( lose the kid )*

~

in the summer of
his sixteenth year,
somewhere o'er the
continental shelf
off California,
while still at
thirty-thousand feet,
he threw him out.
without a suit
or parachute
he left him naked...
drowning in the surf.
i suppose he should
have thanked him kindly, or
said goodbye at very least,
a'fore that final shove;
he admits it was
a brutal move, and in
hindsight kinda rude;
yet sometimes a kid
must simply choose,
knowing that a better
time may never come.
and so the boy that
held him back from change;
impulsive child that
in the dormitory
no one friended.
the kid who spent
more time in trouble
than did he not,
just got up-ended.
yes, that kid who stole
his mother’s tin, full
of fifty yen pieces;
with which he bought
himself a treat
(or maybe two or three);
the one who on the long
train ride to school,
placed his chewing gum
between the closing doors,
then watched with evil grin as
morning masses poured on through
when they opened once again.
yes, this impulsive one with
boundless energy to scheme,
was deliverer to three
sweet, older sisters, of
spiders, snakes and countless,
blood-curdling screams.
one who stole the Lord’s name
Alfred Tennyson, that is,
who for a few days called,
another’s words his own,
(that is until another
set that record straight).
who terrorized four older
siblings and one younger too,
for sixteen diabolic years.
this heartless, evil twin
who always seemed to hide
some twisted humor deep inside.
becoming stuck, in the past,
like some old chewing gum
stuck between the doors.
and just growing older
wasn’t going to change
anything at all;
for you see, change within
requires an exchange without...
people, that is, who accept
the new, throw out the old.
but you know what's crazy?
no sooner had he lost the
weight of that old estate,
and pushed that kid aside
this thief, liar, cheat...
troubled kid and now...
a killer too ( and yet no
less would even do ).
no sooner had he landed in
these United States, his past
entire was left behind.
new and alive inside out
and he began to find,
to thrive... anew.

like a butterfly from
dark cocoon emerging for
his migratory transformation;
his trans-Pacific flight,
from East to West alighting.
thus began a future
full of blank pages;
a slate swept clean inside,
like that swift jet stream outside,
carried his 747 on
to brand new opportunity.
all for his rewriting, words
he’d never thought nor dreamed.
and although nothing else
had really changed,
on the inside he was
nearly,
mostly,
all the very same...

nothing that is,
except...

everything!

~

*post script.

though no blood was shed, all lines herein have some degree of truth; it's quite ok to laugh, to cry, to smile, or decide this is the worst you've ever seen. it's my life... well... the beginning of the new beginnings of my life.  

in reality we do not typically, when at the time of crossroads know it is at a crossroads we are standing, such being usually more readily evident in the rearview mirror. and yet somehow this sixteen year old knew he’d just been handed a new identity, and without any witness protection program.

because...
sometimes a kid just needs a new start!!

~

coniferous forms
dance in the umbra,
flickering oranges
of molten tongues,
of yellows and reds,
bathing the night;
its hungriness fed,
in the softened light.
like fingers it reaches
across the deep snow,
long shadows are creatures
in ember’s glow;
devouring consumption
as flames turn to ash,
like ravenous huntsman
his prey in his grasp.
a ghost in the darkness,
’neath a sliver of moon;
a howl in the stillness,
a shivering tune;
in patience awaiting,
straining to see
a dark horse arising,
’cross a bright galaxy;
the fire now low as
he aims and he shoots;
an eye for his target
ends a night of pursuit.
his prey is now captured,
his work here is done;
the camera now loaded,
his drive home’s begun.

~

*post script.

the astrophotographer’s task is almost always lonely and usually cold during Milky Way “hunting” season. from the vantage point of Watchman’s Fire Lookout overlooking Crater Lake, a friend spends nights in a tent (or even an igloo), his only companion perhaps a campfire in the deep snow, chasing his dream of shooting the night sky.  his reward for his labors?  incredible videos and stills, caught in the lens of his camera... and our praise.  Matthew’s motto is simple - “capturing the light in the darkness!"  and what heavenly light he captures!  interested in seeing some of his work?  simply Google his motto!