e e cummings

Colby liked the poet e e cummings, mostly, I believe, because cummings wrote many poems in lower case and with little, if any, punctuation. Colby hated punctuation. He felt it was limiting, and who is to say he was wrong? Words aren't always for the writer to convey. Sometimes they are for the reader to interpret.

Here's the beginning one of Colby's favorites:


why must itself up every of a park
why must itself up every of a park
anus stick some quote statue unquote to
prove that a hero equals any jerk
who was afraid to dare to answer "no"?

Here's a favorite of mine:

i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

Writings

I try to pinpoint what I miss most about Colby. It is everything. Absolutely everything. But one of many specific things I miss is conversation with him. Colby was a wonderful conversationalist. I miss that. I miss talking to him. I miss hearing his thoughts, his viewpoints, his ideas. In the absence of speech, I have bits and pieces of his writing. Colby was not a writer like I am. Instead, he was a poet, a lyricist, a songwriter. But his writings are a glimpse into his inner soul, for he only wrote about what truly mattered to him.

Instead of using one notebook, Colby had the habit of writing down lines for poems, thoughts, and songs on pieces of scrap paper, or a page or two of many notebooks. Over the past months I have found a number of these bits of writing. I have seen many of them before, but some are new to me. The writings remind me who Colby was at his core, and they keep his thoughts and beliefs fresh in my mind. For example:

Even if I make a mil

I’ll still buy my clothes at Goodwill

Those simple words remind me of Colby’s dedication to recycling, of using something completely and not throwing it away if it still had some life, or in this case some wear, left in it. Colby felt we use too many of our natural resources and do not value enough what the Earth provides. In that, I believe he was right.

Society is in rapid decay

With the crime rate soaring

People are running wild

Greed, power, food additives

A giant corporation

Controls every aspect of

Society from war to entertainment

To organ transplants

Everything is polluted

Life has never been cheaper

Like the lines above, much of Colby’s writing was about unfairness, injustice, and problems in our society. Colby was about valuing human life, finding meaning in our days, and living a life filled with natural products. Someday I will compile his thoughts, his written words. We can all find something of value in them, some thing to think about. But for now I will continue to search for and save them, and revel in each new find.

Poetry

Of the two of us, Colby was the one who was a poet. From the time he was 12 he always had a scrap of paper tucked away somewhere with the beginnings of a poem, or song lyrics he was working on. My writing tends to be longer format. It takes me 1,000 words to say what poets and songwriters can say in 100. That's why I was so surprised when I was driving down the road a few weeks ago and rhyming words began to form in my head. When I got home I wrote the words down and in a few minutes there it was. A poem.

A few days later I had the opportunity to submit the poem for a book that will be filled with poetry about children who have passed on. If I was surprised when I wrote the poem, I was even more surprised when it was accepted. As I said, Colby was the poet in our family.

Like most of us, this new creation, these words, together, are not perfect. I know little of proper poetic structure, form, or format. But the words are real, heartfelt, and they came so easily that I didn't want to second guess the process by over thinking it, or editing. I'm a little out of my element here but I hope those who read it, who maybe didn't know Colby, learn a little more about him.

You, Colby

True love is what I feel
The first time I hold you
You giggle, grow, so fast, so fun
Colby, my toddler son

Pride for the grand slam
Winning is your smile
Sadness at losing Dexter dog
Counseling by the mile

Skipping down the wooded path
You, carefree, bright and gay
But teachers do not understand
A learning difference doesn’t go away

Panic first begins in school
Then spreads to all you do
Anxiety soon rules your life
My Colby, where are you?

Playing music sooths your soul
And your talent is so strong
You are smart and kind through all the rain
You smile, but it’s all wrong

Doctors never get it right
So you take it from their hands
And try to do what they cannot
Your brain, over time, disbands

Life on the street seems your only choice
The illness grows and grows
Everyone so loves you still
But pain is all you know

The big day comes and now you’re free
You leave me way behind
I don’t think you planned to go
But maybe it was time

My broken heart will never heal
Life will never be the same
How can I go on without you, my son
So precious is your name

Now I am lost, so all alone
A grandma I’ll never be
But you, Colby, my beautiful son
Are finally, eternally free

©  Lisa Wysocky