The Lost Adults of Neverland
I don’t want to grow up …I don’t want to wear a tie … and a serious expression in the middle of July … ~ Song from Peter Pan
Before I knew that Pan
was the goat god of wild creatures
I wanted to be Peter
Not so much because he could fly
But because he wouldn’t grow up
Before I knew that a grown woman
named Mary Martin was playing Peter’s part
I already didn’t want to wear a tie
Or bra, or garter belt
Before I knew that the Catholic Church
turned Pan into the devil
stole his horns and hooves
changed his pipes to snakes
his pasture into a fallen Eden
I had a crush on John Darling
even though he wore glasses
and a girl’s nightgown like mine
Wendy was invisible to me
until the Beach Boys sang about her
A California girl with a tan
who went to the beach with Tiger Lily
and wore a polka dot bikini
My mother raised five lost boys
My father was a pirate
And before I knew that a pipe playing Pan
could elicit Pan-ic in the hearts of men
I was struck with an anxiety disorder
that made my hands shake
too heavy to lift
too tired to clap for an ailing fairy
I didn’t want to need a mother
or be afraid of my father
or face the croc who swallowed the clock
and knew my real age
Before I learned that Pan was a nature spirit
whose name meant “to pasture”
I had already moved to the country
I understood the importance of the shadow
and taught my sons to sew
They played on the ledge
behind our living room curtains
“Can you see Neverland? I asked them
“Have you met Tinkerbell?”
I wore a feather in my hair
like Peter wore in his cap
fell in love with a John named Joe
sewed a fallen hem with the point of my pen
and jumped off the plank into the underworld
I found the flower child in Peter
the poet, and the courage to clap for myself
I danced on the ledge and looked down
saw the flickering light
that threatened darkness
was the promise Peter made
told to innocent children
while time was ticking
Where is the pixie dust?
Will my children be snatched?
Am I too old to skip or sit on the sidewalk?
Will I see a white light and tunnel
on my way to Neverland?
Before I knew that Pan was a lustful old man
and that Peter was lonely when the boys went home
I was a child who knew I’d never fly
I was a girl determined
not to join the ranks
of the lost adults of Neverland
not be tied to a 9 to 5
wearing panty hose and stilettos
in the middle of July
Post Notes: The above poem is one in a a series of poems about Peter Pan that were read at the FloydFest Coffee Bus this past July. The photo is of me reading the poem on the Poetree Soapbox, taken by Deana from Friday Night Fish Fry, who caught part of the show.
September 14th, 2007 10:48 am
testing comments 1 – 2- 3.
September 14th, 2007 11:53 am
I love that poem. It is one I can relate to!
September 14th, 2007 1:28 pm
“Am I too old to skip or sit on the sidewalk?”
Oh, no, no, no! Now you are getting somewhere near old enough to look for a new metaphor, to go from Peter Pan to this poem:
Warning
by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and a pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
See? When you get old enough, you may not only sit on the sidewalk, but also learn to spit! I’m all for making make up for the sobriety of my youth. When you are ready, I invite you to join my red hat group, Plum Crazy Red Hat Mamas, which you may read about here: http://plumcrazyredhatmamas.blogspot.com/
September 14th, 2007 2:02 pm
I was actually thinking about that poem when I wrote that line. I don’t care much for spitting, but I do like to skip, something you just don’t see mature adults do that much of.
September 14th, 2007 2:36 pm
I love this poem.
I never grew up and probably (hopefully) never will…
September 14th, 2007 3:39 pm
I think you are the type of person who always sees the fairy dust and always will. I am somewhat that way too, a lot of the time.
September 14th, 2007 4:19 pm
I can’t imagine why would anyone want to abandon our childishness! Peter Pan’s a wonderful myth and I hope parents are still sharing it with their children. After all, we all need our own Neverland…it’s the place where our souls live. By the way, isn’t it strange how the word “childishness” came to have such a negative connotation?
September 14th, 2007 8:33 pm
My favorite line: “I understood the importance of the shadow
and taught my sons to sew”
🙂
~S
September 14th, 2007 10:22 pm
I am very glad to be here from Michele. This poem is worth visiting your blog and more. In fact I think, it can me set to a song. It has that kindof rhythm and melody.
Very powerful and thoughtful! I always did like Peter Pan!
September 14th, 2007 10:34 pm
I still skip occasionally, Colleen, so we can do it together.
Spitting isn’t my thing, either, but I’m glad it’s in the poem. In the summer of 1998, when I was exhausted from 24/7 caring for my mother whose Alzheimer’s was advancing, the first-ever Alzheimer’s Camp came to my rescue. With one-on-one counselors, they took twelve AD patients to camp for a week. Mother died in 2004, but I have a video of her that a film crew put together, showing the dozen campers swimming, dancing, playing games, smiling, enjoying themselves. One man and my mother are the only speaking campers on the video because they were still able to speak more or less coherently. The video ends with Mom saying something like, “We all just do the best we can, right?”
Now to explain the spitting. There were contests at the camp, and every single camper won an Olympics-type medal for something. My dignified 80-year-old mother was so proud of hers that she wore it for months afterwards, sitting in her recliner wearing the wide, red-white-n-blue ribbon around her neck, with her award dangling at the bottom of the V. She even wore it to church. I still have her medal and stop to look at it once in a while. And what contest did she win, you ask? The one for watermelon seed spitting! She managed to spit a watermelon seed farther than any of the others. Obviously, somewhere along the way, my mother learned to SPIT.
September 14th, 2007 10:59 pm
Colleen: I read poetry occasionally (often, to the children, but it is a limited selection since they know what they want) and even less frequently write my own. That piece has just resonated more than anything I’ve read in a *long* time. It’s a wonderful, really hairtinglingly wonderful piece!
Michele, I am sure, would agree with me. I am sure that is why she sent me.
N.
September 14th, 2007 11:03 pm
Thank you, Breadbox. It’s a fun poem to read and I got so much off my chest with it!
Bonnie, I just adore that story. I’m going to start practicing (next summer?).
September 15th, 2007 6:12 am
I LOVE this poem Colleen…There is so much about the Peter Pan story and all that goes with it that has ALWAYS touched me deeply…And your Poem does the same.
September 15th, 2007 8:27 am
Brilliant and wonderful. I’m fully in support of never growing up – or certainly not much!
September 15th, 2007 9:44 am
Since you are visiting my Plum Crazy blog, Colleen, be sure to see this post: http://plumcrazyredhatmamas.blogspot.com/2007/04/how-to-correctly-weigh-yourself.html
September 15th, 2007 9:59 am
That is absolutely my favorite poem of the year!!
Do you have a recording of your recitation?
Nancy (Nana)
September 15th, 2007 10:04 am
No recording on that one. Too long for Youtube, I suspect. If you lived nearby you could hear me read it at the third Saturday Spoken Word open mic. Tonight we are reading poems about punctuation and more.
September 15th, 2007 10:34 am
I booted up the old computer and what a fun way to start my morning.I’ll fly throughout the day now thanks to your poem thanks
September 15th, 2007 5:17 pm
your words are marvelous and express so much of my “neverland” experience. I am 52, but a child still lives at my address.
September 15th, 2007 7:57 pm
What a great poem with wonderful imagery. And don’t we all wish – at various times – for that eternal youth? But there’s something to be said for the wisdom of growing older.
September 15th, 2007 11:18 pm
I love your poem, Colleen, and I love to skip too!
September 17th, 2007 10:32 am
wonderful, colleen….
‘peter pan’ is my son’s favorite book right now….we’ve read it 3 times thus far. your poem has both the playfulness and the ‘haunting’ of the story…. there’s much meaning underlying the words, just as in the book!
love, love, love it!