2012

accidental poetry

It’s the easiest way to compose a poem, he tells me.

I don’t believe him, but I nod in what I hope is a thoughtful-looking way as he throws the letters up into the air. I make a silent mental note that he used the word compose and not write.

We both watch as the letters cascade to the ground in random patterns: a W overlapping an R, a zig-zag that could be a Z or a sideways N.

An O joins an M for a momentary meditation before they separate again.

Once the letters settle they’re all nonsense and I can’t find any proper words.

I try to tell him that I’m still not sure I understand how it’s supposed to work but he shushes me, already scribbling in his notebook.

I stare at the pile of letters, searching for words though there aren’t nearly enough vowels.

There’s a B next to an R with a Y that reminds me of a girl I once knew named Briony who laced her shoes backwards with the bows near the toes.

And now I think I get it.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

the storied pasts of carousel ponies

Once they were real ponies, because that’s how such stories go.

(Before that they were real boys, of course. Princes and paupers and a solitary thief, each with their own individual pre-pony story.)

It was a curse of some sort, though none of them would tell the same tale now were they able to speak of it. They were frozen mid-gallop and later, much later, there was music and lights and the delighted laughs and squeals of children.

It wasn’t so bad, as curses go.

Quite a few of them found it rather fun, unless the children kicked too hard. And even the grumpiest pony agreed that the feel of wind as they spun was decadent and wild, reminiscent of the real-pony days.

But the spinning and the lights and the music all ceased long ago, replaced by stillness and slowly fading paint.

Sometimes they hum tunes from various past lives softly to themselves as they wait for their next story.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

visualization tools for dreamtime adventures

I’m not that good at visualizing.

I practiced constantly but I only managed to master everyday objects. Apples, pens, coffee cups. Not particularly inspiring dream fodder.

No matter how I tried I couldn’t capture anything fantastical that didn’t feel fragile and thin and fleeting. But I knew I must be doing something right, what with the crispness of the dream-apples and the perfect level of sweetness in my dream coffee.

So I found more adventurous objects to fill my everydays, though it required creative shopping.

I found the ship in an antique shop.

I studied the masts and the rigging and the curve of the bow, slowly learning every detail.

Now I can sail the seas in my dreams.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.