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'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
As in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
with bark like alligator skin
the pines reach up up to the sky
eighty   one hundred   feet they fly their needles
as if to say
here we are O Wondrous One
take us
do with us as You will

little shake-tail squirrels chitter above me
as if to say   go away! this is our pine
you don't belong here!

I reply
I do belong here    the pines have told me so
I do belong here
the wildflowers have said so
and the creek has burbled its assent as well

I belong here   I repeat
I will stay here among the pines with alligatorskin bark
and the winds singing through the wood
and the creek seeking the sea
yes I will stay

and I will roll in the feeling of belonging like a dog rolls in herbage
and savor that I belong   I belong   here/now
at last


c. Roberta Compton Rainwater
2009/2014
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
    Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
    And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
    He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.
Lewis Carroll (Charles L. Dodgson)
JAM Feb 2016
RECORD: 2 + 2 = 5
FROGMAN: RaiDIhO HEAD

***** Wonka: ... There's no Hearthly way of knowing
                         Which way they are growing.
                         There's no knowing where they're toe-ing.

Mr. Salt: [weakly echoing] Toe-ing...

***** Wonka: Or which way thought streams'a'flowin.
                          Is it braining, is it storming?
                          Is a braining-storm a'blowin'?

[sharp rasp] ***** Wonka: Not a speck of light is showing
                                                So the anger must be growing
                                                Are the fires of passion a'glowing?
                                                Is the grimsly leader mowing?
                                                Yes! The anger must be growing
                                                'Cause the toe-ers keep on throwing

[practically stcreaming] ***** Wonka: And they're certainly not showing
                                                         ­           Any sign that they are slowing!

[lets out a high-pitched, almost unHearthly stcream]

Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen: Throw!... the Hearth Switch!

eyeGore: [shocked] Not the Hearth Switch!

And, while sparks flew across the slab,
The Number 5, with lies and tame,
Came whiffling through the Tulgey Lab,
And burbled as it came!"
-- Lewis Carroll

Suzy's: It halted,
            and it gurgled The QCuloween's Trademark Seal,

"I'm just Around 5 foot 9, and weigh a buck ninety-fine!"

STOP: TURN THOUGHT
The Letter-Ing: raidho
ninth or last
in a series of poems made of quotes
one part to a whole
its sum has yet to be totaled
may be more than its parts
subject to change
Kim Keith Sep 2010
Farewell, Santiago


The waves chortle in ripples; his boat
corks from side to side, slapping the surface
with a bone-bow and starving fingertips:
both have lost their names.  But he
gurgle-speaks to the gull and whispers
ancient lore along the foam-crackled crest.
He’s hooded and hunched,
an old scalawag that never found home
anywhere that didn’t drift like him.
Sand doesn’t speak his language anymore.

But the interwoven arms of corals
can tell stories by the North Star,
times when he was agile and supple;
knee-deep in seaweed and the salt-burbled edge.
The night he slit his palm with a pocket knife
and offered life bounty to the tides
in brotherhood; one drop in,
many drops out over the years

and frayed nets, unfurled ropes.
The redemption of hope glistened in cobalt scales
and weighed at market like poison vials,
polluted inky clouds tarnishing
every coin—hardly worth the bloodletting.
Not anymore.
Dusk fans out orchid and orange blaze;
he yawns a welcome to the mako at last.
first publisher:  http://schlockmagazine.net/the-sea-issue-september-2010/
slythersnake18 Jan 2015
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
  Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
  He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
  He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.
Fire Fox May 2015
'Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand
Long time the manxome foe he sought-
So rested he by Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwocky, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with it's head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves
And the mome raths outgrabe.

-Lewis Carroll
Stanley Wilkin Jan 2016
In ragged feet, I rushed across the bridge-
Gleaming periwinkles flourished in the distant fields
Reflecting the cloud-free sky,
Golden sunflowers pitted the hills like pus. In the distance,
Fringed with yellow and red, stood a tent
And within was the warlord, aged now and grizzled,
His parchment skin and toothless smile a rebuke
To his youthful triumphs.
His guards parted. I entered
Into a swirling fog of scent
A floor covered in bright-coloured carpets.
Gesturing, the old man bade I move closer
And, belly swollen by hunger, I slowly advanced.
Touching my forehead with a wrinkled finger
He said: “You are my successor.”

I ate well for months.
I was given my own guards,
My own beautiful tent.
Even though only a boy
I received several lovers.
Those around me always listened
To my words. They obeyed.
Every other day, beneath the pubescent
Glare of the early sun,
I hunted deer and lions, protected
By a hundred archers. Every day
I dined on venison.

The old king rarely left the camp.
Late morning he donned his shimmering,
Armour, reflecting shards of brilliant light,
And for an hour reviewed his warriors
On the nearby heath, soured by winds. He,
A wretched old man wrapped in ermine.
After, as a whim, sending them off to die,
Dribbling from his lips, beneath sunken cheeks
And rheumy eyes, at the end of his creeping
Days. Returning to his tent, swaddled
By remembrances. Impotent in body and mind.

We played cards together once a month
Surrounded by slaves. The candelabras burst
With perfumed radiance: musicians played
Soothing songs on cymbals, drums and flutes.
Girls danced; swinging, pirouetting,
Leaping in the excited manner of newly-born fawns.
The air grew heavy with dust.
The air grew pungent with odour.
Scattered around were dishes of date and melon.

“When I die, twenty years from now,” he began, smiling,
Popping a date into his mouth. “You will be king.
And rule as I ruled. A celebrated warrior and judge.
A killer of thieves, destroyer of cities. When old,
As I now am old, you too will seek a successor-
A ragged, hungry boy born to rule, who one day
Walks into your home.”

The king dipped a date into goat’s milk.
He watched me as an owl watches a mouse,
His moist lips smacking audibly. “But that will
Be many years from now.” He continued.
He smiled again, the smile of a torturer.

Within the year I lead his armies,
Rampaging across the wild, blasted plains
And to the walls of distant cities
Leaving piles of bones. I returned
With wagons full of gold, dragging behind
A thousand slaves. The king meanwhile
Lounged in his garlanded tent eating sweets,
Hoarding his growing wealth, washed and perfumed
By half-naked handmaidens.

After two years I planned his death,
And claimed the kingdom for myself.

When spring came the mountain rain fell, the rivers overflowed,
The sun was a yellow bud,
My armies rested on the hills
Polishing their weapons with dew.
The king had ordered veal that day cooked in spices
From the east. He drank watered wine.
The multitude of slaves sang love songs with pitiful voices.
I stole into his tent at twilight.
He lay asleep on his divan, bloated and belching.
A warbler burbled in the trees,
A jay cackled from bushes by the water’s edge.
I lifted my knife and softly approached
His slumbering form. He opened his eyes and smiled
As I buried it in his chest.

I sit on a throne surrounded by my
Endlessly-victorious regiments, king of a thousand lands, eating
Fruits from India, chewing fragrant leaves from the furthest isles where the sun
Burns forever. I have grown fat.
I have grown old. I look out towards the bridge,
Cracked, worn, covered with vines, vexed by the
Rivers surging tides. I search the horizon
For a ragged boy bringing in his unblemished soul
My death.
Sarah May 2014
I hope that you believe me,
for I wouldn’t tell a lie.
I cannot turn my science homework in
and this is why:
I messed up the assignment
that you gave us yesterday.
It burbled from its test tube
and went slithering away.
It wriggled off the table,
and it landed with a splat,
convulsed across my bedroom floor
and terrorized the cat.
It shambled down the staircase
with a horrid glorping noise.
It wobbled to the family room
and gobbled all my toys.
It tumbled to the kitchen
and digested every plate.
That slimy blob enlarged
with every item that it ate.
It writhed around the living room
digesting lamps and chairs,
then snuck up on our napping dog
and caught him unawares.
I came to school upset today.
My head’s in such a fog.
But this is my excuse:
You see, my homework ate my dog.
Ace Sargent Jan 2017
Fire blazed on from beneath the skin;
An ***** laced with flame and heat.
Burning my flesh from inside out,
Just to grow once more and repeat.

It wasn’t a problem in the start.
Just warmth inside my being.
But it soon blistered, burbled, and blubbed,
As my troubled heart melted.

It dripped its oozing mess in cracks,
And coated my broken bars.
Slipping across bones and tendons;
Traveling down my arms.

I didn’t want to complain,
as it seared my skin away.
I had no heart to simply cross;
Had no way to demonstrate.

So I collected all the gooey stuff;
Shoving its sticky self in a jar.
Wrapping it tightly with ribboned strings;
I named it simply, “heart”.

Talking of this roaring lion,
as it ruled my land of pride,
Would have no use to explain its flames.
Its high flying, licking tides.

So as I curled into my puddle of flames,
And my blistering body sank through floors.
People smiled as I talked on and on
About my favorite thing, bonfires.
Sleepy Sigh Feb 2011
When we came laughing back
From our romp in the waves
And our mothers beckoned
To the pink sand in the setting sun,
It followed us to shore.

It looked like us and smelled like us,
But spoke some other tongue.
We were loathe to trust It at once,
But the adults said “everyone gets a chance”
So we gave It one.

It wasn’t so bad to start,
It learned our language and told us
Things about the deep from whence It came,
But sometimes It burbled and choked,
And we didn’t let It play with us those days.

Then, one quiet morning,
While the birds were silent and nested,
The fog came rolling off the banks
Thicker and darker than ever before.
Our papas were late for work and
Cars crashed on the interstate.

Weeks went by and it didn’t dissipate.
People were frightened and worried.
Anxiousness colored actions and faces,
(But you couldn’t see faces in the fog anyway.)

It was like a flock of birds, what happened next.
Like a quiet flock, when one bird calls
And others take up the cry, and soon
The sky is full of wheeling, screaming gulls.

Old Jerry said, “That thing’s the reason
We’re stumbling around as blind as moles.”
Everyone knew what he meant.
Everyone made sure to show dissent,
But the cry whispered in their scared souls.
(It is hard to know that you are blind
And think that it is no one’s fault.)

For a month or so, nothing was done.
Maybe we shunned the thing a little more,
Maybe It took to playing out by the shore,
(Doing the devil’s work, some said)
But nothing happened. (We didn’t understand It,
So we were distant; we were afraid.)

Then, like all fear, we conquered It.
We drove It to the shore. (In a car, of course.)
And told It to go home. It refused.
It gurgled that It had been sent as some sort
Of ambassador. So, we did the only
Reasonable thing, and killed It.

The fog faded immediately, and we could see
(Rising out of the ocean with bright
Welcome banners affixed and all festooned
With streamers and balloons) several
Enormous ships. It must have liked us.
The End.

P.S.
They burned our city to the ground.
All our homes and yards, our dogs and our
Compact cars, they cracked up the interstate
And flooded the basements. All the silk ties burned up.
Then, at the end of their wrath,
Shaking with rage, they took one child -
Someone’s brother - down with them into the sea.

(The nights after were filled with the most
Mournful and terrifying songs
As though they knew what we had killed together
As though they had hoped for some other outcome
Though no other was possible.)

More than anything, I remember
The first blow that struck It. I remember
The sound it made, so surprised,
And that it didn’t even know to run away,
But merely stood there and floundered
And flapped like some kind of bird -

Like some bird that had dared to sing
Loud enough to attract a hunter’s sights.
It did not comprehend our decision.
It stood in place and let itself be burned,
(As we were later burned)
Right next to the sea.
Marisa Bordeaux Jan 2015
It was you
you who burbled my thoughts
Who coruscated my facets
Who severed my gears
Who took my milk for gall

You who left me
digging caverns below my arms
as they proved to
hold no one

So useless, I became their hangman
hoisting them up
to the sky,  
dangling them down
to the ground
They swung lifelessly,
as a nocuous pendulum,
condemned by all
for their open tears  

It was you who couldn’t bear my weight
no matter how light it got
or how strong you grew

You who lugged my baggage on your back
and threw it off your shoulders
when you found it a foolish load

You who poured cream in my coffee
with your sweet laughter

Who gave my stomach butterflies
ridden with insomnia

It was you
who left me
lovesick and languid
biting back malaise
with an ailing tongue

Now I house snoring
butterflies with broken wings
and my coffee is black
and bitter
like me


One day,
I’ll wake up
with grooves marrying my skin
encroaching
like waves on a bay front
with gunmetal hair
sweeping
like a broom over dross
with dust nodding off
on my knees

I’ll gulp down bygone speech
putting droughts in my throat
from all the pride I swallowed
then, with a bone-dry mouth, I’ll speak again -
as winter must melt into spring -  
and I won’t say “It was you”

I’ll say
“It was me.”
III Jun 2018
Okay so,
I told myself
I'd write a poem
Or something
About this because
Writing always helps
Right?

So here goes:

You came to me
In a dream last night
(Again.  God, please just leave me alone)
And asked me if
I thought of you
Often.

And I tilted my head
And smiled some
Crippled cracked grin
And my chest filled up
With warm water
And I was drowning
From the inside out
As I burbled and sputtered
Through the choking waves:

"There has not
Been a day where
I have not
Thought of you
Since we met."

And I *******
Hate myself
Because I stumbled
Over my words
I was sure would
Spill out poetic,
Or at least better
Sounding than that,
And I wanted to
Impress you someway
Somehow
Even though the last time
I saw you
You told me you couldn't believe
You fell for my stupid poetry
The first time around,

And I *******
Hate myself
Because now
My dreams are speaking
More truth
Than I can willingly
Admit to awake.
Joseph S Pete Apr 2017
Excitement burbled among the masses
As they crushed through the turnstiles
In their off-the-rack jerseys and faded caps.

Pewter clouds teared, tarp blanketed the field,
Not a single pitch was thrown out on this semi-religious holiday.

But fans' spirits were hardly dampened by the rain delay.
The game would be played later,
And something had changed in the air.

Win or lose,
Cowhide slapped into leather.
The odor of sausages wafted off the grill.
Bats cracked hopefully,
Electricity crackled through the bleachers.

That old ballpark magic
Conjured enough ambiance
To swallow a lazy summer whole.
Boaz Priestly Mar 2016
i smell like a family
there is drool on my shoulder
blending into the fabric
of my flannel
where i held my friend’s baby
and i kissed her head and
her little face
and told her i loved her
and she giggled
and burbled back at me
and soaked my shirt in drool

there is dirt and grit
clinging to my skin
and my hair
where i held my friend close
after so many months of
radio silence on both our parts
and told him i loved him
and i smell like him
a lingering scent of
earth and travel
because for a nomad
the road is their home
but now he is so domestic
and underneath his usual smells
he smells like soap and clean clothes
and while this is strange
i am happy for him

i press myself into my friends
an extended family
ever expanding
i try to take in as much
of their scents as i can
because i naively hope that
i can drown out the smell
of fear and sleepless nights
and cold sweats that cling to me
i do not want to smell like my nightmares

i let them permeate my skin
and they stay with me
even if they are miles
and years away
i keep little parts of them
and they keep me going
they keep me whole

because family doesn’t
end with blood
but it doesn’t start there
either
Mortal Mind Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER YOUR OWN RISK!

Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,

this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time

emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train

while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie

tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and

leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century

tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly

analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,

worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor

revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven

soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath

to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy

of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
Donall Dempsey Aug 2021
TEA BREAK EVERY OTHER DAY

"Tea?" enquired
the Jabberwocky
pleasantly

"Thanks awfully!"
smiled Alice politely
pleased to take a break

"One lump or
. . . two?"
growled the Jabberwocky

"None, thank you very much!"
Alice replied
in her best mimsy voice.

"I keep changing
dress sizes
these days!"

"Blueberry Bakewell ****?"
smirked the Jabberwocky
mockingly

Alice shook her head
furiously
trying to rid herself of the thought

"Or maybe...."
beamed the Jabberwocky
"Some Callooh! Callay! Cake!”

"Eh...ah...no - YES...FRABJOUS!"
Alice had no sooner
made up her mind but

she changed it again
as her mind kept
jumping around

"I keep hearing voices
. . .reciting me!"
burbled the Jabberwocky

"What! You hearing them too!"
wondered Alice uffishly
"...how....curious?"

"And in languages unknown
'Fushigi no kuni no Aris.'
I can't even speak Anime!"

"And I seemed to be
made more and more of words?"
she stood awhile in thought

"Ok! Mr. Jabberwocky...Miss Alice
curtain up in five please
a child is about to read you!"

"Well here we go
it's brillig again!"
whiffled Alice frumiously

"Maybe this time
I'll win perhaps?"
galumphed the Jabberwocky

"Ha!" said Alice
"You wish...Ha!"
she haa'd again

and then the child
turned the page
and the poem appeared

for the first time
in her eyes
as new as forever
**
(ふしぎの国のアリス, Fushigi no Kuni no Arisu) is an anime adaptation of the 1865 novel Alice's Adventures in Wonderland which ran on the TV Tokyo network and other local stations across Japan from October 10, 1983 to March 26, 1984. The series was a Japanese-German co-production between Nippon Animation, TV Tokyo affiliate station TV Osaka, and Apollo Films. The series consists of 52 episodes, however, only 26 made it to the US.
In the English language, this series is generally overshadowed by the success of Disney's 1951 feature film version of the story; however, the anime series was quite popular in various European countries, in Israel, in the Philippines, in Latin America, in Iran, and in the Arabic-speaking world. The series was also dubbed into Hindi by the national film development board of India and telecast on Doordarshan in the early 1990s.
The language with the most editions of the Alice in Wonderland novels in translation is Japanese, with 1,271 editions.
This was inspired by the photographs on the set of Frankenstein which show the Monster and his creator having a *** and a cuppa and one could imagine somebody calling "Ok guys....back into the scene!" And Boris stops being Karloff and lumbers back into being the Monster whilst still chewing a Custard Cream. "Ok...action...,lights!"
So I also thought that the Jabberwocky and Alice get breaks from being themselves in a fictional way until someone somewhere picks up the wonderful book and begins to read the famous poem. The Jabberwocky, his mouth stuffed full of Chocolate Bourbons as he lumbers after Alice and hopes that this time he will come out on tops...not realising he is doomed to fail time after time.
TEA BREAK EVERY OTHER DAY

"Tea?" enquired
the Jabberwock
pleasantly

"Thanks awfully!"
smiled Alice politely
pleased to take a break

"One lump or
. . . two?"
growled the Jabberwock

"None, thank you very much!"
Alice replied
in her best mimsy voice

"I keep changing
dress sizes
these days!"

"Blueberry Bakewell ****?"
smirked the Jabberwock
mockingly

Alice shook her head
furiously
trying to rid herself of the thought

"Or maybe...."
beamed the Jabberwock
"Some Callooh! Callay! Cake!”

"Eh...ah...no - YES...FRABJOUS!"
Alice had no sooner
made up her mind but

she changed it again
as her mind kept
jumping around

"I keep hearing voices
. . .reciting me!"
burbled the Jabberwock

"What! You hearing them too!"
wondered Alice uffishly
"...how....curious?"

"And in languages unknown
'Fushigi no kuni no Aris.'
I can't even speak Anime!"

"And I seemed to be
made more and more of words?"
she stood awhile in thought

"Ok! Mr. Jabberwock...Miss Alice
curtain up in five please
a child is about to read you!"

"Well here we go
it's brillig again!"
whiffled Alice frumiously

"Maybe this time
I'll win perhaps?"
galumphed the Jabberwock

"Ha!" said Alice
"You wish...Ha!"
she haa'd again

and then the child
turned the page
and the poem appeared

for the first time
in her eyes
as new as forever

*


(ふしぎの国のアリス, Fushigi no Kuni no Arisu) is an anime adaptation of the 1865 novel Alice's Adventures in Wonderland which ran on the TV Tokyo network and other local stations across Japan from October 10, 1983 to March 26, 1984. The series was a Japanese-German co-production between Nippon Animation, TV Tokyo affiliate station TV Osaka, and Apollo Films. The series consists of 52 episodes, however, only 26 made it to the US.
In the English language, this series is generally overshadowed by the success of Disney's 1951 feature film version of the story; however, the anime series was quite popular in various European countries, in Israel, in the Philippines, in Latin America, in Iran, and in the Arabic-speaking world. The series was also dubbed into Hindi by the national film development board of India and telecast on Doordarshan in the early 1990s.

The language with the most editions of the Alice in Wonderland novels in translation is Japanese, with 1,271 editions.
This was inspired by the photographs on the set of Frankenstein which show the Monster and his creator having a *** and a cuppa and one could imagine somebody calling "Ok guys....back into the scene!" And Boris stops being Karloff and lumbers back into being the Monster whilst still chewing a Custard Cream. "Ok...action...,lights!"

So I also thought that the Jabberwock and Alice get breaks from being themselves in a fictional way until someone somewhere picks up the wonderful book and begins to read the famous poem. The Jabberwocky, his mouth stuffed full of Chocolate Bourbons as he lumbers after Alice and hopes that this time he will come out on tops...not realising he is doomed to fail time after time.
They hauled them
from the river
after three weeks

discarded dummies
skin puckered
like crushed lavender

nails loose
or gone completely
in one case one-handless

no identification
no indication
of men reported missing

but the imagined flashes
of each inhalation
lungs liquid-swollen

a burbled
aidez moi
in their soggy cradle

before the knockout
instant finish
Polaroid into death

-----

were they lovers
I wondered
on the Metro

home to Aubervilliers
an office affair
an online fling

one of those things
where the picture
doesn’t add up

but a shake of the head
dangerous to guess
before I know it

my mind whirring
to accidental strangulation
dual opioid overdose

the papers will speculate
gorge on rumours
like mould on stale bread

tomorrow’s Le Monde
with its letters of silence
deux corps retrouvés dans la Seine

men of the river
barely thirty
lives filched by the water
Written: 2018/19.
Explanation: A poem that was part of my MFA Creative Writing manuscript, in which I wrote poems about cities that have staged the Eurovision Song Contest, or taken the name of a song and written my own piece inspired by the title. I have received a mark for this body of work now, so am sharing the poems here.

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