television poured sugar into our minds

and free thought decayed

like the teeth we once used to eat the rich



but through the red and blue candy coated

police light tinted

3D glasses they gave us

so we could stare endlessly
into the sweetness they were offering



we witnessed

we witnessed tumours of greed
blossom from behind their eyes
like dark and thickening cataracts

we witnessed a sickness of want

become a fever in their appetite


they fed a pointless hunger

so often

they slowly stopped tasting the blood on their tongues



if we turned the volume of our hearts to silent

and gave them everything

they would hate us for having died for them

because our sacrifice would only mean

we could no longer give them more


we have witnessed

can we please evolve now?


we have witnessed those who held their children
like grudges
passing on their prejudice
so that their bloodline
could carry their hate forward

we have witnessed fear

we hold onto it like a ticket for a train
that is moving full steam ahead
toward a bridge that remains unfinished
because we could not learn to work together

can we please evolve now?
can we please stop bearing witness to our inaction?
can we please stop waiting?

we have been waiting
for someone to step bravely into our future
and turn us into their past

waiting for the last witness among us
to cross the border into our next frontier
to demonstrate the simple but necessary truth
that the age of the witness is over

we need a volunteer.

– Shane.L.Koyczan

Moving Day

There are so many flights of stairs
that lead up toward your heart
I get breathless just thinking about
having to climb them all

others in the lobby
are waiting for you to install an elevator
they argue about their place in line
all insisting they were first

my luggage hits the first step

beneath me/br> the noise blooms
like a clumsy flower
and they all turn their heads toward me

for a moment
they are silent

and then

laughter stampedes from their lungs
the instant they recognize
my preposterously imminent failure

they are certain
I won’t succeed

and perhaps I won’t

but I can find no good reason to tell them
that none of what they are carrying
will fit with them in that elevator
they are all waiting for

so I save my breath

and listen to the next flower
loudly take its place in the bouquet
as I pull the heavy luggage of my heart
up the next step

toward yours.

-Shane.L.Koyczan

Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long perform “For Many” – featured in the video of the same name and from their latest album, Debris.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjfu5ZsfwO4

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “For Lois”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Shoulders”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Origins”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Troll”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Once Upon A Doing Time”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Getting In Line”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “You’ll Live”.

Shane Koyczan, award winning poet reciting his poem “Prayer For The Someone Who Is Somewhere Dying”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Move Pen Move”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Being This”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “How I Learned To Smile”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Taro”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “The Student”.

Shane Koyczan reciting his poem “Instructions For A Bad Day”.