"fortunately" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.
There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.
On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.
Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.
"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.
And how those two leerlumpaloomped!
They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.
Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.
As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.
*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.
Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....
including those with two lumpalots instead of one.*
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
As mother nature's
Punitive measure
Against a society
In maintaining
The statuesque
That doesn't bother,
Our rivers
Had become subject
To a water thirst,
To the extent
Of projecting
Rocky ribs
Terrifyingly protruded out
For easy count!
But now thanks to
The all-out, terrace making
And reafforestation effort
Of each catchment
Farmers have made a point
And also to the afforestation
Move of the government
Rivers aside from quenching
Their insatiable thirst
Have resumed
To brim over
With floods
Drinking water
To their hearts' content.
Our forests once stripped of
Their wooded cover
Have started, fast, to recover
From afar they are seen
Robed eye-catching green
From a fry-pan sky
Allowing a shelter
Also busy
Carbon to sequester.
Wild animals
That migrated
Have preferred
Back their way to find.
Now farmers don't have
Deep to dig
To sink a water well
Or find a nearby spring.
Birds are heard chirruping
Be it winter, summer or spring,
While Brooks bubbling.
Buzzing and hovering
From this to that flower
Bees are producing
Organic honey by the hour.
Promising a bumper harvest
Farmer's plots have
Fortunately continued
To resuscitate!
Those leaving
Their denuded abode behind
Away, who preferred
To stay
'We will return back
home soon! '
Is what
They say.
Happily enough
Mother nature
Affords us a second chance
Imbued with
Environment stewardship
If we are willing to mend
Our wrong 'Feast today
famine tomorrow! ' stance.
To dispel the spectre
Of climate change
And systematically face
The global challenge
True to the adage
'We have either to
swim together
or sink together! '
Hence in fighting the challenge
Or adapting to the change
Back scratching,
We have to be on the same page.
Indeed, irrigation must
Not slip our mind
For erratic rainfall
A lasting solution
If we must find.//
Once a famous Ethiopian Poet Pro.Debebe Seifu Who had passed away had penned down a picturesque poem lamenting the land degradation, deforestation and change of climate the country was suffering.The bad scenario seemed unrecoverable.Now a days Ethiopia is reversing that sad episode.I have therefore to write a poem on this
#change #trees #erosion #climate #deforestation #enviroment #degeradation #desertification
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
A fashion designer has defended models who were labelled as "gaunt and unwell" on Facebook.
Andrea Moore's I AM range is sold at Farmers, and an image from its current campaign was posted on that company's Facebook page on Friday.
The picture features Chiara and Norina Gasteiger, who are twins represented by Clyne Model Management. Farmers customers did not react well to the now-deleted post.
"They so look gaunt and unwell. I'm really disappointed," Newshub says Anna Webster commented.
"You cannot look at these girls with their bones sticking out and believe that they are a good role model for a family store," Jo Austwick wrote.
"I have enough trouble with body image arguments with my daughters without these images being depicted. They do not look healthy."
Moore said the imagery had never been intended to cause offence, and that she felt for the Gasteiger twins, who have worked with the brand for three years.
"The twins are actually healthy, fun models who are busy university students... We love working with them because of their sense of self-worth and uniqueness as twins," she said.
"We have been in touch with the models and they were most upset by the whole thing. Fortunately, they have received a lot of support from their peers.
"The campaign was about preppy grunge, print with an edge. [It was not] about promoting unhealthy body types [or] anything else," Moore added.
Farmers posted the following statement on Facebook after deleting the I AM image:
"Dear valued Farmers customers! We appreciate you taking the time to send us your comments and concerns on a recent post for I AM. Please know it is not taken lightly and we in no way mean to promote an image for women in NZ to follow that could be regarded as unhealthy.
"We understand that no two bodies are the same and we always seek to show a range of body types throughout all our advertising. These images were supplied by the brand Andrea Moore as part of a wider campaign and were published by us. We will endeavour going forward to work closely with all our partners to ensure an appropriate image is portrayed.
"Thank you once again for your valued feedback."
Clyne Model Management have been approached for comment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
she said, our life is a journey of accomplishments,
That we were programmed, we were trained
For what it has to come the other day
And at sudden something went fortunately wrong
And now we are nothing but some strayed unfixable bugs
That no one seems to care about
Did we fail to compile?
or did we not impress?
or did our programmer want us this way
for us to suffocate enough to
define the pain of failure
so we would learn to re-generate the code to the happiness
that we’ll know how to feel our self
when every sentiment on us floats away
and all we can imagine to do is dream
what would we be, if it never happened
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
You didn’t realise just how easy
it was to slip
how you can lose track
lose count and how quickly
a habit can become addictive
Once you get the taste for the hit
you find yourself reaching for it
and before you know it, you’ve slipped
into a dependency - fortunately
this time you’re only a *****
for Lemsip
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 4:50 PM UTC
I'll study the demise in your eyes and wonder if there was ever a time that you cried
For your loss.
I'll copy and trace the structure of your face and realize that
I am you.
Then I will show you a picture of my Dad and tell you but
This
Is my father.
Your genome may construct the structure of my bones but
I am his daughter.
And I am my mother
And I wonder, if you'll find it any if at all meaningful-
When I look you in the eyes and ask you
How someone so ugly
Can create something so beautiful.
When God created you,
He created the creation of me
And all I know about my identity is that I'm half Haitian
But that limb fell off from my family tree.
I pray
That God finds it in his heart to love you
Because God doesn't love the ugly.
Fortunately,
My skin may be tinted from the sins that make me your kin
But from the outside in
I look just like my mother.
Do you remember what she looks like?
My name is Rissa Ann Perkins, and I hope that you can't sleep tonight.
I hope that you frame a photo of my face in your brain
And if ever again should you dream,
I hope you wake up screaming my name.
Are you ashamed?
I'm not here to blame you
I came to show you
Just. How. Beautiful. I. Am.
And I just have to know what it feels like
To know that
I
Am you.
You gave me life.
I am you,
And I don't even love you.
So I have to know,
Do you love yourself?
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I dwell on thoughts,
I examine the sum of my experiences,
Sometimes, I spit out extreme emotions.
I search in vain for something common.
I observe the struggles of all conscious beings,
looking for a universal language
that unites rather than divides.
I know…
I won't be able to ...
I won't find...
Has everything already been said or written?
Fortunately, the sun is still there,
watching over me.
Its light always finds its way
to attract my soul like a magnet
calming gently
agitated states of consciousness…
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 3:46 AM UTC
gentleman
i cannot believe nor understand
but just revel in your love
your perfection compared to my frailness
your purity compared to my multicoloured past
I just cant get to grips with it
but i am so blessed, so amazed, so humbled
and though i cannot figure it out
and definitely dont deserve it
I'm letting you define me
I'm letting you rewrite me
I'm letting you determine the steps
safe
in your arms
secure
in your presence
accepted in you
why do i search elsewhere
there's only one perfect gentleman
and I'm so grateful that you have chosen me
that you have graced me with your presence
that you've picked my heart for your love
may i never stop walking beside you
may i never let go of your hand
may i never stop looking into your eyes to define me
you are perfect, i am not
i can't see the way you see
i dont know the way to go
all i know is you've chosen me as your lady
and you are my perfect
gentleman
i end this poem saying
here am i
have my whole heart
my mind, my soul
define me, redefine
lover of my soul
i will never be what you are to me
but fortunately i have an eternity to try
love you gentleman
of my heart
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
You can assume what you want you're probably right
This is a never ending story
A special heart broke apart is the downside of favoritism
To live today with a awfully wedded wife
Can coincide with the upside to fablism
Can you stand up with or aside a revolution
It's still a time of movement
This is the start of a revolution
In the mind of a mover who constantly dreams of destruction
Fail or win
Now that's its over
You can become addicted to the fact that you want it back
Just that very dream or memory
Can leave you so high
That a skydiving crash would feel like a descent towards pillowed daffodils
Now histamines flare up
Now swollen about to pop
You've never been so high
The perfect quality to qualify the high you have
But quantity Is the one thing no one can grasp
Have none to share none
If you don't have it for yourself first
You can't give something you don't have enough for even yourself
This is the blank meaning for inspiration
For inspiring an unborn child
Maybe it's the missing meaning
Blank blank blank
It still means nothing when nothing is there
So why take this walk
Why write lines the continue to feel like nothing
Why scream on top of the mountain of the faintest echo won't reach the mightiest of ears hearing to tell the world of an achievement
That no one fortunately cares about
An empty sentient being
It's more interpersonal than that
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
I once knew a girl from a north country shore
as it was some place I had been to before.
We had met one fine day going down the street
each walking in opposite directions sweet.
We were both minding our own business when
an incident happened for us to meet then;
some elderly lady with a shopping bag
was coming along but got caught in a snag;
one of her shoes on the uneven pavement
nearly sent her headlong towards derailment.
Fortunately for her we were both there to
stop her from falling and to save the bag's spew.
As we helped the lady and looked at each other
we caught a gleam of light in our eyes to bother
all preconceived notions of what life was about
and it seemed we were both uneasy to find out.
For we looked up and away with sighs of relief
then back again at each other in disbelief.
I couldn't help seeing then the look on her face;
reflections of my own as from a mirrored place.
Or was it an image from deep within my heart
projected outward being therein from the start?
What happened next was not so amazing to tell
as we spoke certain words of greeting and farewell.
____________________________
Sep 30, 2023
Sep 30, 2023 at 9:38 PM UTC
My face tells me nothing. Not nothing but nothing useful,
the complications of ageing humorously but not how to avoid
injury.
Permanent injury is a now popular cliché. At this age any injury
could result in pneumonia, pain in bitterness for your peers,
your jury.
What a headache I have! And never forget injury provokes
at best only pity. Friends are merely friendly, they belong to the
majority.
They forget your name and so should you, who are you? Even you
don't know for sure. In relation to community, no change was noted in
the
registry.
Still, man's mercy, economy's ecology, there's some joy in being small,
some joy in staying strong, and keeping death before you without
perjury.
Unsafe to run the wind. A big stick might hit your head. Then
the hip and heart and head will hurt, all three. Un-
fortunately.
I like a strong wind. Dangerous to go out in. As a fire or flood.
I like the way we are at risk, not a risk-averse weasel. A carnivore,
very hungry.
Pay money, take chances. Yo's an elegant contraction of you.
Cool. Message from street to board: mongrels rule. Democracy or
tyranny.
Scared to die? Why? Take appropriate measures, descend through
meditation. Be empty, rest. And to your friends and sons be as
gravity.
Tired of death. It's what it is. Let's play sports, have *** kayak
to the huckleberries, fish for marvelous fish, live a wonderful life, give
generously.
Done blowing, O wild wind? Not yet? So be it. I lay my head
in your felt hands. The motion of the branches, evolutionary branches,
are my
guarantee.
That's all folks, 7:30. The sky is clear, the crows are out. The clouds
are with my mood commensurate. I should shout, having lived
prodigiously.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
As buildings and tea stalls
and compiled garbage
passed by us, and led to other
buildings and tea stalls
and compiled garbage,
it was clear that the road ahead had many
turns and twists.
It was clear that
if, and only if, we went straight
we'd end up colliding into a building, or a tea stall,
or compiled garbage.
But fortunately for us,
we know better.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
I see your face through the window pane
the glass is cracked
and your image is blurred.
Even from this distance, I see your pain
and I wonder if my tears my heard.
This window frame surrounds my dreams,
the pane conceals my pain.
It seems as if the seams around this glass
get stronger everyday.
Keeping me away from the one thing
that makes my life worth living.
You on the outside,
Staring at me on the inside.
Reaching through this foggy view,
It's hard to see, it hurts to know
we can't reach our destiny.
I'm trapped in here, you're trapped out there.
It's clear to us that fate don't care.
I'm trapped by these walls and you can't get in.
Unfortunately, I can see my destiny,
but we can't begin.
You've tried to break through,
I've tried to break out.
I scream your name,
but you can't hear a sound.
You can see these tears streaming down,
I see you fall to the ground and reach for me
but I'm nowhere around.
This pain is so real, the pain is too thick.
I write your name out in the fog
as you stand there in the mist.
I need you in here, I crave your touch.
All this pain,
It's just TOO MUCH!
I'm trapped in here, you're trapped out there.
It's clear to us that fate don't care.
I'm trapped by these walls and you can't get in.
Unfortunately, I can see my destiny,
but we can't begin.
I can't take this, not one more day,
our love is too strong, there must be a way.
So, we're standing here, face to face,
eyes locked through the window pane.
You raise your hands up to mine
and we smash that glass one last time.
Slowly, it starts to splinter down
and all the shards fall to the ground.
Now, we're trapped together,
In each other's arms.
Trapped forever, away from harm.
Trapped in love for all time,
Trapped in love within our hearts.
Fortunately, I've found my destiny,
Now we can start.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
I am a rain drop flopped down from the clouds
I could have landed in a river or the sea
Then merging with the rising and receding waves
I would have been washed down into oblivion
Or could have fallen from the heights
Into a desolate dreary desert
Amid the blistering granules of sand
To be absorbed into nothingness
Chances are there to have fallen on a rock
Lying scorched in the heat of the mid day sun
Then I would have vanished into thin air
Evaporating into non existence
I could have fallen into a muddy puddle
Or perhaps into a filthy drainage
To be contaminated with the sewage
Or be the breeding ground of worms and bugs
But fortunately for me
I happened to fall into fecund soil
Where there lay in wait a few seeds
Hankering for the cool touch of moisture
Arid souls desperately thirsting for water,
They ****** the molecules within me.
As their dry kernel got soaked and puffed,
Slowly they sprouted and grew into life.
Absorbing again the drops that came after me
They, into towering trees eventually grew
Some touching heaven’s azure heights
And giving shade and shelter to many
Now as I see them crested with flowers
And bearing clusters of luscious fruits
I feel I am there in each leaf and bud
And my essence flows through every vein!
As a teacher, what more is needed for me
To feel contented in life?
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
I admit that in the past I was a nice guy
But I think it's time I better make a switch
So you'll find that nowadays
I've changed all my ways!
I've slaughtered, spilled their blood, oh yes a switch!
Oh Yes!
And I fortunately don't care about you
It's a feeling that I do not posses
Oh my fans, I think it's time
To end them all just like those Limes*
Of all the Trolls so the story can progress
Poor Unfortunate Trolls!
In Pain,In Need!
D--> That one longing to be less Sweaty
This one wwants to get the girl
Should I help them?
NOT AT ALL!
Poor Unfortunate Trolls
So sad, so true
they come flocking to the fourth wall crying
Please Hussie, Please!
and do I help them?
NO SIR E!
Now it's happened once or twice
I did something really nice
but then next update
I RACKED EM CROSS THE COALS!
And I hear your sighs and complaints
but I simply am a Saint! (I made them after all)
To these Poor Unfortunate Trolls
---
Every Troll in either Session will be Slaughtered!
There's a lot of trolls to **** that's for sure.
The Kids in either session may stay
but I will **** them another day
and if they die then they'll go god tier yawn bore
Until you all adore you Huss
say goodbye since Haitus, my dear fans
In a sweep, and a song
the story will move along
and the pain, yes the pain will start again**!
Come on you
Poor Unfortunate Fans
Go ahead
hail your Huss!
I'm the creator
Their Maker
and I've got Eternal life***
If you speak against me
then boohoo
You Poor Unfortunate Trolls
Life ***** for you
If you want to go adventuring
then you have to pay the toll
**** it up and get to dying for me
since I'm in full control!
And with my precious power, dear
All their heads will roll!
These
POOR
UNFORTUNATE
TROLLS!~
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Sitting in our tutorial
Just me and Nick
Both surreptiously
Watching the seconds tick
"Kevin", Nick pauses,
I'm glad he's got something to say,
"What's it called when girls ****
OK, wasn't expecting that...
I ponder for a second
To consider my response
I'd quite like it if I don't have to say the word 'wank' myself
Or any synonym.
Fortunately, spurred on by his youth,
Nick saves the day:
"Is it called *********
"Yeah I think either one would do
Now let's get back to this history,
Where did ****** bomb in 1942?"
So the lesson continues
Just Nick and me
Both surreptiously
Massively relieved
PS
Strictly speaking, 'fingering' is when someone else's hand is involved.
'To finger oneself' is the equivalent to ************
I have no regrets that I failed to make this distinction at the time.
Part 2 (a few weeks later)
"Kevin, this might sound like a funny question, but
Have you heard of a ********
Me: "er...No"
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
*We die every night
Fortunately, we wake up,
Yawn, and say, "morning!"*
© Raphael Uzor
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
She looked at her mother.
Her mother’s dead body to be more specific.
She wanted to cry and scream.
But all she could do was stare at what is in the coffin.
A body. It belonged to someone she once knew.
Her mother.
People were rushing past her.
It is a funeral after all.
Too many things to be done.
And no one really could ask her to do anything.
She was stiff as a stone.
Pretty useless anyway.
Always have been.
Never knew what the right things to do socially were.
That used to be one of the problems her mother had with her.
Her poor mother.
She gave birth to an alien.
Someone who wasn’t normal.
She looked human outside but inside her daughter could not be more different to her.
Not only to her but pretty much an alien to the whole planet.
She didn’t know how to behave or dress up in social events.
How much her mother wanted a daughter who was pretty so she can flaunt her daughter everywhere?
How much she wanted a daughter who did not always argue with her? How much she wanted a daughter who loved house chores and enjoyed shopping?
How much she wanted a child who was just like everyone else?
There were countless days her mother scolded the God.
All her mother ever wanted was a normal child.
She didn’t have the strength to handle this abnormal child who is nothing but a burden.
Fortunately, her mother does not have to worry about that anymore.
She has left this ‘burden’ to fend for herself now.
If only ‘this burden’ knew how.
Not that her mother was much of help when she was alive.
Her mother was pretty useless too.
And maybe that’s why Natalie doesn’t really feel much difference emotionally now that her mother has gone.
The only thing that bothers her is that she needs to cook and clean herself from now on.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
I get it, my problems aren't that bad.
Worse things happen to better people everyday.
I live in a costal, wealthy, yatch club town,
Officially an only child,
With my judgmental sister spending her freshman year in Manhattan.
I live with my favorite parent,
who doesn't care what fun I have
as long as I'm honest and safe,
and of course I get my schoolwork done,
and the other who drives me insane
is fortunately not in the same area code as me.
But it hurts
To be the listener for the people who created me
As they speak horrible things about each other,
Express their loathing for one another.
To be so broken
And not to know what do to about it..
Self abuse is in my rearview,
but I just hate talking about myself so much.
I've gotten really good at bottling up
And moving on
Just letting my bad thoughts and feelings
Dissolve into worthlessness.
But sometimes it ***** to be alone.
I just wish you were here to tell me I'm not
and that you love me.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 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
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC