"curiouser" poems
Tumbling, tumbling
She f
a
l
l
s
Down,
down,
down.
It seems she's always gazing up from her place in the ground.
She is Alice in a cycle of bad.
Splintered Alice, no Carroll in sight.
All mad, no mathematics.
Wake up little Alice!
!
!
!
!
P
Wake U
Stop eating those Underland treats.
Don't drink any more of the tum tum tree juice...
It only releases the predator in you.
Dear girl,
Don't you see?
All the wonder you need
Lies deep down within.
Curiouser and curiouser
That you don't know the magic and POWER
You had from conception.
So Alice, if you would please
Stop chasing white rabbits,
Stepping through mirrors
Searching for a world of your own.
Create your world in the here and now.
!
p
u
S a e things
h k
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:54 AM UTC
Curiouser
And
Curiouser
I follow you
down
down
down
Into the most
Odd little world of
Madness and magic
Jubjub and Jabberwocky
Red-painted white roses;
Such a beautiful adventure
I have only dreamt about.
Still I'm bothered by how,
Even in a place like this,
You only think of the time.
My dearest white rabbit,
I would truly hate to see
All of Wonderland
go and
pass
you
by.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
So here we go again, tumbling down a rabbit hole, insistent on trying to find something curiouser and curiouser.
Life is an adventure, and fortunately, or not so much, mine is a constant trip to Wonderland, through the Jabberwocky's lair and the Queen of Hearts' castle and the winding paths to the mad tea party, my favorite place to go. We're all mad here, and I revel in it.
When I started this journey through Wonderland, I was certain it would be a place I hated, ahbored, feared, vilified. The wonder ****** me in, but once I was aware of my surrounding I didn't like so much anymore.
But now Wonderland is home, where my heart sets its beats and my brain rests its heavy head, where I sing goodnight moon to the stars and sleep in the soft glow of their shine. I love it. I love me. There is no one that this Grace would rather be.
I compare myself to Alice, but I feel more like a sister now, one going through her experiences but feeling differently than she ever would. True, we're both polite and curious and blonde and sweet, but her eyes shine blue while mine glow green, showing her sadness and my envy, causing a utter travesty to Wonderland between the two of us.
I was the girl who turned into the Jabberwocky, and it makes much more sense for her to defeat me. To lead me out of the darkness and into the light, making me remember who I was and who I want to be.
Anyway, Alice is a visitor of Wonderland. Grace lives here, knows nothing but here. She may traverse the human world every once in awhile, but Wonderland is where she has grown, where she will always belong.
For once I see Alice as my friends, my family, those I love. They curiously visit my Wonderland, they see its sights and its horrors, and they only come to visit when there is a great party or a great fear. They do not live here. Only I, only Grace, live here.
Maybe I should be less afraid of bringing another young girl into this Wonderland, for who better to help traverse it than the one who owns it? And if the daughter I bring only is a visitor too, that;s just as fine. As long as the love we have for each other is a shining beacon that lights up Wonderland even in its darkest hours. For her, Wonderland will try its best to be what it was made to be; Wonderful.
And to thank all those who have helped, those who have changed and been curious enough to enter my land so different from their own, I have but one name for the daughter, given I have her.
I'll name her Alice.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Cold, still clouds of blood rain,
Thick drops of agony
Fell on your lips.
I have defied the Life
By controlling his destiny
Oh, my Holy Puppet,
Curiouser and curiouser I was to ask,
What were your thoughts?
Did you always know?
Were you thinking, why?
Captivated by darkness,
I lathered the lotion of fellowship on my skin
To hide my true intentions.
Sweats trickled from your brow
When I pressed my lips against your cheeks.
A rushing stream of adrenaline ran through my heart
Upon my poisonous kiss.
Pieces of silver told me of your Sadism,
Of how you took away the sweetness of the
Vanilla extracts of my life.
My desires you denied!
Now die in shock, and let your last breath
Be nothing but a seeping gasp of silence.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
Well of course it’s dangerous,
they certainly promise it won’t be painless.
You’ll break, and crumble,
all your words will get jumbled.
Curious?
It can twist you in knots,
all while you’re still trying to connect the dots.
Hell, the happy ending isn’t even promised
and this is me being honest.
Curiouser?
There’s no way to prepare,
it’s only way is to ensnare.
But you’ll be okay with that trap,
you’ll still be trying to understand its map.
Figure it out?
This crazy thing we call love,
it’s the most twisted game you can think of.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
Its not love.
Now don't think I'm crazy. I swear I'm not, at least not mostly. But its true, its not love, it can't be yet, its been one night and I'd be a true psychotic if I thought it was.
Once I thought one night was love, but I was also high off the fumes of my own cruelty and didn't know left from right and Up from Toy Story.
But it matters.
Not in the way you think, God, I swear not like that. I am not mentally able to catch feelings right now as I stumble through the vacant halls of my own sanity, or better put, the filled asylum of my own insanity.
Still, though.
It was a night I could be me, a night I want to feel again, where I'm bare and broken and real and **** and that doesn't happen very often for me. My mask of smiles and lies tend to hide everything, but not that night, and not with you.
Here in this new sect of Wonderland I can be me , be Grace, with little to no question. Well, there's been some rejection and tears and pain and all the average Wonderland shenanigans, but its been magical. I feel like Wonderland is a place I can live in again.
In old Wonderland, I was beginning to suffocate, to feel the cold hand of stability take over me. But I am not ready for that, I'm ready for freedom and dancing in the rain and having *** until the moon goes to bed.
I wasn't ready to be in love with the Caterpillar. Crazy, considering I always thought it was he who was unprepared, but all along it was me.
Guess I can't live my life wondering what's just around the river bend, I have to investigate. I have to know. Things must get curiouser and curiouser, its how it goes.
Let my youth wash over me, let my childlike Wonderland wash over my eyes and let me be me for awhile. Its not normal for me to be this malleable. Everything used to be lies, but now everything is freedom, and for now I love it.
Thank you for that night. Its a beginning, a new one, for Wonderland and I. Why?
Because for the first time in forever, Grace of Wonderland is free.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
***“We're all mad here.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland***
Go ask Alice
about the adventure,
how she fell from grace
into that ungodly space
amongst mad people
places that go meow in the night
yesterday, she was a different kind of gal
believing in the impossible before breakfast
out of touch with smoking caterpillars
she left the rabbit hole
with new frightful insight
it hardly matters which way you go
it's always a huge puzzle
It was no secret she was entirely bonkers,
whence the queen squealed off with her head
Mad Hatter served tea
with uncommon nonsense
whilst chasing dust bunny shrooms
chatting backwards,
then asked curiouser & curiouser
'why is a raven like a writing desk'?
They all jammed yesterday and today,
into clouds, sand & sea, so that
eventually, logic and proportion of the Red Queen,
only made eccentric sense to the dormouse
feeding your head...
&
uncle Walt getting richer on the hookah smokin'
blonde ***** pill popper,
~too bad the moral of the story is frozen for posterity...
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
People say that I'm foolish,
a bundle of velocity.
These magnificent stylings,
the simple joy of being me.
Stares curious and curiouser,
cocked eyebrows and murmurs.
Astonished minds bleat society,
cower from smiling performers.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 1:12 PM UTC
Like the way a speaker prepares his toast. Each yearning sensibility, their bold autumnal stamen cast lines into the horizon of our lives. That when we were younger we even thought, that aeroplanes would land just where we stood in front of our homes in our neighborhood. And if unfurled, as our oil riggers kept us off the benches so we must only had whispers of our doings. Then Harold Sev and Linda Wevven brought to us our cars, our toys, our wives...cooking and cleaning and children. This was not the narrow passage of peak four.
Because of this we have learned many wonderfully-suited professions of our tertiary friends: radio captain, Saharan Field Marshall, dairy operator at a dromedary farm.
Why in this short-timed, often-rainy parody of existence due countries set embargos upon one another so that two men who cannot afford even the drink they carry, so long as they handle the glass properly, and we concern ourselves with things as trivial as this.
You stay everyone! This America is stupendous.
Or then drink from my hands and say, "America Finding the Curious Even More Curiouser.'" Where with two plates two bowls, two forks, two spoons, two glasses, and thrice the knives of a charcuterie.
So with your bold hand baskets, and Model-Ts, go show us how you fffffffffffffffffffff
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
Blue or black shoes
Skinny jeans
Graphic t-shirts
Wrist-encircling chains and strings
Messy brown hair
Dark skin and darker eyes
Big black bag
This is the outer me
A bubbly quirky girl
Strange smiles and stranger laughter
But inside I'm crazier
Layers of personality
Like an onion or an ogre
The deeper you peel
The curiouser I seem, I'm sure
Made-up superstitions
Good luck charms and rituals
Fear and Hatred for self
Confusion, stress, twisted love
Two outlets alone for my pain and
Tears, do not count
People think I'm bright
A faerie of sunshine
A beam of light
But how does someone so dark
So self-destructive
Become a guiding light?
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
Crept in the surgeon from the ashen winds
Peaceful, baleful autumn fire
A descent climbing ever higher.
A special case to him it seemed, starched white
His breathy steam corroborated.
The nurses rush ‘tween bed and **** checking
Vitals of lacking that but the enigma
Curiouser and, oh, the blank screen displayed it.
There, as sight, the network of bones, all disposed
To their center, by blood and vein, all there through.
What caught the eye, a screaming white blot
In the thick of his bare cavity
A cold urn, well wrought
Had in its mouth a thousand streaming shards
Burning, pumping all the same by some miracle
That rigid effaced youth and flesh
Taking its gestalt’s place.
A nurse approach in ample fit to begin,
Crack his stern starch baritone, there he burst
Take him away; nothing is wrong
Amateur at best, irreclaimable at worst.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
It's their way of living
that you have no right to judge
"It's spring and summertime.
Blossoming flowers along my jogging route.
Cherry blossom trees too."
"That's nice. We have a cherry blossom tree
at school as well."
"The flowers weren't blossoming last time I went jogging.
The cherry blossoms are only pretty for a couple of days.
The trees down there look so dead all the time.
They weren't dead last year when we moved here."
I wondered if I ought to take off my earpiece.
"Yes. I agree."
"Your father ought to stop buying junk."
"Yes, he ought to."
"Has your mother always been skinny?"
I nod and stir the same old *** of instant noodles.
I like my parents just the way they are.
Curiouser and curiouser.
"It's their way of living
that you have no right to judge."
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 12:56 PM UTC
Oh mother dear, where do I begin?
I do love you, mommy,
I love you like a venomus snake,
in which I run from,
hoping to find shelter in my own mind,
I run and I run and I run,
only to find myself back again,
because as much as I want to distance myself,
from the mistakes you've made,
I find myself drawn to the idea of change,
but who am I kidding?
In the back of my mind,
I know you'll never change,
I know you'll only get stuck deeper in your current ways,
the way you need the ***** and the ****
just to cope with the mistakes you've made,
because you've never forgiven yourself, for everything you failed to change,
and you'll never realize,
that drinking yourself into a coma, won't change a ******* thing,
but mommy, I love you, as you love me,
in the only way we will ever know,
We live in a small town,
you live upstairs, and I live below,
where I listen to you stomp about your little home,
you were never light on your feet,
and I can hear almost every move you make,
which is kind of comforting,
for if I can hear you, I know,
you have not yet went on your daily trip,
to that little store you head to every morning, around the same gravely time,
9 oclock the liquor store opens, and down the block you go, for your first dose of poison,
its not very comforting to know,
your slowing killing yourself with deadly liquids,
You my dear, are the reason I hate alcohol,
the reason I swore I'd never become you,
it all leads back to you,
the reason I can't sleep sometimes,
just thinking about the one I call mom,
and the way she started life mistakes early,
thinking about the way you started drinking at just barely fourteen,
maybe it wasnt your fault,
maybe you were lead to the bottle,
by some events around you,
can we possibly blame your mother,
was she cruel, did she not love you?
I will never ask you these things,
but may I say, curiouser and curiouser, I do get as time goes on,
who made you like this? or was it all on your own?
I can't help but believe you'll never get better,
you'll always be a mom by day and a drinker by night,
and sometimes, a drinker full time,
stomping about with your ever so heavy steps,
if i'd never met you, I'd swear you were a hundred pounds heavier,
just from the way you walked,
and sometimes fell, tumbling to the ground,
breaking skin into cuts i'm curious about the day after,
and you just say you fell,
you don't tell the truth,
I'd really rather you just say, okay, fine, it happened when I was *********
and still drinking,
because as the saying goes,
one is one too many,
one more, is never enough,
which is why you drink until you can keep your eyes open, no more,
and then is the time you finally hit the floor,
to wake up confused the next morning,
only to start all over again,
this be the cycle of the one I call mommy,
mother dearest, I love you,
in the best of ways,
I love you so, that I can only be honest when I say,
you have a problem and you need to change,
but just the same,
I love you, as you love me,
in the only way, we will ever know
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
i fall into you, backwards,
spinning like a pulsar
in a spiral of ecstasy
i fall into you, my black hole,
and i feel light years tall:
a galactic river of emotion
your gravity pulls me to your mouth
and escape becomes impossible
but it doesn't matter:
escape was never my intention
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Today I feel... Lonely?
I think.
Drops of rain
hit the windshield of my parked car.
Tall groomed, green, and golden grass
line the parking lot.
Rain is coming in
through my windows.
But
I don’t wanna roll them up.
Let them come.
Let the drops hit
or miss
A feeling of being trapped
chained in a cave.
Watching shadows dance on the wall.
I'm thinking of you now.
Yes, You.
The people I will read this too.
I wonder why I feel the need
to share this moment
with so many strangers.
Could it be that feeling?
What did I call it again?
Was it loneliness?
Doesn’t make any sense
cuz I've felt that before
and it was never as calm as this.
Perhaps it's a feeling subdued.
One that is being repressed.
Today I feel...
Today I feel...
Nothing I guess.
Or maybe that I'm dreaming.
Perhaps it's boredom I feel
and a longing for things to be curiouser.
Nelly Fertado pops into my head.
That song,
“I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away”
I guess I am.
Though most peg me for a cat.
Perhaps due to the grin.
Yup.
Boredom.
That must be it.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:32 AM UTC
There are days where we meet up
To walk under cool crisp skies
Made up of indigoes, lilacs and light crimsons
Sunnier afternoons. Skimming to and fro
The slates of English Street. The plains of Sprucefield
Sprawling in front of us. Boulevards of Cookstown
That stretch far and wide, skirted with shops
Owned by unloved mannequins. We journey further
In our red Nissan Silvia, with the roll-down windows
With a pile of yellowed copies of the Beano in the back.
Mine, of course. I like to read. You taught me to.
Blur upon blur, we share whispers with each other
The alphabet, songs. I can count to ten, on my own. I did it once
In Marks & Spencer. Everyone was proud.
Taking our bag of tricks with us, we sup from place to place
Chicken nugget Happy Meals. Crumbs of a german biscuit.
Half of a sausage roll at the Trian. Twilight falls, the blurs
Become darker, curiouser. Soon I am home. The day is done.
There are other days where we meet up
Under a slightly greyer tinge. I laugh
I can’t change that, I tell you. The weather sometimes.
Less skimming, less journeying. Sometimes I’ll say
Remember that red Silvia? All the places we used to go?
But there’s no answer. The whispers have gone.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
It all started out innocent,
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Introductions made,
New friends galore.
Each having a color.
The first was a light blue sky.
The invisible boy.
The boy who wasn’t noticed.
But she did.
One.
The second a bright yellow sun.
The model boy.
The boy who had everyone’s attention.
Girls a blushing mess and boy jealous as hell.
Everyone except hers,
For now.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Two.
The third a dark night sky.
The dark skinned boy.
He loved playing,
As it was his favorite thing to do.
She played with him.
Three.
The fourth a green clover.
The smart boy.
The boy who said nanodayo.
The horoscope freak.
But not in her eyes.
Four
The fifth a purple teddy bear.
A giant boy.
A boy who loved sweets.
A boy who was taller than everyone.
A boy who could crush anyone.
But not her.
Five.
The last a red emperor.
The boy who was expected of everything.
The boy who held power in his hand.
The boy who could make everyone fall,
Onto their knees beneath him.
But not her.
Six
But then came that fateful day.
The day where everything fell apart.
The day where she got hurt.
“I’m sorry, _____-chan.”
“Ne, all your doing is bothering us ____-chii.”
“Ugh, you’re so bothersome. Stay out of my way!”
“Tch, you are just an obstacle now, nanodayo.”
“____-chin, I’ll crush you.”
“I am absolute. You will follow my orders, peasant.”
And she left, hurt.
She thought their bond would never break.
She thought it would be everlasting.
She thought, “Forever.”
She thought wrong.
And so she disappeared.
And one by one,
They started to notice.
The light blue sky.
His presence no longer acknowledged,
By a sweet voice
And beautiful smile following.
Not anymore.
The bright yellow sun.
No longer saved from his fans.
No longer greeted with a bright smile and a hug.
Not anymore.
The dark night sky.
No longer woken with a smile.
No longer someone to make him lunch.
Not anymore.
The green clover.
No longer greeted with a hug.
No longer anyone one to talk about his lucky items.
Not anymore.
The purple teddy bear.
No longer anyone to eat sweets with.
No longer anyone one to laze about on.
Not anymore.
The red emperor.
No longer anyone to match his thoughts.
No longer anyone to be equal with.
Not anymore.
She had slipped through their grasps.
All because they changed.
All because they needed to be victorious.
All because of winning.
They had lost you.
The girl who never asked for anything in return,
But love.
The girl who they played for.
The girl who was their inspiration.
The girl who was their light.
The girl who was their everything.
The girl who was their love.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
I take a pill each morning--
"to keep the madness away,"
declared the doctor,
her tone clinically nonchalant
as she handed to me
a prescription for
small, white tablets
that leave a bitter chalkiness
in your mouth
when you've left them
on your tongue
for too long
before swallowing.
But
there is only so much
modern-day pharmaceuticals
can remedy.
Sometimes,
I can still hear her,
you know--
sweet.
lost.
mad
Alice
scratching at the
tessellated patch-work
of my psyche.
I can still feel her
as my fingertips flit
across the liquor bottle--
"Drink Me,"
it murmurs.
Curiouser
&
curiouser
I become with
every shot.
When the room
starts lurching,
when I am too
dizzy to stand,
I close my eyes only
to find that the world
is still spinning.
Or perhaps
I am just falling.
Yes,
D
O
W
N
the rabbit hole I go.
And, as I plummet,
the phosphenes of colour
behind my eyes
transmute into the most
peculiar images:
a mercury-tainted top hat
encompassing the harlequin
countenance of a man
as crazed as I;
the trundling wings
of a Jabberwock
and the heaving snout
of a Bandersnatch;
a pocket watch,
its face lustrous and
encrusted with Jadestone--
"Time. It's time!"
it chimes.
"Time for what?"
exclaims the girl
in the periwinkle petticoat
(she appears simultaneously
excited and terrified
by the impending chaos).
"Bloodshed,"
reckons the squire
of the pocket watch--
the March Hare,
a grisly little thing
in a tattered waist jacket.
"Bloodshed, bloodshed,
off with her head!"
And that girl in periwinkle?
Why that girl is me,
and the Queen of Wonderland
has dealt her cards--
she'd like my head
(and my heart).
But
sweet.
lost.
mad
Alice
has a trick of
her own to deal--
a Wild Card
tucked beneath her sleeve.
She is capable of imagining
at least six impossible things
before the high is over,
you know.
All it takes is a
simple flutter
of an eyelash
and then,
gripped between
her fingers,
appears a substance
foreign to Wonderland--
***
"Bottoms up--
for with this,
I shan't feel a thing,"
she surrenders.
"What?"
roars the queen
upon her arrival.
"You will not fight?
Why, you must be mad!"
"Haven't you heard?"
replied Alice.
"All the best people are--
Cheers."
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
'This is what
it feels like
to fall',
thought Alice.
'I suppose,
when I land
my feet will
hit first.'
'Maybe there
will be a cushion.'
'I shan't
want to
break my
legs.'
May 24, 2011
May 24, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
Bang the bell
start the tellin of a story 'bout a man name…
Yo, t'was a wombed man, ennui is no excuse
onus is on you. vive la differ-ents.
True, t'tell, she was an upgrade. Mito-mom.
First ol' Ish said, it sounded like,
"Wow, ishi mine? How'dyoudothat?"
so for a while ishi was her name.
Was I sleeping and now a wake, or
are we past all that?
The garden walks meeting all we met, with names,
knowns, all named
The I in Ish knew names of every man-named thing,
but Adom 2.0,
she was something else. Ish could hardly think
something so beautiful is made of me?
Why, Ish wondered, but didn't say aloud.
Is she curiouser than me?
Is that what's different? No, there's more,
but that's a lot, curiouser and curiouser,
Here come the servants forming to inform,
curios come,
kachinas from the west.
This night we all learned the dance the angels do,
on the point of no return.
Too beautiful for words and then,
past the point of no return,
Ish take her and she is mother of all living,
Eve for short. Mom.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
Why--
Are-trees-growing-smaller--
The hippocampus un-decipher-able
With black-vortex-branches
Wielding buried-
White-holes sparring mass.
We the curiouser,
Feel with butterfly bones
Singing silently in silicon-
Chantries-
Isolated to our heads
Together theres a warmth of
Cheeks--
Others bleed cold.
Ever-changing vocabularies
Are blurring pain-
And love into-
One.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
the curiouser
wants to know things
like:
how many times
I've curled the edges
of that holy mouth
how many flutters
almost caved the roof
on that blood-red lockbox
how many times we've climbed
each other's walls, coming down
on soft dew clouds
inside your mind
and
how many times
you held yourself shaking
when I wasn't there
these things matter
to me
and I wish
I could overlay
my parallel trend line
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
Little girl follow
Lively dreams curiouser
We ask for your time
Living in a world much different
Than our dear confused and lost Alice—
No mushrooms or cake to save me are sent;
No caterpillar to lend me nonsense advice;
Humpty is not here to decipher my scene
And the Jabberwocky would swallow me thrice;
Whole, with no vorpal sword incessantly keen—
But in Alice’s Looking-Glass, she is but a pawn
Though she soon finds herself as a queen;
One who had once tumbled, greatly fall’n
Lost amongst incandescent characters.
We wonder, what from what idea had this story spawned?
Compiled insecurities and labyrinth like factors?
Alice wanders blindly in our minds relentlessly.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
I have no style,
I have technique.
I theorize restrictions,
and then I restrict myself
from such restrictions.
Moderation
in all things,
especially applied
to moderation.
I suppose,
then,
that my ideas
acted out
carried out
through action
become the very
style
I disown.
Who am I to say?
All I can do
is define,
but even then,
is that even
anything?
Curiouser and curiouser,
my dear Self.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC