My Cinematic Son*                                   33 lines

 

                                                I walked the high woods

                                                with the young videographer

                                                steeped in his chosen bliss.

 

                                                When I saw sun slants

                                                wake up the glen

                                                he spoke of appropriate

                                                reflectors and lens.

 

                                                When I spied the salmon

                                                flash through the brook

                                                and sail the beaver break

                                                he talked combination

                                                two-camera shoot

                                                blending close-up with wide.

 

                                                When the trumpeting song

                                                of the long-necked crane

                                                filtered across the divide

                                                he clarified when lavalier

                                                is preferred to boom while

                                                working outside in the wild.

 

                                                As I relished the trek

                                                to the prairie savannah

                                                he floated the slope behind

                                                lost in his editing studio

                                                mending the cuts into seamless

                                                dissolves, foldup and rollaway wipes,

                                                courtesy Adobe Premier.

 

                                                How I envied the depth

                                                of his video roots, the

                                                pull of his deep equilibrium.

                                                Would that the loam of my own

                                                clip debris were anchored

                                                and coded in similar tracking

                                                to Easterís meter and meaning.

 

                                                                        Jerome L. McElroy

                                                *Accepted in Red Owl Magazine (Spring 2005)