The Epistles of Tinkerbell, a trilogy.
These were written in the order in which they're presented, over a period of time between March 2004 and August 2005. I'd love to present this as a series of monologues someday, but I don't know that anybody would want to sit through it.
Part I -
The Epistles of Tinkerbell.
I.
When they gave out roles for this
old-fashioned, tragic passion play,
I should’ve stood up faster, but
the stardust passed me by and by I settled
for the lower stratal haunts of wayward sky—
face washed with mourning dew,
I sprouted wings that flew
just far enough to hit another wall
and then to crawl across the warm familiar
fabric of goodbye.
II.
If you could see me here tonight, as bright
as every second star combined,
the lines of your dismissal
etching beauty everlasting in my eyes,
what would you say?
You see, I stitched a gown that suits me,
out of every resolutely stamped-out tear,
and every thread of every fear
that beat its winging breathy panic on my heart
when you came near,
Singing mirror on the wall
Tell me how I let it all get so far gone.
But if you saw me here tonight
I’d be immaculately bright
The sum of fools that flirt with hope
Is radiance, and I am blindingly alight.
III.
I still recall with vague delight
the days when flight was strange, and you
would fall for miles, laughing
when we tangled in the currents of the breeze—
a little happy thought,
a shimmer and a sneeze
was all it took, back then,
and in the rain-drenched ferns adventuring
we found a world that never asked
for promises, that never begged
forgiveness for its excesses
and needed only wishes to survive,
and you and I, we were alive
as dreams have ever been,
and in my dreams a boyish grin
was all it ever took, back then.
IV.
Your shadow sat with me awhile when you were out today,
With little else to say but that the dusk was coming on
And you’d be gone again ‘til morning. Ice is forming on the ferns
And I should learn to give up waiting,
And I shouldn’t hate the window-ledge
That’s taken up your time so much of late.
But when I bring you
Drops of ocean from the moon,
Rubies hewn in blooms of scarlet wine
And tines of gold and silver smuggled from the waves
I find the fruit of Neptune’s caves discarded on your floor
As you adore some tinny kiss upon your thumb.
V.
Yet I would plumb the depths of everything
To find your heart’s delight, and give up wings
And all my happy thoughts for just one flight
That springs upon the hinges of your smile
So while I breathe the never-wind
I’ll hope for spring to come again
And live upon the boyish grin
As dear as dreams have ever been.
Part II -
The Unsent Epistle.
I've been perched up here all night
writing pleas and supplications
by the light of dripping fairy-wax,
inside this shadowed hollow
here where even you can't follow, Peter Pan.
and I've been thinking lots of things
a girl like me's not supposed to think
while I'm watering my fairy-rings
and ringing little bells like good Tinks do
and I'm wondering if I'll ever dare
to whisper them to you
sometimes I wish that I could bundle up
the unsent flowers
and trade them in for all the hours
I've wasted on your heart
when you are beating for the wild, windy thrills
that cut your bones and give you chills
and cast you weeping to the ground
when I have bound your boyish wounds
as best I can with salves and words and kisses
still unknown to mortal man
yet if I lay crumpled at your feet
and stripped of all my shimmering
and dying from a word
as fairies can
if, in the clapping of your hands,
you were to carry my salvation
would I wake to breathe again?
or would you ration out your love
and find it lacking, or
as night is cruelly asking,
would you be around at all?
every girl who takes your hand
to slake her thirst for living free
at some point sees the danger in your eyes
and typically
the way it goes
she thinks it some great prize
that she can capture for her own
so when at last you take the air again
she vaults herself to heaven with a wish
and chases like the wind--
and you remain forever young
but always she grows older,
til at last she sits alone
outside the doors of Neverland,
thinking someone should have told her
even sea-storms cannot catch
the great god Pan
and you will spend a few long nights yourself
alone or in the company
of murmurs from an unfamiliar place
that chase you, even when
their racing stars have slowed
every time, when you have finished
breaking them in two
you hang your feet across the moon
remembering tears and screams that don't belong
among your happy dreams;
you love them all, then wonder what went wrong.
so when you come back down
and I can see the shadows on your face
my questions die upon my lips
and I will slip my tears away
and ask another time
though I could beg and plead and cry
and scream, myself, as many nights
I've wanted to
though I could ask for every why
that lies unanswered in your eyes
it's useless in the end
so I will go back to my hollow, here
and decorate my wings
with dreams of you
and sing my songs in shades of blue
while, secretly, the stars converse
in cool and muted tones
--what fools these never-lovers be--
the still lagoon awaits the sea
yet I will be the staunchest wings
that ever loved the flame
and every scar will be a kiss
I carry by your name
and I will linger quietly
til nothing else remains
and if I burn away before,
then I will take the blame
and hope to be forgiven
if now and then I wonder
if you've ever shared
the slightest touch
of what I'm living under
Part III -
Epilogue.
Starlight
Star bright--
First or second on the right?
I never thought my memory
Would fail to hold the way
But little things betray themselves
In slipping rhymes, in dying bells
And Neverland
Grows smaller, every day.
I wish I may
I wish I might
But someone hid the stars tonight
I never thought these dazzled eyes
Woud let them go astray.
But little things begin to blur--
The colors innocence confers
On Neverland
Grow fainter, every day.
In all my dreams,
I did not leave--
But now I climb the wind, to grieve
Among the willows, one last time,
And see my world away.
The little lights are shining still
They kiss the canopies and hills
Of Neverland,
Unknowing and at play.
When tears and love
Have overflowed,
They keep some portion of a soul.
I'll catch it in a crystal flask
And leave it at your door.
I wish, I wish, with all my might,
That dawn would never follow night,
But Neverland
Can't hold us anymore.
When, as it will,
My heart grows old--
When yesterday is long-ago,
When long-ago's a fairy tale,
And all my flying through--
I'll leave the window open wide,
Watch for the star, and turn my eyes
To Neverland...
And I will think of you.
Part I -
The Epistles of Tinkerbell.
I.
When they gave out roles for this
old-fashioned, tragic passion play,
I should’ve stood up faster, but
the stardust passed me by and by I settled
for the lower stratal haunts of wayward sky—
face washed with mourning dew,
I sprouted wings that flew
just far enough to hit another wall
and then to crawl across the warm familiar
fabric of goodbye.
II.
If you could see me here tonight, as bright
as every second star combined,
the lines of your dismissal
etching beauty everlasting in my eyes,
what would you say?
You see, I stitched a gown that suits me,
out of every resolutely stamped-out tear,
and every thread of every fear
that beat its winging breathy panic on my heart
when you came near,
Singing mirror on the wall
Tell me how I let it all get so far gone.
But if you saw me here tonight
I’d be immaculately bright
The sum of fools that flirt with hope
Is radiance, and I am blindingly alight.
III.
I still recall with vague delight
the days when flight was strange, and you
would fall for miles, laughing
when we tangled in the currents of the breeze—
a little happy thought,
a shimmer and a sneeze
was all it took, back then,
and in the rain-drenched ferns adventuring
we found a world that never asked
for promises, that never begged
forgiveness for its excesses
and needed only wishes to survive,
and you and I, we were alive
as dreams have ever been,
and in my dreams a boyish grin
was all it ever took, back then.
IV.
Your shadow sat with me awhile when you were out today,
With little else to say but that the dusk was coming on
And you’d be gone again ‘til morning. Ice is forming on the ferns
And I should learn to give up waiting,
And I shouldn’t hate the window-ledge
That’s taken up your time so much of late.
But when I bring you
Drops of ocean from the moon,
Rubies hewn in blooms of scarlet wine
And tines of gold and silver smuggled from the waves
I find the fruit of Neptune’s caves discarded on your floor
As you adore some tinny kiss upon your thumb.
V.
Yet I would plumb the depths of everything
To find your heart’s delight, and give up wings
And all my happy thoughts for just one flight
That springs upon the hinges of your smile
So while I breathe the never-wind
I’ll hope for spring to come again
And live upon the boyish grin
As dear as dreams have ever been.
Part II -
The Unsent Epistle.
I've been perched up here all night
writing pleas and supplications
by the light of dripping fairy-wax,
inside this shadowed hollow
here where even you can't follow, Peter Pan.
and I've been thinking lots of things
a girl like me's not supposed to think
while I'm watering my fairy-rings
and ringing little bells like good Tinks do
and I'm wondering if I'll ever dare
to whisper them to you
sometimes I wish that I could bundle up
the unsent flowers
and trade them in for all the hours
I've wasted on your heart
when you are beating for the wild, windy thrills
that cut your bones and give you chills
and cast you weeping to the ground
when I have bound your boyish wounds
as best I can with salves and words and kisses
still unknown to mortal man
yet if I lay crumpled at your feet
and stripped of all my shimmering
and dying from a word
as fairies can
if, in the clapping of your hands,
you were to carry my salvation
would I wake to breathe again?
or would you ration out your love
and find it lacking, or
as night is cruelly asking,
would you be around at all?
every girl who takes your hand
to slake her thirst for living free
at some point sees the danger in your eyes
and typically
the way it goes
she thinks it some great prize
that she can capture for her own
so when at last you take the air again
she vaults herself to heaven with a wish
and chases like the wind--
and you remain forever young
but always she grows older,
til at last she sits alone
outside the doors of Neverland,
thinking someone should have told her
even sea-storms cannot catch
the great god Pan
and you will spend a few long nights yourself
alone or in the company
of murmurs from an unfamiliar place
that chase you, even when
their racing stars have slowed
every time, when you have finished
breaking them in two
you hang your feet across the moon
remembering tears and screams that don't belong
among your happy dreams;
you love them all, then wonder what went wrong.
so when you come back down
and I can see the shadows on your face
my questions die upon my lips
and I will slip my tears away
and ask another time
though I could beg and plead and cry
and scream, myself, as many nights
I've wanted to
though I could ask for every why
that lies unanswered in your eyes
it's useless in the end
so I will go back to my hollow, here
and decorate my wings
with dreams of you
and sing my songs in shades of blue
while, secretly, the stars converse
in cool and muted tones
--what fools these never-lovers be--
the still lagoon awaits the sea
yet I will be the staunchest wings
that ever loved the flame
and every scar will be a kiss
I carry by your name
and I will linger quietly
til nothing else remains
and if I burn away before,
then I will take the blame
and hope to be forgiven
if now and then I wonder
if you've ever shared
the slightest touch
of what I'm living under
Part III -
Epilogue.
Starlight
Star bright--
First or second on the right?
I never thought my memory
Would fail to hold the way
But little things betray themselves
In slipping rhymes, in dying bells
And Neverland
Grows smaller, every day.
I wish I may
I wish I might
But someone hid the stars tonight
I never thought these dazzled eyes
Woud let them go astray.
But little things begin to blur--
The colors innocence confers
On Neverland
Grow fainter, every day.
In all my dreams,
I did not leave--
But now I climb the wind, to grieve
Among the willows, one last time,
And see my world away.
The little lights are shining still
They kiss the canopies and hills
Of Neverland,
Unknowing and at play.
When tears and love
Have overflowed,
They keep some portion of a soul.
I'll catch it in a crystal flask
And leave it at your door.
I wish, I wish, with all my might,
That dawn would never follow night,
But Neverland
Can't hold us anymore.
When, as it will,
My heart grows old--
When yesterday is long-ago,
When long-ago's a fairy tale,
And all my flying through--
I'll leave the window open wide,
Watch for the star, and turn my eyes
To Neverland...
And I will think of you.
Submitted by Summer at 10:31 PM
8 Comments:
Part II should say Part II, not Part III. But you knew this.
Did you know you can edit entries? It's true! Cleeeck on the blog's name in the welcome screen once you've logged on, and next to each entry there will be a leeeeetle button marked "edit." Cleeeeeeeeeeck button and edit post. Repeat as necessary.
As for the entry:
Awwwwwwwww.
That was adorable. Such a sweet sentiment, to be sure. Over and above the actual content of the epistle (I do not know what an epistle is, I will say so true), I really, really enjoyed the rhythm that they maintained. Something seemed very correct about the timing and panache with which you executed every line of it, and it was deeply satisfying to read the entire thing.
Most of the time, things that long I'll start to gloss over, but this was really fantastic. I don't know why I would expect any less from you.
Max, an epistle is a letter. I will comment on the piece in a little while.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Man... Robby loves that he knows an epistle is a letter.
This is among my favorite things that you have written, Summer. One sees the name Tinkerbell, sees a green cartoon fairy in their mind and expects something cute. But no no, thats not my sister. What you fashion with long labor (and its obvious you spent a lot of time on this) is deep and rich and tearstained recount of a character very real and very complex and very true. Everytime I have read this I have found new nuances to ponder on.
We've discussed before the healthiness of romanticizing our lives, but I don't see this kind of thing as a lie or a way of blinding ourselves to the truth. It is a coping mechanism, with beautiful results that others can identify with. I taste real tears in this Summer, as I do with many of your songs, and I hope you never stop writing things like this.
Also, I forgot to add...I couldn't help but think while I read this how much Tolkien would have loved it, both for its poetic execution and its themes. If I had read this without knowing who the author was I would have pegged it as one of his works. You really need to look at more of his poetry. =) Love you.
Summer, wow...
I can't tell you how excited I am that you wrote about the Peter Pan story - My imagination has always been captivated by him- the young boy of ageless youth, innocence and mischief, whose life is devoted to gaming and adventure. The story can be taken as a simple fairy tale with plenty of excitement to fill the imagination...but so much of the fascination with Barrie's character lies in that Peter is forced to forfeit the more mature emotions and dispositions of love and dedication to a woman. He sees his girls as charming little playmates, but that only lasts while they are children like him. What is so jarring about it when you read the stories is that Peter really just doesn't know what he is missing, he's clueless - Wendy gets fed up because he doesn't see her affection, but then Wendy grows up and moves on. What I love about what you've done with the Epistles is that you've used the personal musings and deepest thoughts of Tinkerbell - his nearest and dearest ladyfriend, who is always with him, knows everything about him, and loves him in a way he cannot fathom- to open a window into the tragedy of his life by means of the tragedy of hers. You've given so much depth to her, which is awesome and, I think very fitting - I'm echoing Jacob here - she doesn't just have to be a goofy 2-D cartoon. And I think if Barrie were to have read this, he would have liked it very much indeed! you vividly portray her passionate feelings of love,devotion, anguish, melancholy-a fairy is pure feeling after all- the style in which you write is intelligent and captivating, I enjoyed every line and look forward to going over it many times =) Thankyou for such an awesome treat! ...please post more if you are inspired to keep going with the Pan theme!
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