'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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Lewis Carroll

Why do mechanics need manuals when they’ve fixed it before?
Answer my question or I’ll walk out the door!
Didn’t they attend trade schools or get O.J.T.?
Why need repair manuals?  That what gets me.
I just want a mechanic who won’t refer to a book.
Just fix my car already, don’t give it a second look!

Why do pilots run checklists and reference their charts?
Just push the dang button and hope the plane starts!
Didn’t they go to flight school and pass all the tests?
Pilots fly most days, so who needs all that mess?
I want a pilot who knows without referencing a chart.
Just get on with the flying and prove that you’re smart!

What about the doctors who are practicing still?
Why can’t they get it right?  And that includes the bill!
They’re always researching new studies in journals
When time’s better spent attending patients’ internals.
I just want a Marcus Welby, Ben Casey or Kildare
Instead of keeping up to date, I just want them to care.

Why do lawyers review case studies and legal decisions?
Such antics in my book leave them open to derision.
All that studying in law school should have been enough.
After passing the bar they should already know their stuff.
I just want an attorney who’s a know-it-all ace,
Not a book worm mouthpiece to plead my case.

Finally, the poets, being wordsmiths their art
You won’t see them referencing a checklist or chart
But look, in their hands, just what can that be?
A dictionary?  Thesaurus?  Are those what I see?
A real poet never needs help reading Shakespeare or Keats
Using Webster and Roget would make all of us cheats!
If a poet is real, the words should just flow
I think that all poets should automatically know
The right words to use, and literary crutches forgo
How dare they try better vocabulary to hone
They should come up with good things to say on their own.
I’m looking for poets who’ll just know what to say
Like Lewis Carroll’s poems in his heyday:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”

Don’t bother looking up his words, for that would be a dumb thing.
Using a dictionary or thesaurus, you might actually learn something!

Indeed, father! The Jabberwock is nigh!  
I’ll go with my vorpal sword,
his head will be no more
and slay him down, will I!

I’ll meet him in the tugley wood
by the Bandersnatch domain.
I’ll wait for him on the edge,
for his head, I’ll come to claim.

I have slain the Jabberwock,
his body will decay!
Let’s all meet by the Tumtum tree
and rejoice this frabjous day!

The slithy toves and mome raths
all now well understood. ’
Twas brillig, it was Indeed,
for it ended as it should.

IT WAS A FRABJOUS DAY

The Jabberwock was
having its usual

cup of coffee
its tenth of the day.

Black.
Always black.

One could see coffee grains
caught in its teeth

Always the same
big grin.

We joked
(behind its back of course)

that Jabberwock
meant coffee ******.

Not because we were fearful
but because he was such

a sensitive soul
and we didn't want to

cause offense
where no offense was meant.

It could get a bit
uffish.

An unlit cigarette clung
to its slobbery lips.

It didn't smoke but
wanted to appear to do so.

The mome raths were outgrabbing
they never seemed to stop.

The Cheshire Cat
(not all there)

smiled its smile
we called it Mona Lisa.

We were all just
hanging about

as you do when
your author ponders.

Nobody dared to
approach him.

He was a God
to us.

Me and the rest of the Toves
knew our place

and played cards
with the Borogoves.

The Borogoves
were cheaters.

The Jubjub birds were
bored out of their tiny skulls

perching in the branches of
the TumTum trees in Tulgey Wood.

The Bandersnatch was having
a frumious forty winks.

We were glad to be
just alive if only

in words -
words was our world.

No use getting all
mimsy about it.

We weren't as slithy
as we were made out to be.

We practiced our
gyre and gimble.

We were merely
the creatures of his brain.

We wouldn't dare disturb
the Author for fear

of being
scratched out.

Nobody 'cept the manxome
Jabberwock that is.  

"But what's my motivation  Mr. Carroll?"
He'd forever burble.

"Could I not take just a small bite perhaps
out of the little beamish chap ?" he'd whiffle.

Mr. Carroll( nobody dared
to call him Lewis)

just smiled and
Jack Jabberwock would galumphed back.

"Ok! Places everyone - 'tis brillig!
and the story limped on again.

It was a frabjous day
a really frabjous day.

All that could be heard was
the dripping of a tap

and the constant
scratching of the pen

creating forever
creating

the next sentence.

IT WAS A FRABJOUS DAY

The Jabberwock was
having its usual

cup of coffee
its tenth of the day.

Black.
Always black.

One could see coffee grains
caught in its teeth

Always the same
big grin.

We joked
(behind its back of course)

that Jabberwock
meant coffee ******.

Not because we were fearful
but because he was such

a sensitive soul
and we didn't want to

cause offense
where no offense was meant.

It could get a bit
uffish.

An unlit cigarette clung
to its slobbery lips.

It didn't smoke but
wanted to appear to do so.

The mome raths were outgrabbing
they never seemed to stop.

The Cheshire Cat
(not all there)

smiled its smile
we called it Mona Lisa.

We were all just
hanging about

as you do when
your author ponders.

Nobody dared to
approach him.

He was a God
to us.

Me and the rest of the Toves
knew our place

and played cards
with the Borogoves.

The Borogoves
were cheaters.

The Jubjub birds were
bored out of their tiny skulls

perching in the branches of
the TumTum trees in Tulgey Wood.

The Bandersnatch was having
a frumious forty winks.

We were glad to be
just alive if only

in words -
words was our world.

No use getting all
mimsy about it.

We weren't as slithy
as we were made out to be.

We practiced our
gyre and gimble.

We were merely
the creatures of his brain.

We wouldn't dare disturb
the Author for fear

of being
scratched out.

Nobody 'cept the manxome
Jabberwock that is.  

"But what's my motivation  Mr. Carroll?"
He'd forever burble.

"Could I not take just a small bite perhaps
out of the little beamish chap ?" he'd whiffle.

Mr. Carroll( nobody dared
to call him Lewis)

just smiled and
Jack Jabberwock would galumphed back.

"Ok! Places everyone - 'tis brillig!
and the story limped on again.

It was a frabjous day
a really frabjous day.

All that could be heard was
the dripping of a tap

and the constant
scratching of the pen

creating forever
creating

the next sentence.

IT WAS A FRABJOUS DAY

The Jabberwock was
having its usual

cup of coffee
its tenth of the day.

Black.
Always black.

One could see coffee grains
caught in its teeth

Always the same
big grin.

We joked
(behind its back of course)

that Jabberwock
meant coffee ******.

Not because we were fearful
but because he was such

a sensitive soul
and we didn't want to

cause offense
where no offense was meant.

It could get a bit
uffish.

An unlit cigarette clung
to its slobbery lips.

It didn't smoke but
wanted to appear to do so.

The mome raths were outgrabbing
they never seemed to stop.

The Cheshire Cat
(not all there)

smiled its smile
we called it Mona Lisa.

We were all just
hanging about

as you do when
your author ponders.

Nobody dared to
approach him.

He was a God
to us.

Me and the rest of the Toves
knew our place

and played cards
with the Borogoves.

The Borogoves
were cheaters.

The Jubjub birds were
bored out of their tiny skulls

perching in the branches of
the TumTum trees in Tulgey Wood.

The Bandersnatch was having
a frumious forty winks.

We were glad to be
just alive if only

in words -
words was our world.

No use getting all
mimsy about it.

We weren't as slithy
as we were made out to be.

We practiced our
gyre and gimble.

We were merely
the creatures of his brain.

We wouldn't dare disturb
the Author for fear

of being
scratched out.

Nobody 'cept the manxome
Jabberwock that is.  

"But what's my motivation  Mr. Carroll?"
He'd forever burble.

"Could I not take just a small bite perhaps
out of the little beamish chap ?" he'd whiffle.

Mr. Carroll( nobody dared
to call him Lewis)

just smiled and
Jack Jabberwock would galumphed back.

"Ok! Places everyone - 'tis brillig!
and the story limped on again.

It was a frabjous day
a really frabjous day.

All that could be heard was
the dripping of a tap

and the constant
scratching of the pen

creating forever
creating

the next sentence.

IT WAS A FRABJOUS DAY

The Jabberwock was
having its usual

cup of coffee
its tenth of the day.

Black.
Always black.

One could see coffee grains
caught in its teeth

Always the same
big grin.

We joked
(behind its back of course)

that Jabberwock
meant coffee ******.

Not because we were fearful
but because he was such

a sensitive soul
and we didn't want to

cause offense
where no offense was meant.

It could get a bit
uffish.

An unlit cigarette clung
to its slobbery lips.

It didn't smoke but
wanted to appear to do so.

The mome raths were outgrabbing
they never seemed to stop.

The Cheshire Cat
(not all there)

smiled its smile
we called it Mona Lisa.

We were all just
hanging about

as you do when
your author ponders.

Nobody dared to
approach him.

He was a God
to us.

Me and the rest of the Toves
knew our place

and played cards
with the Borogoves.

The Borogoves
were cheaters.

The Jubjub birds were
bored out of their tiny skulls

perching in the branches of
the TumTum trees in Tulgey Wood.

The Bandersnatch was having
a frumious forty winks.

We were glad to be
just alive if only

in words -
words was our world.

No use getting all
mimsy about it.

We weren't as slithy
as we were made out to be.

We practiced our
gyre and gimble.

We were merely
the creatures of his brain.

We wouldn't dare disturb
the Author for fear

of being
scratched out.

Nobody 'cept the manxome
Jabberwock that is.  

"But what's my motivation  Mr. Carroll?"
He'd forever burble.

"Could I not take just a small bite perhaps
out of the little beamish chap ?" he'd whiffle.

Mr. Carroll( nobody dared
to call him Lewis)

just smiled and
Jack Jabberwock would galumphed back.

"Ok! Places everyone - 'tis brillig!
and the story limped on again.

It was a frabjous day
a really frabjous day.

All that could be heard was
the dripping of a tap

and the constant
scratching of the pen

creating forever
creating

the next sentence.

Why do I feel the way I do?
What does it mean?
These feelings overwhelm me but I can't see the truth.
In my my eyes I hate all that I am, I can do no right.
The twists and turns of reality against fiction, the never ending maze.
Which way do I turn?
My mind creates passageways, a mirage of my worse fears.
Stuck in a haze.
I am Alice in wonderland full of terror, no mome raths to direct me.
My path swept from beneath my feet; stranded and alone.
The darkness creeps; engulfs any slither of light.
Hope swallowed by doubt, guilt, disgust; this is what I am.
What do I feel?
Nothing.
I am numb.