We were taught about this love.

From those who never knew.

They had heard the stories of.

From the dreamers and the few.

These survivors of those wars.

Who heard this from above.

To teach in words and metaphors.

To live, lie, and say I love.

I’ve heard them speaking of.

Just not certain or so sure.

I said I don’t believe in love.

So altruistic and so pure.

There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.

They held on with great fury.

Leaving marks of letting go.

And the blood it stained: don’t worry.

All scars heal, yeah, you know?

They were courting with disaster.

Then again, was nothing new.

On the street, he walked right past her.

Brighter smiles. Resentments grew.

They got old and lost all memories.

And in the end, they all died.

They were buried by their enemies.

And in their eulogies, someone lied.

There is something in the water.

In the air like flakes of snow.

Take the narrow to the broader.

I’m just learning letting go.

You are cold, and you are distant.

It’s all tell now and no show.

If I were just more consistent.

I could teach this letting go.

There’s a moral to this story.

Builds a plot like mold will grow.

There’s no need to say you’re sorry.

You taught me well this letting go.

I am cold and I am distant.

I’m all tell now and no show.

You teach well, so persistent.

Such a gift this letting go.

The Ancients started singing.

In an unfamiliar key.

The Stoners started dancing.

And staring at just me.

The Republicans they were drowning.

Outside the Democratic waves.

The Angel’s started humming.

Just some notes from Jesus’ saves.

A voice spoke said, “You’re dreaming.”

I screamed, “Please go away.”

They kept shaking in the evening.

Through the night and brand new day.

Now, the Ancients are together.

They are smiling like they knew.

Like they’ve known about forever.

And a different shade of blue.

They spoke, “Just keep on going.”

And I drifted deep in song.

Until I woke to someone crying.

I guess I had been away too long.

Was flickering in that distance.

Or was just my point of view.

No closer than your resistance.

Or my disdain for something new.

I’ve been looking for distraction.

From all that’s tired, bowed and old.

With no additions by subtraction.

And all the love is frozen cold.

All this silence is not golden.

There’s just nothing left to say.

All this new does not embolden.

It just drives the good away.

While I was making peace with the Cockroaches in my Hotel Room, I was making love with another tenant, who was a lovely native Indian woman from Vancouver Island.

I found a job working at a car wash and marveled at how much smoother the paint was on higher end cars like Rolls Royces or Jaquaurs.

Then I got an evening job in the kitchen at the ‘Town Pump’, a venue for great live music and average food.

Then I got a midnight to 8a.m. job at Hambrger Mary’s, a 24 hour fast food joint that catered Hookers, Transvestites and a very colorful yet dangerous brand of streetlife.

I was working my way out Vancouver. I gave up the Welfare cheques. I gave up the car wash in the cold and wet, slept during the day and worked from 4p.m. until 8a.m.

Bill Kennedy the Hustler could not grasp why I worked so much. In this world of Skid Row; an honest God Fearing, hard working individual like myself was seen as peculiar, I think.

Bill suggested I take a look in the welfare office… He thought there would be cheques there with my name on them.

He was right.

I wasn’t so honest after all.

I traveled east by train.

Dennis Mantin

I arrived in Vancouver by train in the morning as the sun came up, and found a crumpled 5 dollar bill in my back pocket. I was 28, hung over and in a new city, but I wasn’t broke.

You could go to the welfare office, get a check and pay for a hotel room all in Vancouver’s east end, all in the same day.

I did that.

The Hotel Manager was a German named Frank with a severe limp and major anger issues on East Hastings Street.

My room was in the 3rd floor and there were about 200 rooms on 4 floors. There was a sink and mirror as soon as I opened the door and the light forced the cockroaches to scatter.

I had never seen a cockroach before. Things were looking up. A double bed sat just beyond the sink and a window to a back alley world beyond that… I had arrived on skid row!

The first night I got quite drunk on the few dollars I had left over from what Frank the angry German didn’t take for rent; and made a speech to the ‘COCKROACHES’

“I will be on the side of the room with the bed… You guys can have the sink and I will leave some food for you on the floor under the sink. Cross this fucking line!”

I made several lines with my hands and gestures. (drunk)

“And it will be war. Don’t cross the line and we will be OK. “

That was in October 1985. I left skid row in March 1896 just before Expo 86 began.

No cockroaches were harmed during my stay.

A dory is a small row boat used by fishermen.
I knew we were in trouble when I couldn’t get Dexter to sit down as he tried to untangle the net, rocking the dory; taking on river water.
My warning,
“We’re going to sink if you don’t sit down . ”
This seemed to fall on deaf ears.
I remembered Harold’s wise words.
“If you think you’re going under, remove your rubber boots, or you will drown.”
I was sitting in my socks in the middle of the river, bailing water with a rubber boot as the dory disappeared beneath me. We had reached the tipping point.
The Atlantic Ocean water is cold in late October and adds weight to sweaters made of wool.
I heard Dexter splashing. However, my main focus early on was to not get tangled up in the net. When I was sure I was clear, I was dog tired and decided to allow my body time to recover for another push to shore. This required holding my breath and allowing myself to sink to the bottom Deception River.
It was here in the estuary with approximately 10 feet of the Atlantic Ocean over my head that I realized that it had been perhaps decades since I had prayed and this might be an opportune time to return to the practice. The prayer went something like this.
“Dear God… If you get me out of this; I will never drink again. ”
I pushed off the river bottom and swam towards shore in the darkness. I remembered Persy’s warnings,
“Don’t panic… to panic is death.”
I sank, stayed calm and reached dry land .
Dexter yelled from the opposite shore.
I sat for a moment cold and grateful to be alive and thought to myself… If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to die.

Dennis Mantin

Dennis Mantin was born in Toronto in 1958. However, he grew up in rural Nova Scotia and Cape Breton, where he was introduced to painting and literature.

Mantin left the east coast for Alberta in 1980 and landed a job as a nude model at the Banff School of Fine Arts with acclaimed American Painter and Sculpter Eric Fischl. Meeting Fischl opened his feelings and eyes to really seeing color and tone; even in the most unexpected places.

In 1992, after having returned to Toronto, Mantin dedicated himself to painting and had the good fortune to meet the extraordinary Canadian poetic Painter Paul Fournier, which ignited a lifelong creative friendship. With Fournier’s mentoring, Dennis mounted his first solo exhibition in an antique store in The Beaches neighborhood of Toronto.

After a decade of painting and exhibitions, raising a family and life circumstances forced Mantin to give his attention elsewhere.

In May of 2014, Mantin renewed his relationship with painting and was invited to share Paul Fournier’s studio, which culminated in a solo exhibition at the Abbozzo Gallery at 401 Richmond Street. The exhibition was called The Meditation and alluded to Mantin’s recent interest and dedication to the practice and study of mindfulness Meditation.

While working on The Meditation, Mantin was encouraged to reexamine his writings, which stimulated a revision of a short screenplay from 20 years earlier.

The short film, a 15-minute drama entitled The Meditation, was written, directed, and produced by Mantin in 2017 and featured world renowned actor Jonathan Hyde of the Royal Shakespearen Academy. Jonathan won best supporting actor at the Top Shorts Online Film Festival, and Dennis received an honorable mention for narrative at the same festival. The film received the Award of Excellence from the Canada Shorts Film Festival in 2017.

Dennis started his WordPress blog in 2013 and has over 2000 posts in the decade that followed.

In the autumn of 2023, Dennis will publish his first novel, ‘LOOK THEM IN THE EYES’ with Canadian publisher Friesen Press.

Dennis is a single father, currently living in Toronto with his 12 years old daughter Zylia and their cat Ned.

Dennis Mantin