Introducing a new series of poems by Julian Matthews. Julian is a writer and Pushcart-nominated poet published in The American Journal of Poetry, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Borderless Journal, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Dream Catcher Magazine, Live Encounters Magazine, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and The New Verse News, among others. He is a mixed-race minority from Malaysia and lived in Ipoh for seven years. Currently based in Petaling Jaya, he is a media trainer and consultant for senior management of multinationals on Effective Media Relations, Social Media and Crisis Communications. He was formerly a journalist with The Star and Nikkei Business Publications Inc
Link: https://linktr.ee/julianmatthews
By Julian Matthews
I was never a happy child, always morose and alone even in company.
At the beach, I was more enchanted with the surf coming in than playing with the others. I watched the crisp blue tide of the South China Sea on the east coast horizon neatly creasing the vastness of an even bluer sky.
Then I spotted a fluttering in the tree. Barely 100 yards from where they sold kites, was a tree that trapped them. I counted seven but there may have been more.
How many parents had purchased a colourful plaything for their child then watched it get stuffed in the branches? They pulled and yanked, maybe even flung a slipper or two to dislodge it from its leafy tentacles, and when the line finally snapped – just gave up.
Did the child cry? Did the child, seeing the father’s failure, throw a tantrum? Did the mother try to appease the child with a cookie, a sandwich or a sweet drink? Did they buy another kite to return home with?
Or did they all just disregard the dilemma and move on?
After all, there were always other beachy things to do: skip stones, jump waves, chase tiny crabs into their sandy burrows or search for shells, rocks and other washed-up oddities.
Or perhaps the tree was in cahoots with the kite-seller. And when everyone had left, lay its long branches down for the kite-seller to retrieve his wares, fix the kites, and await new suckers the next day.
Or maybe when the moon rose and the tide was out, the inky sky studded with twinkling stars, the tree put on its dancing shoes, releasing the kites into the swirling wind, spinning like a ballerina or a rhythmic gymnast twirling multiple ribbons in the air, partnering up with the neighbouring palm trees for a frenetic West Coast Swing routine on the sparkling sand, with jazz playing in the background from a passing cruise ship.
I’d like to imagine it was the last scenario.
And mum and dad were there to hear my laughter.
First published in “Words on the Wire 2” anthology of the Chapter One writers group, edited by Sue Hill and Bob Walton of The Write Box and Super Culture, Britain.
