In Memory of James Van Der Beek (March 8, 1977 – February 11, 2026))
We learned your name in the glow of after-school light,
when televisions hummed like distant surf
and time felt wide as any opening theme.
You stood there—earnest, unarmored—
a boy rehearsing gravity
before the world required it.
We did not know then
how quickly the credits roll.
James Van Der Beek,
your voice carried the fragile weather
of almost-adults everywhere—
those hallway philosophers,
those porch-step dreamers
who believed longing itself was proof of life.
In Dawson's Creek,
you gave us permission to feel too much,
to speak in paragraphs
when a shrug might have been safer.
And now the river keeps moving.
This is the shape of elegy:
a shoreline after the tide withdraws,
a theme song echoing in an empty room,
a generation older than it meant to be.
We thought the story would pause for us,
would hold the frame
until we were ready.
But nothing waits.
Not youth.
Not the soft astonishment
of first becoming known.
Still—
somewhere a rerun flickers to life.
Somewhere a voice breaks open the quiet.
And in that small, electric forever,
you are still there—
earnest, unarmored—
asking the question
we are all still asking,
not wanting to wait
for our lives
to be over.
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Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Online) - Published: February 22nd, 2026 05:57
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Online)
Comments3
There is a wistful nostalgia in this tribute to a face printed on memory's wall. Nicely penned this poem speaks of fond memories
Superb
Matthew, what moves me most here is the restraint. The imagery of tide, shoreline, rerun flicker…it’s all soft, but it lands heavy. “We did not know then / how quickly the credits roll” feels universal, not just about one life. This elegy honors both the person and the era. Beautifully done. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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