For Passion

To the memory of mothers
Who told us bedtime stories
Of pirates, injuns, and mermaids
And of their fleeting glories.

To journalists turned novelists
And novelists turned playwrights
Who've filled our hearts with wonder
And built our dreams with might.

And finally,
To the man whose genius taught us
To believe in what we can
And that education released our boundaries
And there is a boy in every man.

for James Matthew Barrie (1860-1937) and all other teachers, mentors, directors, friends, parents, and the like who share those stories and make sure that childhood never ends.

This poem was originally entitled "For Fantasy" and included another stanza directly relating to JMBarrie's contributions. Because the poem is no longer a part of the original multi-genre research project on Barrie, I thought it could be more applicable to all inspirators without this stanza, and with a more inclusive title.

Our Cavern

a comment, or two, on the past year for all involved. i wrote this a while back, but revised and revisited some issues. i think that everyone's side is well addressed in a positive light. there was not one person, authority or student, who was not hurt in some way. we all went through the same things, just dealt differently, so we thought that we were all on different pages and alone.

there we are
sitting in a beautifully decorated cave.
we all love it. of course we have our moments.
we have our fights, our dances; losses, successes.
when suddenly, the lights flicker and die.
we can find nothing. Some people run away, for fear of darkness
others stay: this cave is all they’ve ever known
everyone speaks, sometimes too much
and slowly our eyes adjust.
we see what damage has been done in the
sudden blackout
and we begin to rebuild,
with help from an untrusted match
nothing’s the same in the darkness.
sure, some things are prettier, but a lot of things lose their color.
and slowly, our eyes adjust
we have or fights, our dances; losses and successes
(but on a smaller scale)
more of us decide not to like the darkness, and leave the cave.
as each person leaves, the opening widens.
never shedding more light on us, just tearing us down.
the match flickers, but does not go out.
we are smaller now.
less people to rebuild, still not enough light to see by.
and just when those of us who stayed
begin to see the colors again,
a second darkness strikes,
and more people are lost, not this time because they leave,
but because they are rejected.
what happened to our shining cave?
no walls remain.
and yet, no light…
our eyes may adjust,
but that glitter, isn’t reappearing.
there’s no one left for it to find light in.
i have a roof, but no shelter,
i have no walls, but cannot see the stars
i am not alone. but everyone is isolated.