Little dormouse,
nun trying leather,
desperately cleans up her stigmata.
I hear you whisper prayers,
I see you twitch to stop yourself
to sign the cross
and I feel your foreign fear.

Little dormouse,
can you only muster
a half-riot, a part-furore?
Do you need a bit of blasphemy
to wash in dirtily
in order to be forgiven again?
And know, When you’re an angel,
floating up to live with the lullabyes,
will you grip your shoes
with your little toes?

Little dormouse,
moving your lips slow,
to look better to the snake.
To be new-born, translucent
In the half-light.
Such sanguine wine,
your flesh and your offer is.
The drugs and our pleasure
the pressure of our nature,
which we will not bow to.

Little dormouse
wants a bad habit,
not a good man.
Wants to understand,
things forbidden to think.
Wants an unhealthy metaphor,
not enough,
she wants to want more.
Under smiles,
there's proof the world is anything,
you’ll find whatever you look for,
but not the love.

The Lemur is enthroned on the heights of an island
In a luxurious villa, complete with a sauna and a pool
The Dormouse holds, modestly, a small pharmacy
Where people can buy necklaces, gemstones and pretty threads.

Every Monday morning the lemur fixes
His hair with a delicate ivory comb
Asks about the stock market in overflow
Swallowing a pure white powder in a row

His orange eyes threaten to explode
So he sits down, eats lobster and sated,
He doesn’t have a care in the world as descends the evening
His paw resting on a black jade cane stolen from the dormouse

Monday morning, the lemur, operational
Goes fast, pick and pickaxe at the mine
Extracting, sweaty, some beautiful spinel specimens
Hoping that one day at the Lemurian’s he would dine

For a trifle, the latter bought him
His most beautiful crystals and this without paying taxes
He became the leader of the island thanks to his kinsmen
The exotic animals knew something was wrong…

His only friends were the rich and the bohos
Under the yoke of this monkey, the island was a hellhole
Their chef was addicted to coconut powder
Whoever dared to say it was put in irons

When finally, an evening he overdosed
Nobody buried him among his friends
The Dormouse humbly undertook to do so
At the hole where he dug, he found a stone

The moral of the fable, listen to it then,
Who shows compassion exists with reason
Do not judge too fast, because we're leaving too early
Nature often rewards us in her own way.

September 11, 2019
Nancy, translated on November 17, 2019

As the sun briskly rises on a chilly autumn morn,
   my Dormouse pokes her nose through the side of her nest,
her gorgeous loveable eyes are still half closed,
   but she still crawls out of her soft home to start the day.

   She has a long day ahead of her,
scurrying around finding blackberries to nibble,
   on the odd occasion she might stop for a nap,
but she wriggles on to look after her partner,

Me!

Mr. Wormy!

The winter receded, the sun came out, the wind relaxed.
Alice went hunting for  dormice.
Curiously, she peaked into nest box.
To make sure he was safe and warm.
She was truly glad.
Free from harm.
She found him safe and well.
Escaped from floods and winter's hell.
Snuggled up in minute ball.
After hiding from malevolent winter storms.
In the dark corner at the back of the box, at last with spring he came forth.
Out he sprung, he ran away.
Alice thought she'd invite him round for tea
The wakeful dormouse went out to play.
Still he's running free.
(C) Livvi

I love it while
it sleeps--smiling,
wet with tea;
dreaming dormouse dreams.
I tickle its downy fur.
And it laughs and
moans softly.
I want to put it in
my pocket and
carry it everywhere;
take it out on
lonely autumn nights and
play with her until
she's exhausted,
relaxed and rested,
content and lost in my
fingers and in my heart.

How glorious it once was
My Wonderland
Singing flowers, unbirthday parties
And painting roses red
Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee
Laughing, playing jubilantly
White Rose
Beautiful, brave
Shy Violet
Strong, sweet
Hatter
Protective, playful
Gave hope, kindness, love
I grew older
Wonder fading
Until only madness remained
My dormouse hid in his little teapot
My Cheshire cat disappeared
The Queen of Hearts gave misery
Tied in a treacherous bow
The caterpillar tried to transform
Toxic, *****, fear
Beware the Jabberwock, my dear
He wants you for his bed
My love, the Hatter left me
One golden afternoon
Devoid of wonder
Doomed to ache
The White Rabbit came
And took me by the hand
To lead me from my once wondrous Wonderland
You’re late You’re late
Your future will not wait
No time to say “I love you, Goodbye”
You’re late You’re late You’re late

All day panda girl reclines
Exercise she declines

Horsey girl will bring you luck   ( U )
Her legs are strong and she drives a truck

Bonobo girl is worth consideration
Taking account of her reputation

Cat girl charms you with her eyes
She chings her  claws and claims her prize

Crocodile girl will make you happy
Until she gets a bit too snappy

Dormouse girl may give a peep
Together you'll have a lovely sleep

Turtle girl will be just swell
If you coax her from her shell

Wallaby girl needs some space
To hop about from place to place

Tarantula girl gives you pangs
When she shows her fearsome fangs

Cougar woman's after me
Completing my  fantasy
Menagerie

O pleasant eventide!
    Clouds on the western side
Grow gray and grayer, hiding the warm sun:
The bees and birds, their happy labors done,
    Seek their close nests and bide.

    Screened in the leafy wood
    The stock-doves sit and brood:
The very squirrel leaps from bough to bough
But lazily; pauses; and settles now
    Where once he stored his food.

    One by one the flowers close,
    Lily and dewy rose
Shutting their tender petals from the moon:
The grasshoppers are still; but not so soon
    Are still the noisy crows.

    The dormouse squats and eats
    Choice little dainty bits
Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime;
Nibbling his fill he stops from time to time
    And listens where he sits.

    From far the lowings come
    Of cattle driven home:
From farther still the wind brings fitfully
The vast continual murmur of the sea,
    Now loud, now almost dumb.

    The gnats whirl in the air,
    The evening gnats; and there
The owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sail
For prey; the bat wakes; and the shell-less snail
    Comes forth, clammy and bare.

    Hark! that's the nightingale,
    Telling the self-same tale
Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
So echoes answered when her song was sung
    In the first wooded vale.

    We call it love and pain
    The passion of her strain;
And yet we little understand or know:
Why should it not be rather joy that so
    Throbs in each throbbing vein?

    In separate herds the deer
    Lie; here the bucks, and here
The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn:
Through all the hours of night until the dawn
    They sleep, forgetting fear.

    The hare sleeps where it lies,
    With wary half-closed eyes;
The **** has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck:
Only the fox is out, some heedless duck
    Or chicken to surprise.

    Remote, each single star
    Comes out, till there they are
All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp!
While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lamp
    Or twinkles from afar.

    But evening now is done
    As much as if the sun
Day-giving had arisen in the east:
For night has come; and the great calm has ceased,
    The quiet sands have run.

Through the looking glass I peered, hoping,
Hoping to see another world.
Alice, oh Alice, how envy I you,
Dreaming, still dreaming,
But your dreams come true.

No one moved, not a single spoke, silence,
All around the world grew, or shrink it did.
It was you, Alice, you,
You were the one who grew.
Eat of that mushroom you did.

The caterpillar, smoking its pipe, wheezes,
In the garden, the flowers did sing.
You fell down the rabbit’s hole,
Not too long ago,
A new world you discovered.

The Cat, what was it called? Cheshire.
It’s wide grin, plump body.
Here, there, nowhere, it vanishes and reappears,
A cat without a grin, you’ve seen,
Not a grin, without the cat.

The Mad Hatter, the March Hare, seated,
Dormouse still sleeping.
Table long, tea cups and pots,
All set and ready,
Truly a Mad Tea-Party.

The Queen, oh, Her Majesty, Red hearts,
Loyal subjects pay their respects.
Golf, was it? No – croquet, you played.
Flamingos and hedgehogs,
Certainly a difficult game.

Painting the roses red, they were,
Red, red roses. The gardener,
He grew them all wrong: White roses from the trees,
Card soldiers, hard work.

Roused, awakened, your sister came, running,
A dream you thought.
It must have been, maybe,
The mushroom in your pocket, the white rabbit’s glove,
You know where you’ve been.

I haven't been here in awhile. This section of Wonderland is almost foreign to me, after all this time. I have teetered upon its edge for ages, but now I have finally fallen in, down the rabbit hole, and I do not know when I will be able to get out.

The dark parts of Wonderland,  where the Jabberwocky roams free, have terrify me and always will. The simple thought of that monster lurking in my head brings a slew of tears to my face, a torrential downpour of my own misery. I do not trust the Jabberwocky, for it brings ideas, hallow, dark ideas to the front of my brain and causes me to wander in the frozen desert or extract my blood from my own skin, and I do not know myself anymore.

Each word is shaky, I cannot feel it on the tip of my tongue, I am numb. No one here in New Wonderland understands the Jabberwocky; hell, only the White Rabbit and the Dormouse really understood it in Old Wonderland, and my heart still broke relentlessly, like tides on a beach.

Those not from Old have rejected the Jabberwocky side of me, and that terrifies me. What if everyone here fears the Jabberwocky? I understand that fear; no one expects sweet, innocent Grace to also be the monster screaming under their bed, but I need people. I need people who know and understand and accept that tough I can be broken and horrific and abhorrent and repulsive that Grace is still there underneath it all and she needs love. She needs it more than she'll ever admit.

Words. I have lost them. I haven't the faintest clue what's left to say, for the Jabberwocky is ruthless and hateful of my words, and I'm lucky to have gotten this far. In my dreams I am whole, in my imagination the Jabberwocky was gone, but I know now it has not left me.

It never will.

At the bus stop,a beautiful dormouse nibbled.
Gnawing away at a roll filled with sausage.
The freak with the tea-bag face.
Let's call her Alice.
Fair maid.
Mousy fair hair cradled her shoulders.
Reminiscent of Wonderland.
No blue and white pinafore dress.
Just a pair of leggings wrapped in complex patterns.
A medley of cream, brown and black.
Fluffy ebony boots of winter.
One missing thing no Cheshire cat here.
The road is rather too hectic for a cat to come and frolic.
Not even a fantasy cat with a grin.
Alice's mother stood close at hand.
Protecting her as they wait.
Quick as a flash.
The bus came.
Right one for me.
Doubt if I'll see bus-stop Alice ever again.
By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

There will always  be an Autumn spat
where the cat foils the dormouse
and the Annual taster chocolate box
arrives as nonchalant
as the  mysterious sender.
Sometimes I wish we were  boxing hares
to really celebrate an outlet for renewed anger.
Munching on my bagels, i feel a pang of Hypocrisy.
I run fickle,  planning out the chequered
season.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

So this is the end.

This conundrum, this series I have created has been swirling on the tip of my tongue for months, and I have devoted my heart to it. Time is running out on this singular year, and everything will change in a moment. For now I will cherish the moment I'm in.

Bagels and cream cheese and coffee shops will be my home, I will splendor in them for as long as I can. I just cannot believe everything is changing. I was well aware it would change, said that it will change, but now that I am on the precipice I just want to take three steps back and tell Grace not to jump.

The one who I never expected is now gone for summer, and it broke my heart a little. The others are almost gone as well, and that breaks my heart a little. I will be back in the realm of the white rabbit and, though I miss him, one white rabbit does not account for seven unexpecteds

Down the rabbit hole I go again, to find another new wonderland. Grace is always changing, evolving, and this time I must do it without the aid of my friends. I will survive, likely, its just the loneliness that scares me. After months of being loneless, I just am not quite sure how loneliness will fit on me.

Just promise yourself to not go back to the dormouse and the queen of hearts, Grace. Promise you won't stoop that low. They have bottled and broken you, and you deserve better. You have better. Don't let their honey words and fake apologies change who you are.

So now its over. But it will be renewed, the time will come again for Grace to be in this neck of wonderland.

And for now I will be a survivor. A survivor of old wonderland, in hopes of getting back to new wonderland. I can almost touch it, taste it. It is only months away.

Then, I will be home again.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.

However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.

Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:

The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.

The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.

The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."

Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.

The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.

What was so cool flew out of the window.
It was only left slightly ajar.
The mad dormouse sat in his tea ***.
Trying to work out what to wear.
Will today's writing hat feature war or care.

Pasting an image.
Maybe decrying, sensations of caring.
Writes sometimes audaciously daring.
Buzzing around like a wasp in my hair.
Driving me mad with his lunacy.
Decrying love story.
Then love in it's glory.
Says he wants to be free.
Guess what.
Perhaps he should try being me!

In a breath of fresh air.
He'll write a cute muse.
And in the next breath.
Another he'll abuse.
The poetry man with the black and white muse!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Trapped in the rabbit hole, forever a lifelong journey
To meet and greet the cards and paint the roses red.
Sipping tea from cups that look more like forks.
Where has the Hatter gone, along with his parter the Hare?
And what of Mr. Dormouse? He's gotta be in there.
The Queen of Hearts has faded away, like a palpitation.
The Cheshire cat has spent his nine, giggling in the dark.
Dare we speak of Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee?
They got a domestic partnership, and live forever as combs.
Then we come to the White Rabbit, who seemingly late
had to be eaten, and tasted rather great.
The most pleasing thing to my mind
Was that the flower bed, soft for chattering lilies and roses
Was now harder than fruitcake, severing their vocal chords.
Now they just stood there, silent and foreboding.
All the while, I was the hub of Wonderland.
That's what you get when an Amazon goes down the Rabbit hole.
(Inspired from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass)

Deceit lies there, among the roses,
blooming in the weeds;
slugs sidle up the leaves
where the dormouse breeds;
and nothing gently lives here
where the sparrow haunts-
within the shadows that voles fear-
the breeze that whispering taunts.

Treasure your holidays
in Llandudno, Alice.
Skip along the promenade,                          
play tag on the beach
and when it’s time for bed                                
wave goodnight to the sea
as it drinks the sunset.

Go boating on the Thames.                            
Paddle your fingers.                                      
Listen to stories, doze.

Chase a talking  white rabbit
sporting white
 kid gloves.    


Take tea with a dormouse,
  play croquet with a Queen:
  
  this is not your dream
  but makes you smile.

  Don’t wish too hard
  for womanhood,
  it arrives soon enough.

  You’ll be feted, photographed,
   posed as holy Agnes
   and noble Alethea.  
                
  With "dreaming eyes of wonder" 
  Discover Alice
  in your own looking-glass.

   And when it’s time to dance
    in your bridal gown
    cherish the moment.

    Two sons will die
    fighting for their country.

    Remember them
    as flames that burn
    long after each candle’s
    blown.

The voices
I always trusted them
Then they led me down the rabbit hole
I stopped trusting them after that

I couldn’t trust anybody but myself
Little girls were trying to **** me
Cats appeared and disappeared
Crazy men flew around with hats and needles

Tea time was alway on time and ready
The dormouse stabbed me
The hare rambled and little alice

Oh little alice was the worst she and white put me on trail and i was found guilty
Punishment death…
The voices
I always trusted them
Then i found out they for were against me and for little alice

the elephant sits quietly
in the corner,
reading Holmes
as we tiptoe through the to,
too many words,that slipped
from tequila lips
and open-gated brains.

the leopard,
is in the bathroom
tinting his fur
to an even shade of black
and the owl
is busy outside
trying to get
the wisdom of the ages
safely back.... inside.

monkey saw,
monkey did,
monkey lies,
monkey defies,
monkey now,
in the barrel
with a nailed-down lid.

and the whale sings,
a mournful song.
the dolphins,
once  again,
thank us  for the fish
and then move on.

but still,
the elephant sits
and reads on...
as we fervently wish
the dormouse to appear
and slap the mopey begger
on his ample rear.

*with nods of thanks to:
folklore, CS Lewis, Dr Suess
and Douglass Adams

Following the white rabbit in his waistcoat
Listening to the tick tock of his pocket watch
Let's fall down the rabbit hole nestled at the trunk of the tree

And where you land is a room
An entire world hidden behind a door and all you need is the key
A nibble from a cake that makes you grow
And with a sip of a drink, you shrink
Insert the key and twist the ****
Opens the door to a world beyond imagination

There's a cat that grins
And with a smile, he disappears
Have a cup of tea and a biscuit with the Hare, the Hatter, and the Dormouse
Paint white roses red with the Red Queen
Beware of her freakishly large head
Slay the Jabberwocky with the Vorpal Sword
And restore the White Queen to her throne
I'm sure the ****** Big Head wouldn't like that
"Off with her head," she would say
Listen to the bicker of the twins, Tweedledee and Tweedledum
The Red Queen calls them her fat boys
Partake in the musings of Absolem
The hookah-smoking caterpillar who transforms into a beautiful blue butterfly

Let us escape to Wonderland
It is far more appealing than the real world

perhaps I'm just alice walking sideways & upsides downsides through this rabbit hole
not a downfall, a ****** to the core of the earth
but an upfall (make me bright, I can see colour & roses) to the dimension
where the creatures have
stainless steel hearts
nobody ever hurts
unless the queen begs to differ
when her corset is revealed to be
suffocating her wicked waist
the jabberwocky seeks vengeance & a chance to breathe fire
"off with her head," is the threat from the enemy
but an escape is in sight
a little locked door
chesire smiles' a menacing grin
a crescent moon in the black night
it doesn't matter where you go if you don't know where you're going
a cake platter with "eat me" on a card in front
home? what is that?
tweedledee & tweedledum
mad hattee, tea, dormouse
and an unbirthday anthem sung
lacking gravity or worldly law
along the dining table for the quirks
and fablesome creatures of wonderland

-cj

It is Fall.

Autumn sheds her golden sleeves,
skirts swishing softly

Her sunset stained fingers
slather the world in orange,
clean, crisp lines that capture the
crunch of leaves on canvas,
dabs of brooding blue,
bright, bold strokes for the brick-red
walls where the dormouse scampers.

art and wind;
Art, and wind.

do you hear the seasons
changing?

The whippet stoops low with snow on its snout
He sniffs the air, is Christmas about?

Red robin sits perched singing rousing Christmas carols
Of reindeer's, snowmen and mulled wine in oak barrels

A squirrel stands alert guarding a great Christmas sack
Full of presents for Christmas that he had to pack

And the cat can be found baking a rich Christmas cake
Waiting for Christmas to arrive, when the children awake

Then they all settle down in their warm Christmas house
And sleep until spring like a tired dormouse

So you're asleep.

I hope its a beautiful sleep, with all you could ever dream of, for because of you and my endless stubbornness I have exactly that. I have you, I have my friends, I'm doing what I want, and I have happiness.

Sometimes I truly wonder if I'll wake up and all this wonder will have just been a dream. The best dream I've ever had, a dream which I don't want to end, a dream I'd cherish, but a dream nonetheless. Could you be real? Am I really holding your hand close to my heart or is it just air I hold as I slumber, only to wake from this magnificent dream I am learning to love.

I love my life.

That is something I rarely have been able to boast in past years. Between diagnoses and ruined relationships and crashing and burning and all of it, its been hard to love the hand I've been given. But with time I am learning to love life, love me, something I never thought would occur.

I hope you sleep well, and my typing does not bother you. I hate to bother, even though I know little I do truly bothers you. You take my bad and my ugly and care for it and I've rarely had someone do that.

I miss my dormouse and my white rabbit, but you, the one I never expected, are making sure the hole in my heart does not consume me.

I'm going to sleep soon, hopefully to wake by your side again and feel cared for and wanted. You're all I've ever wanted, even though I never knew what I wanted, and  I cannot fathom the person I am right now without you.

Sleep and dream, and I hope no matter how wonderful the dream is, you'll still want to come back to me.

Goodnight, for now, without fear, I sleep.

Of no persuasion or opinion
with no bias or
particular bent,
they swing on the stem,
slender and
when the
combine's away from the fields
how they play
chattering into the ears of corn.
The titmouse, the dormouse, the brown mouse
I
adore mice,
but I am a cat
so I would.

“When the skies are grey,”
a soft voice sang,
“think of the sun that lights every day.

If you see the mischievous fey,
dancing by the babbling, babbling brook
when the skies are grey,

Should they serve you tea and biscuits on a silver tray,
never believe their false saccharine, but
think of the sun that lights every day.

Think of the mermaids who lay on the bay,
Tails iridescent in the summer sunshine
When the skies are gray.

Think of the dormouse with his waltz and his sway,
holding his tiny paws aloft on another’s tiny shoulders.
Think of the sun that lights every day.”

Her voice would float through the nursery, gay
as the blooms in the springtime when she sang
“When the skies are grey,
think of the sun that lights every day.”

In her deadly
blue eyes, I fall down the
rabbit hole.
Down
down
down I go.
I hit the
earth like a
mock turtle on its
back;
with a smack;
like a shot to the vein.
She travels through my
bloodstream with the
force of a mad tea party.
Her hair is dormouse soft.
I touch it, and feed
her tarts, as she
rides me like
a guillotine;
sharp and final,
with a purpose;
like a porpoise with a
fish hook in
its mouth.
I hold on tight
and never let go.

Tis wonderful to have a day off.
Like a dormouse, I find myself reluctantly sleeping.
A sunny morning turned to rain.
Wasting the day yet again.
Sat on my bed.
Picked up a book.
Took a look.
Fell asleep again.
Reading books.
Always the same.
No matter how gripping, it happens all the time.
Pick up a book.
The day disappeared.
Behind my eyes.
Sighs.
(c)LIVVI

"Love is so short, forgetting is so long."
Pablo Neruda"

We've been apart
now for awhile, and
the pain has begun to
subside.  But today, something
triggered it all fresh
and sharp.

I ran across some
pictures of your
****** that you let
me have.
It makes me sad
to look at them
for hours on end.
I may be reading
too much into the
three different views,
but in one of them,
your dormouse seems
to be whispering,
"I miss you Thomas,
we had so much fun,
you and I."
In another shot,
the light hits little Jezebel
just right (she loved it when I called her that.)
And I swear it seems as though
she is pouting, like she's sad too.
And the third picture is
the hardest to view of all.
It's in black and white
so it has that artsy film noir
look to it, like a sad french
mime.  Quite artistic as far as
closeups of vajayjays go.
It has the fussy, pouty
look to it, with a twinge
of anger, as if to say,
"why did you break up
with that great poet who
idolized me, and took such glorious
pictures of me."  It seems to be
beckoning, "Please take him
back, maybe if you do,
he won't drink so much and
disappear for days on end
with your car, and then come
back smelling of *****, and
old painted up ******."
It really breaks my heart
to look at that one.
I'm almost crying as I write
this because Jezzy looks so sad, and
lonely, and a bit angry at
you for selling my collection
of baseball cards.