"jabberwocky" poems
'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.
7.1k
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-sucking
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-fucking.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
Why do we fall
Of all of the things we could do
We choose to allow something to race up
And ****** us away from our dreams,
Into reality
A reality that is hard and painful
Crashing around you
Sneaking up upon you
As floors do when you trip upon them
Why is it that when we chase our dreams
We must be shocked back into harsh reality
Reality jumping at us
Attacking
Pouncing
Demanding to be heard
When reality is upon us,
Why don't we run
Race back to our dreams
Fight for them as Alice fought the Jabberwocky
With dreams and trust and impossible things
Yet we see the reality,
A simple flaw
A crack
And we fall back to earth like stars from the sky.
We begin to give in,
To defer our dreams
We've fallen so many times before
and what for?
Voices fill your head,
Give up
Give in
You were never going to win
What can you do
Just let go
What has dreaming ever done for you?
The are so convincing in our shattered state
We begin to listen to them
And darkness beings to consume us
But once it does,
Someone appears,
A dreamer,
A friend,
Us,
Or
Someone like us.
To remind us that dreams aren't in vain,
To tell us to look up,
The light is breaking throough
A friend
Someone to pull us out of the dark
Show us how to dream again.
Why do we fall?
Perhaps there is a reason after all...
We fall...
So that we can learn to pick ourselves up
And so we can learn to trust in others,
When we no longer have the strength to do so.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Handicap suburban hippies
Cruising like hyenas
Trampoline ******
****** tissues in ashtrays
Natural born riders
Liquid courage makes little peanuts
Alien Nation
Infomercials on mute
Strange thugs and dark markets
Needles and pixie sticks
Under the manmade weather
New types of bullet holes
Slaying the jabberwocky in
The new Transylvania
The Yes monster
Cranium stadium
Swords and roses
Barren space
Insolent minx
Holidays gone bad
Continental drift
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:15 PM 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
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Water's running down my face, no, tears, their salt is melting into my very bones as I stare at the phone and listen to it, ring, ring, ring...
My caterpillar has finally turned into the beautiful butterfly I believed I dreamed of, only to find myself rejecting him now at every turn. His Grace has grown up, and realized his riddles and rudeness are not the love I deserve, not the one I want, not anymore.
Wonderland has changed, too. It has expounded upon itself, growing larger with newer faces, faces I'm growing to love and cherish more than old.
In the whispering hours of Wonderland, a New Frabjous Face takes my hand and tell me to run with him, and I do. We run and dance and even when the rain is pouring he is still holding my hands and my face and telling me to run and breathe and live so beautifully.
My caterpillar never held my hand in the rain, he always disappeared into the clouds with his booming voice, judging and screaming about his own struggles while I was drowning in mine. Wonderland tends to flood.
Forecast for now though is sunlight with a slight overcast of whimsy.
After the New Frabjous Face, I feel more comfortable in the rain. Maybe it is apart of me, especially since I always beg to go dancing in the rain. Maybe I knew all along the rain was the key to Wonderland.
Caterpillar would be glad to hear I've been forgetting my magical little pills, no safety is swirling through my veins. He always judged me for using them, though he insisted it was my choice. My choice that he disapproved of.
New Frabjous Face and other new friends are new to me, but they makes me feel alive again, like maybe Wonderland can be a happy place again, like maybe the Jabberwocky can learn its place once more.
Ring, ring, ring...
And as the night goes on, I turn away the phone and let it ring, for it doesn't own my heart anymore.
I do.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
dead bodies while alive poor Porphyria
strangled by her own hair
which could be no Fairy tale ,
jabberwocky, listens
as does that famous semicolon concise;
By Ezra Pound.
creepy
innocence or infamous
we all get to sooner.
On to Popeye
"Farm Implements......"
title and poem supplied by Ashbury,
hang an albatross but don't shoot it
Mr. Coleridge,
it will hang around your neck.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
The fire's burning and down, down we go, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. But its a fire I started. Its a fire I like. And not a bad fire, either. Fire always gets the worst reputation, of death, of violence, of an unhappy ending. My fire, though, its a figure entirely different.
Its passion, love, renewal. After all, nothing can grow until the old is gone.
A forest fire has been set upon Wonderland. Grace is anew, Grace is young again, Grace is beautiful. Not particularly in the traditional sense, but in her own sense, in her own light. There is love in her eyes, and its strange, because for once its not only for others.
The fire has swallowed up the Jabberwocky and the Queen of Hearts and all those demons that used to plague Grace, the demons of her past. The past does not define you. I once whispered tick, tock, and how the mouse went dead, but the mouse is not dead, simply grown unto a bird, flying and free.
Grace is still imperfect, her heart is not free of darkness, But she is growing and evolving as human beings do. Funny, its been a long time since she saw her body as a human one. Guess things change with time in Wonderland.
Maybe that's why the White Rabbit always is worried about time. Its a fickle, strange thing,s that runs then stops then screams and never dies, no matter how much you wish it to. Kind of like the Queen, but yet again the fire killed her so who knows what can happen in Wonderland.
Once again Wonderland is Wonderland, at peace and right and dark but always whimsical, always smiling, always Cheshire, even when it wants to frown.
Things are as they should be, with those I love beside me. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. At last she sees.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
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.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Always dreaming
Yet never sleeping
She was caught up in a fantasy
She created in her head
Growing older
Yet never growing up
He was always playing
The games where he always wins
She got lost
Wandering in the enchanted forest
And found him
She instantly fell in love
Even when he didn’t offer his heart
And only promised
That he’ll teach her to fly
But she was just a player… a pawn
Caught up in his little game
Just like an innocent fly
Trapped in a spider web of lies
In her pretty little head
She can win the battle for his heart
Cause in a world of talking rabbits and caterpillars
She was the fierce warrior who defeated the Jabberwocky
But as he pulled her out of Wonderland
And brought her to Neverland
He let the pirates with hooks on their hands
Rip the heart off her chest
And served it on a silver platter to the crocodiles
She dragged herself back to Wonderland
Leaving a trail of her own blood
Still believing
Still hoping
That he’ll come after her
But he never did
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:28 AM UTC
I killed Jehovah.
Now slay your Jabberwocky
only then - true peace.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 12:03 AM UTC
the first and the single greatest
discouragement from writing
always begins when people
ask you about money,
not necessarily that they want
money, but that they see
art as frivulous, something
to do on the side... and sure enough
most of art is done that way...
on the side... but then such art, what it
becomes, is an expression of chance
opportunism... i mean...
surely there's enough people in
the world that can allow one
man to write a few ******** poems
out, it's not like they're conscripting
young men to join salvation army
in syria or anything as ridiculous as that;
but in all honesty i don't know what
it's all about - first they tell you
to not get in trouble, then they tell
you art belongs in a high school art room,
then they put artists on peddlestools
when all they produce are massive blobs
of colour in a random way, or
make a messy bedroom an art work,
or pickle a shark in a plastic aquarium,
open spaces, strings of metal, ropes
around rodin's kiss... all kinds of airy fairy
bits 'n' bobs... then mediocre seasonal
greetings poetry: rhyme christmas with
business with busy bees with jabberwocky
or something like that -
but indeed the foremost discouragement
people place on you is to get your worried
about money, concerned enough that
you begin to wonder - are they really
chasing their own tail and insert that
serpent-eating-itself into you?
i mean, all the italian renaissance masters
didn't bother with adorments and fashion
for proof of being rich - they had a motto,
only one: we're not a bunch dumb peacocks!
how about i paint you a mona lisa
and make myself shine like gold in rags?!
surely enough modern art, on that
massive scale, in galleries across countries
is obsessed with space, perhaps the lack
of space in real life, the almost claustrophobic,
the sheer number of people on the streets,
all it's fighting is technique and detail,
it's trying to be a child again,
it cannot stomach the fact that old techniques
were never passed on, or if they were
they are like a magician's deception -
whatever that means - i just think that
what modern art has become is almost
architectural - how on earth could
you elaborate on a square is beyond me -
unless of course it isn't, in which case
it's forceful intellectualism:
trying to squeeze out some orange juice
from an old & dry orange.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
She was so upset, while tears ran down her face.
Her ugly crocodile tears socializing in the corner
Of her Bambi blue eyes.
Biting into whatever muscle feels most like guilt.
My heart I think… but
It still hasn’t thawed
From months of her
frigid shoulder and icy
Glances.
I can’t get past this
instantaneously
Because you decided
I’m worth something in this second.
Cant take that pain again you
Are mentally mad, you said I was nothing.
I’m sorry I keep thinking
You must be on something,
A bad trip, malice
Seems like motive Alice,
But I’m getting the fuuuuccckk
Out of wonderland.
I can’t stand you like this , no bye bye kiss
**** it up baby girl, I know your strong
Then you were just so big…
Now you say your small
But you
Already crushed my world.
You keep spewing words at me yapping,
After this and that, pulling every trick from your hat,
But I wont have it I’m
Not going to be chasing no white rabbit.
No need to create bad habits.
You made me crazy
I’m talking like jabber jabber-jabberwocky
Seriously kid, you slay me.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
Each morning as the dew slowly builds up
And gently tumbles down my bedroom window pane,
I wake to find you slipping away. The summer
Shade has robbed your leaves of green,
And I can but watch you wilt and lilt into the grave.
These past two weeks have felt like dreams
That fade in and out of each other during the throes
Of my unending sleep, but I know that this desire
To paint your petals the dark red of your youth
Would only make me mad like the hatter.
Our queen, however, did change her surroundings
As she saw fit, and with, or without, a second thought
She shaped the whole of her kingdom into an arid oasis
Of thought and fancy; a land where lives the Jabberwocky.
So as I dive down this rabbit hole, I do not fear
What I might find below.
Instead I save my anxieties for what is known,
Like that one day you will no longer be my rose,
But a pile of memories about my bed.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I'm falling down that rabbit hole
This love has taken its toll
Drifting through this swirling abyss farther down
I finally spot the ground
Feet planted firmly
A bustling tea party
Offer me a drink
Just a spot, the tea cups clink
Filled with who knows what
I want to run but
I'm growing
Overflowing
I need to find you
You'll know what to do
To get me out of this mad, mad, world inside
Without you, I can only run and hide
You are my bravery to help me defeat
The monsters I must beat
To get back to reality
The cat told me I must find my sanity
Without you it's not there
Just ask the March Hare
I'm mad without you by my side
Much like the hatter who uses his hat as a ride
Can't you see we're late?
For a very important date
We must get back now
We have no time to figure out how
We'll fight our madness together
Get out of this world forever
Fight the jabberwocky
To find the key
Back reality with you by my side
You are my bravery, my sanity, my pride
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Jacky John jugs juice
jungle Jim's juggle
Jumping Jill's jabot
Jeff's June Jay
Jed Jud Jid"s jade
July's jabberwocky jabiru
Jan jabs Jake!
Jack's jackaroo
Jackson Jacob's jubilant Jacket!
jAcKpOt!
Apr 17, 2010
Apr 17, 2010 at 8:06 AM UTC
All these years I thought this was a sort of coping mechanism, a sort of way to stop myself from peeling my skin off to try to scream at it to listen. A way to keep me contained.
My words knew better than I.
When I couldn't keep my thoughts straight, my lyrical ramblings were putting away chronicles that would eventually be a bread trail to understand the world inside my head. To understand the little girl locked behind bars and being told she is a Jabberwocky. My little, trapped, fearful, left behind, bipolar girl.
Things seem so much clearer now. I haven't felt so unclouded and intelligent in years, but suddenly the paths in front of me seem so much easier than they used to be. The poisonous fog over my life has lifted and I can see the monster I was stabbing at was truly just me.
I just couldn't see that then.
I have my writing to thank for everything. I have to thank it for everything. It is the one entity in my life that has been constant and loving and keeping me human. Alive, even.
It is the music of my soul, and it amazes me every day how deeply I love it, and it loves me. I wrote an entire piece two years ago about my love for writing and how it has always stayed by me, uncertain of its love for me. Writing loves so many people, and I am just a grain of sand in writing's life. But lately I've been feeling that even a grain of sand can matter so much. I mean, Dickens and King and Miller and Lee were only grains of sand and look how much they did?
It feels stupid and forced of me to get all motivational speech here after the chronicled years of confused sufferings and endless, unsure ramblings. I'm not going to sit here and talk about how I see the light and I know the way suddenly, and my life is fixed.
My life will never be fixed. But in an imperfect world, where nothing every truly is fixed, it seems the wading through the waters is pleasant when you do what works best for you.
What I will say, though, is that my life is finally, after years of uncertainty, one hundred percent my life, just as it should be.
I'm bipolar, it'll always make my life interesting and different than everyone else's. But if I can try to keep my life overall happy and have writing in it and feel strong and loved and brilliant, and I think for once I'll be fine.
Funny that I think this is the first time I promised that in a poem and truly believed it. Not just the moment, not just next week.
I think from now on, I can be fine.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
checkerboard flooring, red rose walls
the large caterpillar's snoring, lets count humpty-dumpty's falls
excessively strong tea, smiles that drive the crowds crazy
a snakeskin hat just for me, something in the tea made the world a little wavy
find me that hare, i want a scone
the white roses are still there, i want a jabberwocky of my own
please give me a design, i'll sew it up for you
NO THAT ONE'S MINE, i'll make tea for two
i want to save the world, then again it really doesn't matter
'cause you won't understand a word, i'm mad as a hatter
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC
'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.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
there’s too much
of this -
too much work
and paying bills
not enough playing
and finding thrills
in sand pies
made at the beach
and silly
jabberwocky speech
too much worrying
about this and that
not enough funning
lends you a life
perpetually flat
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 4:56 AM UTC
I don’t believe a word you say;
You voted for Trump, so go away.
I don’t want your opinion any more
On literally any kind of issue.
Though you now begin to realize
What you did to us all. Get a tissue.
Go stand in the corner and let us
Adults fix up the mess you made.
None of you paid attention
Further than the second grade.
It’s not truly all your fault, I confess.
We have to lay blame on the press.
I’m not much happier with the
Millions who didn’t even vote.
They stayed home and ******
Made the country miss the boat.
A lazy, worthless population
Is a shameful kind of circumstance
But a stupid loudmouthed bunch of fools
Is at the prom without any pants.
Then we look to a political group
That rolls around in their own ****
By electing a pompous baboon
Who can barely read or spell
Who spews out daily jabberwocky
That drives us all to a kind of hell.
He's an attention ***** and monster.
A spoiled rich brat with no brains
Who wants to set fire to the USA
Then urinate on the remains.
The horror is, though it’s all visible
Your lack of care about facts is risible.
You gladly go along with him when
He blames his predecessor instead,
Saying the fault is what your idiot did
Not keeping the truth firmly in your head.
It’s no longer campaign rhetoric.
So please wake the hell up and see
What your stupidity is doing to us
Because we can’t bend you over our knees.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC