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Viseract Jan 2016
Tweedle-dum, tweedle-dire,
I met a man who was all fire
"I fight for justice, I seek revenge,
I use violence to avenge".

Tweedle-dum, tweedle-dice
I met a man who was like ice
"I use my words to get my way
My tongue is a whip and you will pay".

Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dallow,
I met a man who was a shadow
"I keep secrets in the night,
Never exposing them to the light."

Tweedle-dee, he looked lost,
This angel I knew called Permafrost
"I do what I must to provide good advice,
Fate can wait and chance is but a dice."

Tweedle-o, oh I dare,
To tell you about a demon named Nightmare
"To **** you is my ultimate goal,
I'll bleed you out and devour your soul."

Tweedle-o, tweedle roolf,
I was surprised to meet a wolf
"I supply to those in need,
I protect and defend this wolf-pack I lead".

I realise I've been talking to myself
"Who am I, or am I someone else?"

I laugh and smile as I figure, in the end,
That I already know who I am

All of them, and they make me
I am Conor:
A wolf, an angel, a demon,
Two opposites and
A shadow
All under my name

Tweedle-o, that was easy,
Now you know what makes me.... me.

:)
seems a little bit childish, but it fits :) enjoy. Oh, and before I go.... this one is to all my friends. I'm not that much of a mystery. Shock, horror, I'm not actually that complicated... *faint*
cameran Aug 2014
i loved him in pure, unadulterated innocence,
whilst knowing he was anything but innocent,
and that's quite alright
"it wasn't the most conventional type of love, but it was a love of the sorts."
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
Don Bouchard Mar 2013
Tweedle One and Tweedle Two
Stood impatient at the Gate
Waiting on each other to go in
"You go first," said Number One;
"By all means, NO!" said Tweedle Two,
"I'll always follow you!"

So still they stand, the Tweedle Twins,
Humbugs for life's old manners,
Immobile human bowling pins
So bent on form and social matters....
Come rain or snow, they remain so,
Determined to the last to hesitate
On point of order at the garden gate.

Published March 16, 2013
Amanda Feb 2014
Let grateful, itself kiss your skin.

Let it twirl and wisp around those fingertips you can tweedle with,
to
write, draw, make unimaginable,wonderful
untitled somethings.

Slowly but surely,
that effervescent feeling bubble into your body;
sparks of bliss lighting those dark, dark oblivions.

I don't care!
Let those words
carelessly snuggle
themselves
in
the lines of your fingerprint.

Bare those pearly whites
everywhere,
sweet-heart!
How are YOU today?
x
This universe needs more smiles, so bare yours.

P.S I am a cheeseball/ hopeless romantic. What can I say?
*winks*
Phoenix Rising Nov 2014
Dining on copious amounts of serotonin
Dopamine fiend
I get called a terrible teen
Lack of melotonin

Sleepless dreams
Of seizing opportunities
But I don't participate in life; truancy
I guess I'm nothing more than another one of ******'s machines
Ronald Jones Apr 2015
Half-sane near the Seine
with my Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum
who lifted her skirts
to give the lie to the Oriental Lie,
I thought it apposite that an insane
clochard stood a speaker's distance
and masticated franc notes like portions
of ****** "pain" while he ogled
the impenetrable ideogram of
The Beast With Two Backs penetrating
James Hodge Feb 2013
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)
svdgrl Dec 2014
We followed the girl with the flossy blonde wig
like she were the march hare- late late late.
I was in an art deco trapeze top and size 3 blue jeans,
Lord & Taylor boots I bought with a 100 dollar gift card.
15, freshly single, pregamed,
and ready to blend in with the co-eds.
Flossy Blonde was short and thin- in a red number
walking way fast to the apartment I think we were invited to.
The crew I was with was incredibly drunk and incredibly gay
and I couldn't wait to go to a real party.
Flossy Blonde disappears into a doorway-
with generic flashing dorm-room lights
spilling out of it
along with cigarette brigades
of Tweedle dee
and Tweedle dum.
I didn't know it then,
but those seniors couldn't escape expectation.
There was a pole installed in the middle of the room.
A caterpillar man in a tiny suit and bow tie, big hipster glasses,
was grinding to Gaga on it,
There was no tea-
but everyone was equipped with
jungle juice that made them bigger or smaller.
Flossy blonde was there getting her drink on,
throwing her hips around.
Her cotton-tail wiggled a little.
Passion red lights flashed on her outfit.
I danced with her, and this
what would now be called "bro"
but then just an unavoidable deterrence
with a fractioned hat.
My vision was getting blurry-
must have been the kool-aid.
And now my memory is, too,
because I keep thinking
The Queen of Hearts was there cheering us on-
Because a purple cat meowed "We want to see you kiss!"
And so I gave Flossy Blonde a sloppy one-
and the room erupted with lava loudness,
ruckus and applause.
She giggled a little-
as we sat on a love seat,
I proceeded to exclaim,
"I kiss way better when I'm not sloshed."
and then I woke up under a tree.
Cassiopeia Jul 2013
her name was Alice
(or so they say)
she fell down the rabbit hole
(one random day)
and met some peculiar creatures
(whether they were real or not)
she claims they existed
(not only in her head)
but no one ever saw them
because Alice was dead
the fall sent her whirling
into an imaginary world
she met tweedle dee and tweedle dum,
(who she says we're loads of fun)
a rabbit who was constantly late,
(who no one seemed to really hate)
and a mat hatter
(who seemed to make it all better)
and took her on glorious adventures
it all sounds quite wonderful
but Alice was mad you see
she claimed that
"all the best people are"
but no sane person believed her.
Alice was dead in the head
and lost to the world.
my name is Alice
and when I fell down that rabbit hole
all time stopped
I fell in love with adventure
and learned how to have fun
it's okay that no one believes me
I know it was real
and one day
I won't have to say goodbye
to the wonderful land they call wonderland
I've always loved Alice in Wonderland
Ever since I was little.
I was never quite sure why,
but then I realized,
I was jealous.
Jealous of Alice.
I wanted a Wonderland of my own.
I wanted to have tea with the Madhatter
and my very own Un-birthday party.
I wanted to hold hand with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum,
and walk through that beautiful place,
While they showed me around.
Now that I've grown up I have different desires.
I want to smoke hookah with the Caterpillar,
and talk about life with the Cheshire Cat.
I want to dethrone the Red Queen
and free all her guards.
I want to escape my world
and go there.
I like this life, at times.
But it's just not for me.
I want to be free.
I want to follow the White Rabbit around,
to see what he does all day.
I want to paint all the red roses my very own blue, and purple.
I want to go to a place where it's always tea time.
I want to explore.
Just like Alice,
I'm a different person today,
than I was yesterday.
And the day before that,
and the day before that.
I want to go mad,
and not receive society's judgments for it.
I want to go to a place,
where I'll be accepted as I am.
Where all it takes to get there is
just a simple seemingly long fall down a rabbit hole.
Where the plants sing,
and the animals talk.
I want to go to that place,
I get scared sometimes
that I'm losing my muchness.
I get scared that my thoughts are making sense,
I don't want them to make sense.
I want to be at that place
where non-sense is accepted.
And they'll all love me for who I am.
I've come to realize what I really want is a Wonderland,
not a reality.
Ashley Williams Mar 2014
Turvy-topsy,
Windwhirl
Up-down through the rabbit hole.

Mushroom tea-gardens,
"Eat me," "Drink me,"
The world is downside-up.

Clusterfucks of growing and shrinking,
Dum-Tweedle and Dee-Tweedle guide/block;
Cheshire's smile mocks from above.

Twisters, misters, no sisters.
Confusion reigns supreme.
OFF WITH HER HEAD!
Thank you to the person who liked it before it was finished and I accidentally saved it as public instead of as a draft. :) Hopefully you still like it lol.
Rachel Sullivan Jun 2013
I happened to fall down a great big hole
And the dive into darkness shook my soul
The world then turned upside down
when I saw locked doors all around
I chased after a hopping bundle of white
searching for happiness and some light
Crying a pool of tears
How in the world did I get here?

Thats  when I met you and your smiling face
I thought I had finally found hope in this place
Your grin beamed like a crescent moon
So captivating I couldn't help but swoon
So cheeky, fun, and hypnotizing
I didn't know you were secretly criticizing
You told me which way to go
I can't believe I didn't know

I never thought that the nice boy,
would be made of smoke

You’re a liar, a Cheshire cat
I can't believe I ever trusted that
That devilish smile, and those big bright eyes
How could I not see through that disguise?

Should have listened to the wise words said
By a blue oracle whispering in my head

You tricked me, looks like I was used
But it doesn't matter as long as you're amused?
I feel like shrinking in my skin
at the thought of your incessant grin
I thought you were there for me
That you cared for me
But that was an act, a front, a lie
I Discovered a teaspoon of truth
and said goodbye

I'm sorry, baby, but you’re a pig
With deceitful eyes and smile that's big
You’re a red rose that's painted itself white
Later I knew something wasn't right
But I should have seen it right from the start
You're nothing but a beautiful but sour ****
Did you think I wouldn’t notice how distant you’ve become?
Well then,Dear, you're as stupid as tweedle dee and tweedle dum
I saw your game, your stack of cards
You led me to trust your delusive accords

You left me here, amongst the chaos and confusion
Sick from a potion I had to drink to believe your delusion
I'm the queen of a broken heart and all I see is red
If I had my way, it would be
**“Off with your head!”
Terry O'Leary Jul 2013
Remember all the Wise Men on their knees upon your yacht?
With orphans on their backs they’d crawled (with others that they’d brought)
Through rubble on the highway sands and residues of Lot.
They came from severed cities selling postcards of your thoughts,
Though offered for a penny piece, not even worth a jot.

They mused
               “How are you feeling? What it is you want, you’ve got.
               The words you scrawl on calling cards: ‘I AM – the others NOT’
               Shun wisdoms of the Seven Seas: ‘Salvation can’t be bought’ –
               Your fathers tried before you and your fathers came to naught.

               “You started out by gelding goats and then by casting lots
               Of bodies to the battlefields, contorted, tight and taut,
               Then wallowed in the wake of trails the dervish devil trots.

               “With marching bands of fatherlands, and drums of Hottentots,
               You lure your legions in harm’s way like giant juggernauts.
               Like Tweedle Dum your minions come (the sober and the sots,
               The troglodytes, barbarians, and mislead patriots,
               The Vandals, Huns and Hannibals and seaport Cypriots,
               The Japanese, the Congolese, Americans and Scots)
               To vanquish bows and arrows, spears and catapulted shots
               Of those who hide in bamboo huts their families, pale, distraught,
               (Their withered wives with dried up *******, their swollen babes in cots)
               Who swoon, engulfed in poison darts and vats of acid hot,
               Consumed by magic mushroom clouds, atomic megawatts.

               “In churches of your deities, your Holy Huguenots,
               Your Imams, Rabbis, Voodoo Dolls and Mitered Lancelots
               Lit wicked kindled candled walls in temples (while we fought)
               (Used pins and needles, magic spells on makeshift mock whatnots)
               And mosques, cathedrals, synagogues have blessed each new onslaught
               With prayers for pipers, puppets, pawns, your rigid armed robots.

               “Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
               You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
               Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
               And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
               Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.

               “You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
               By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
               You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
               But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.

               “In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
               The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
               In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
              
               “The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
               Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
               Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
               Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.

               “In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
               The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
               Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
               Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.

               “While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
               From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
               Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
               With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
               And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
               For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”

Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.

But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
WickedHope Dec 2014
I left feathers on your pillow
           and you threw them away

I whistled a song outside your window
           and you closed the blinds

I tried to build a soft place for you to lay
           but you stepped on it

I thought you loved birds
Yes, the title has nothing to do with birds. Just shut up.
- - -
Yeahhhh... sorry if it's bad but it happened, so...
Rowan Hunter Mar 2019
Unknown
I'm lost
In a wonderland a world I’ll never remember where I'm going or the way home.
The mad hatter laughs at my scrunched up face and the cat smiles pierce my skin.
That slimy smile that greatest laugh, I'm lost in wonderland, could I be lost with you.
But no your in neverland flying in the sky fighting pirates flirting with mermaids I think I’ll go and hide cuz the queen is searching for my head and I’m close to being dead. But tweedle dee and tweedle dum har far for my sight searching for the rabbit who is all shades a white. But white has left this place and all I see is read until the queen with finding me and sure will have my head.
jeffrey robin Dec 2014
))((
0     0
~

/    )  \
/\
                                                                       ( duh )
••

The girl

Looked out of her prison

And saw

The world !

••

( scary place ! )

////

Jumped back into prison

And played it safe

/////

The child remains on the street alone



We wait for the policeman to shoot him down

••
Ruby Watson Nov 2012
♥        Bake your love into little jam **** Heart       s
                 then fill the daintiest bone china teacup             s
               from fresh pots of liquid wisdom tea         se
           Add some tweedle-dee lump     s
   maybe one, or, stir in two
  Jokers, for a special brew Now, would you like to pour, or, shall I?
with a silver spoon, obviously,
and a little fancy cake
on the side.
Katelyn Noland Jun 2012
Last 'eve I came upon my Walk
which said to me in baneful talk,
"Do carry on,
the day is gone,
and do not sit to write or squawk!"

I stood up in exasperation,
heeding to the consultation,
by chance I see,
oh could it be?
My one and only Adoration!

"My Love, my Dear,
why do you linger?"
Said my Darling unto me.
"You stay too long
in Thought and Song
and do not work,
nor lift a finger!"

"This Poem's my work,"
I quick defended,
"All these Abstracts I've befriended.
It takes a long time
to convince them to rhyme
and my poem's not halfway ended!"

Just then Leisure showed up on the scene.
"Why would you say that?
Why be so mean?
Can't you see that she works hard
'most every day?
Those nouns, verbs, and adjectives
get in the way!"

He said this to shield me
from Love's wicked glances.
With Tweedle and Dum
and a bottle of ***
he sat down to enjoy my advances.
Whimsy whimsy whimsy
Harley Quinzel Apr 2016
She's a ******* but doesn't see it,
She sells herself then goes mute,
Only loud when not in his presence,
It is funny how she settled for him,
Settled for the man before and here she is repeating her mistake,
Her light has truly dimmed,
She so willingly submit yet barks as if she didn't choose to commit,
I wonder at what point did she become his *****,
Was it along the lines where she became blind when faced with his mistakes?
Lost all form of hearing when he used his forked tongue to speak,
At what point did she lose sight of a king when in the presence of a joker?
Perhaps her common sense failed her when she was bearing his kid,
one child then the next,
Not only for this joker but the next,
She doesn't love herself.
She can't help but put on a front.
Secretly she puts him above everyone else,
above the rest, not only her children but herself.
Holds this pathetic excuse of a man close to her chest,
Her aim is to please, she barks like a *****.
Protecting her lowly master at all costs,
Never ceasing to serve her master with ease,
When did she fall and descend to hell?
Willingly chose to be a prisoner within this house,
Prison.
Sharing his quarters.
Sharing his cell.
I have no respect for who she is or she pretends to be,
It will never be me.
For my man will be a reflection of me, I will wait as long as it takes and choose wisely,
Never will I be the woman who birthed me.
Never will I be so lonely,
For when I look upon this woman and the man she chose so willingly,
All I see is tweedle dumb and tweedle dee.
My palms split open on my broken heart
My blood paints the roses red
The lying rabbit runs away
taking a few shards
of my shattered looking glass heart
to adorn her shallow watch
Grasping slivers I tumble down
tears and blood
mingling with a salted tang
screams rip my throat
nightmares choke my mind
Her watch ticks on...
Bitter cold gives way to golden afternoon
my no longer white Rose lies with Tweedle Dum
wrapped in rapture
loving, living, in the sun
Shy Violet hovers at the edge
twinkling in and out
Cheshire cat wears a different face
luring me with a flashy grin
I reach out in friendship, shiver away in fear
moving through the Red Queen's maze
The Carpenter walks beside me
confessing love I do not have
The Hatter appears before me
reaching out, sea colored eyes bright
His touch so bittersweet I sigh
He'll leave again when the gold fades...
As the momeraths scamper and play
the flowers whisper "You'll be okay"
While doctors force pills down my throat
and strap me to a bed
the Jabberwock lurks inside
clawing. shrieking.
OFF WITH YOUR HEAD
I wrote this about a year ago and forgot to post it...hope you all enjoy it!
Nyx Apr 2018
Did I fall down the rabbit hole?
Am I lost within this land?
Because everyone around me
Is completely and utterly mad

Am I wondering through the forest
Talking to the Cheshire cat
Tell me the right way to go
But he's preoccupied by a rat

Did I stumble upon the mad hatter
With his sanity wearing thin
Its a very happy unbirthday
he wearig this painful grin

Did I run into the Queen of hearts
Interrupting a croquet game
Off with their heads
She's giving me the blame

Did I run into tweedle dum and dee
Singing me their stories
how do ya do shakehands
Listening to them fills me worries

Did I finally meet another the same
The dearly beloved Alice
Who in the world am I
But its clear she's merely followed the rabbit

A white rabbit leading the way
Do i follow him, will he lead me astray
I'm late! I'm Late! for a very important date
The way he's going I'll never escape

So why am I trapped here
In such a world of madness
The more I think about it
I'm just trapped in my own sadness

So how do I escape from myself
From a world of pure imagination
How do I run from this
Run, From my own creations

There is no possible exit
From a world I don't understand
So I'll sit here and wait
Until I figure out a plan
Idk what I where I was going with this one
Tahirih Manoo May 2017
Twiddle dee doo
A watch from afar
Tweedle dee dah
I gaze upon my star
Clear skies to my delight
Nesting alone - peace, quiet
Best* night by far
A lost lightning bolt zaps*
A thrill through my spine
My mouth agape
My calm night has ended its time.
The lightning bolt nailed its target
A fresh, green lime
2 feet from where I was rooted.

Fri, may 19, 2017 3:09pm
It happens. It's a good thing.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
learning to sip warm
                           ***** like a brute...
      nothing much: much of anything...
"social distancing"... in the graveyard of "new"...

a pick from my closet...
my forgotten drawer...
                if i'm not: if i haven't been
in a "prison" for the past
             better half of a decade...
then i guess i haven't been
anywhere...
      that's why... nothing is pretty much
new...
    i know my medicine...
     looking at others taste it is...
an understatement of forever...
                    the they in "they" couldn't really
stomach a heaven of a solipsistic god...
or a heaven as a labyrinth and a library...
and all the time... forever and all the miles
of no no no no...

so much for pretty faces with
pretty words...
  so much for thurston moore's
'we rearrange strange the rubble
to let a forest through'...

we strangely rearrange the rubble:
or...
we rearrange, strange, the rubble...
to let a forest through...
here's to the die-hard grammar
nazis and nothing nativist...

               everything i had to learn...
about anything...
i subsequently had to negate...
     integration:
   where are you: where i was from?
all that... unless it was
and forever will be the lesson:
1 + 1 = 2...

           a precedes b...
but not unless it's backed up...
  too many rules in grammar to produce
a simple 1 + 1 = 2 arithmetic...

past-participle... will the hyphen die?
and everything will turn to the remains
of this being the child of saxony
in the remnants of chemistry nouns?
you could insert a hyphen... into:

hydroxychloroquinesulfate    
like so, nurse! the scalpel...
hydroxy-chloro-quine-sulfate...
          if language and letters were
as simple as 1 + 1 = 2...

                  i was going to say:
     i be saying...
         am saying...
                          be not say much...
pigeons don't cuckoo-call...
         stressors when strolling
with an addition of break a neck
when the mammal higher-up is
head-banging or raving...

              goose-stepping never died
whenever the mandarins decided
to march... looks like they are not getting
any marching orders...

modern warfare requires... civilians...
target practice...
the mandarins are too peaceful a people
to do a genghis khan stampede across
the world...

              but if they can slide a sly bullet
that can procreate itself and
bring the shackles: for all the gold pillars,
blunder and slacking jockeys
of the four horses... to see the sand foundation
all this freedom was built on...

hey: spin me another one...
i'm still just drilling myself to ease
one of those: sober justification for...
what came of the bread and the circuses?

between a tweedle dee and a tweedle dum...
yes, hello, please join us...
a soar... thumb...
a plum mascara from a clenched fist:
over... pretty much nothing...
or as was the case: something frivolous...
obscure... a tryfle...
                              yes: that's Y(es)
   and not tree'knee'tee...

life as imitation of all manner of inorganic
"life"... the mountain that's eased by
the wind to take on a different theme
of the pivot toward the pinch of a sky
that could collapse...

          puffy clouds that want to be
marshmallows... marshmallows that would
love to be less... oozed when staging
a fire-rite of being sacrificed to the bite and
chew...

such an unspectacular end of the world
scenario... scared people...
because: there's none of that certainty
of an asteroid inevitable "hunch"...
which makes it a very ****** end of
the world scenario...
          nothing from ancient greece
**** galore...
                 nothing from the annals
of caligula's reign: for each and every man...

or wrestling to the death with
all those hallucinogenics and rushes
of sweat and testosterone...

         the current humanity: a death
of vermin... quiet: the angel of death is passing...
quiet...
it's not exactly about not taking
the prescription of the government's:
under full-proof guidance "precautions"...

but if all were dropped on a heads-or-tails
whim?
    like that... like so...
    so much for anything:
ahead of the other idiot in the race...
deconstructed hierarchies of man...
pyramids fizzying out into a sand-storm...

such an unspectacular event...
the fame of a madonna or a don mclean...
because there's no chance in heaven
or hell concerning the man who
discovered that fermenting grapes would
ever give us wine...
or that part of not making bread
and instead making beer...

      so... un-spec-ta-cu-lar...
       but of course i'm certain this is only a mild,
minor, scare, one of those precursors
that acts like a sieve...
hardly a siesmic event to give us dinosaur
grandeour... overstating any prior
to (it) egoism of a banker's *******-fuelled
***-riddle-and-rampage...

the guys with the biggest hard ons seem
to be suffering from a mollusk limp-on-drag...
i can't remember the last time i was touched
for a love of intimacy...
forever the basic darwin of:
"****"...

                      as any misnomer...
it's hardly the sort of *** you'd forgive if
she was still wearing socks...
or wanted to do it under the bed-sheets...
if a person was going to overcook
pasta prior... they will hardly learn to cook
it al dente "tomorrow"...

too many a posteriori: language evolves
to give a proper, a priori statement...
too many undisclosed parallels and "what ifs"...
not in language...
bad grammar aside...
    aside from: that's not a soft boiled egg!

besides: the vietnam war had the best soundtrack...
and fb's portal: look at you...
best keep together, no?
the best songs and the most ****** reasons
beside: proper meat for the butcher's market!
shouts the cockney slang improv for
one of those rare occassions of a: drama-
period piece...         -tized?

what in the capacity of words' axioms can
be synonymous with 1 + 1 = 2?
i can't find anything...
i'm... probably not speaking the language
of a universal incursion...
there aren't any beaches of normady
when infiltrating the third ***** abstract!

should have stuck to painting daffodils...
or something... or prescribing myself
to limit my "artistic endeavours"
to sending postcards and licking envelopes...

some shapes "conjured" remained
intact and became letters... the greek delta (Δ)...
      called it: down-right governing
a cascade or the vector: down without
a direct impetus to do so...

said A to 1... said B to 2... C to 3...
D to 4... E to 5... F to 6... G to 7... H to 8...
I to 9... J... i'm hanging on to...
   the deeds and the subsequent
extinction of cuneiform...
                           until... VI "+" IV "=" X....
the "+" and "=" had to be surds...
when using the abacus... some ancient roman
humming: singing in a shower analogy...
when you had... letters as used as
both letters... and numbers...
a bit like looking at braille...

if there's a number indicator (⠼)...
why is it presupposed that everything else
is a letter?
                 ⠼⠉                 3...
                               and then there's just ⠉...
which is that umlaut part of U that's
supposed to be C...

before anything intricate concerning the subject
could be uttered...
there was plenty of chess pieces
and spatial and temporal awarenss...

the consistency of retaining the primitive
nature: how this inexhausted stupor of numbers
just gives on giving...
before anyone might have suggest:
chisel a mountain... before building a pyramid!
well... no word to "describe" it...
or rather... infuriate any other alternative...
cull the forest... otherwise write:
  
111111111111111111111111111
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1  1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111
                  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

a forest of pines... it doesn't matter
how much you peer into it...
no light will pass... just a segment of
a canvas that's either all brown...
or eyes closed... a juggling clown
worth of: would be entertainment...

i've been putting off seeing a dentist
for years...
i'm still putting it off...
i quiet like the pain...
the pain being... a consciousness
of a single tooth...
not part of the whole coronation
of either jaw or the skull's lining
of bite...
   i like the pain as much as i like
this pain of a loose filling
being my signature...

     "he" would have said: 100...
miles... before later suggesting:
by foot...      no... prior to the wheel
and whittle princes jumping onto
the bandwagon...
          100 as a concept of travel
came prior to: by foot...

                      0 - the original: multiplied by...
and the original: divided by...
at times when "x" and "÷" were surds of
the abacus... way prior to merely "+" and "-"...
before that ***** decided:
hyphen glue for words i are!
before all that...

                          we might as well not have:
mentioned a french man and the squeezed
omicron mirror...
or ∞... which is very much a surd...
an apostrophe...
   or a lazy 8...
                          a reclining venus...

we had numbers before we had letters...
well... before we had numbers...
we had to have had a nibble of inclination
regarding the O - the wheel -
and from that... 360°... which is 5 "°" short
of coming into the full perspective
of commencing and ending... a year...

4 "°" if you were to count the leap...
inter anno per quattuor...

      all of it, though...
                                     serious matters
need "readjusting" to...
                                most certainly... ice-cubes!
   i've heard and seen worse
scares in my time...
the mad cow disease...
                and in all this time:
wishing for death...
           is hardly going to be that much of
an easy affair...
                             you'll be bound to
gagging for it... like air...
existentially exhausted from that crux:
life... if so easy, or so hard...
could somehow mediate a transcendence
of the yawn...

    unlikely...
                                     i'm more likely
to keep my toothache... than be in want of relief...
for the sake of a tooth individuating
itself and ascribing to me
its individuated status as ailing...
from the firm grip concensus of the jaw...
and the congregation of all the other, teeth...
after all... a loose filling never did a Columbus...

it's hardly me and...
a ghost limb for a veteran's amputated arm...
scenario...
            if it were only an asteroid...
but it's not...
   it's a sneeze... a cough... a woozy day...
it's hardly the end of a creature
that made the colliseum spectacular...
or what was spectated therein...

           what it is... is...
                        a lapse in islamic terrorism...
i think that's a welcome break...
i'm tired of wondering about: not all muslims...
and the trucks of peace
ploughing through a street in
Nice... it's a welcome break...
         univeresally adequate...
         congesting the advent of...
                         and relationship between
landowner and the serf: not for long, though...

               too bad that it isn't an archetypical
fear to coincide with the classical
narrative of darwinism: a tiger... a snake...
a spider...
          it's quiet a modern ape story...
which does require us to have a notion
of a microscope...
   which makes it... m'eh... less seductive
in any attempts for: fire! huddle round!
tell stories!

                         the modern "ape" and
his... cough venom and predator lurking in:
a horror story told at noon!
again... boring the living daylights out of me!
The Fire Burns Aug 2017
Smiling moon in disguise
I see fur if I blur my eyes,
I hear riddles and hear a purr,
most of it completely absurd.

Talk of jabberwoks and of queens,
some of it borderline crazy obscene,
philosophy spouted and spewed to annoy,
sheer nonsense has been employed.

Guiding me where I shouldn't go,
I accuse, but says it isn't so,
changing colors all the while,
the cat's smile, does beguile.

Let's have tea with crazy folks,
chew your crumpet so you don't choke,
ignore the mouse and the hare,
don't breathe the chemicals in the air.

Paranoid thoughts, from mad hatter,
look the whole place is  tattered,
appearing cat  evaporating,
still spewing nonsense, exasperating.

Aggravating those in charge,
he does know how to live it l large,
crazy people are the best,
because reality rules the rest.

Fiddle faddle flee and fum,
Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum,
hookah pipes and caterpillars,
****** cat leads us on a thriller.

Helping those he put in danger,
this is why you don't talk to strangers,
losing his head in the end,
or will his whole body mend?
Melanie Martinez Mad Hatter
The days come & go
The land of nothingness
Reach for the Stars
The sky is clear
Hurry, the time is near
A clock with no face
Throw my hands
in the air
Keep going, I must care
Tweedle Dee
I'm Dum too
Grasping at straws
A figment of my imagination
Abra Cadabra
****! They're gone
My hopes and dreams
******' in the wind
Go, go, go
Falllllll
Splat!!
Lower my expectations
I am trespassing
Who goes there?
Yay, though I walk thru the valley
Quicksand
Throw my hands
in the air
White flag
Bring the final
curtain down.
My life in a nutshell
It was there
though I don't know how it got
there
I can tell you with a considerably high degree of confidence
of it's presence and location within
space
and
time
for I see myself practicing an alchemy
with thoughts deranged making their way
into the stew
the broth in the brew
into not one, but two magnum opusi
tweedle deedle dee and tweedly umbi
get 'em by
I see myself succeeding in this alchemical work
playing itself outside of me
and pretending it's a poem
This alchemical voice all too often silenced
before the pivotal motive of the book has been read
burning bushes it returns
and it is to this location I direct you
when I say I know where it is
and though I do not inform you
of the items in the magical box
when I pulled them from my hat
they were all there
they were all alone, crying, some with real tears
others substituting with expensive reproductions

I couldn't tell you what's in my heart right now
if you'd let me
I stand condemned, alone, leaving this
life atoned
I don't even know
It's full of ghosts and dead bones
filled with history and broken dreams
to the brim with emotion
to the extent
that a heart can be broken
I claim mind has been broken a few times
and it never crossed mind
how the last time was worse than the last time
and every time was just like that
So look out, I'm courtin' the jester
I'm on the hunt for a crime
I'm telling lies just for lying

and I am not distracted by the dramatic strains
of Franz Schubert's 8th symphony, ushering in
the dramatic while I sit and try to think
of something to say
and a way I can say it
with meaningless syntax
and dreamless taxed sin
that's the stuff I'm wallowing in
it's like gooey taffy, the color of Granny Smith
apples
even smells like green apple, the kind God doesn't grow
in Indianapolis in the summertime
I'm assuming that's to imply
that apples can be found on each and every tree
when the magical season of summer is in session
and that there has never been a summer that has not
brought us much and more ever needed
never in need of anything more

I was that poet voice
took a liking to your mind
together we rollicked in forests
and made shepherd's pie on St. Patty's Day
and what a day, that day, Patty O'the Day
I gave you the words on this page
Though their eventual response be rage
Try to find meaning in them
I dare you
It cannot be done
An excerpt taken from a lengthy tome,
written courtesy a favorite poet of mine.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia  struck within a blink,
I swear yours truly never took a drink,
nevertheless he witnessed
and falsely accused of being a rat fink,
when everything but the kitchen sink
instantaneously disappeared in a wink.

A quick moving flava flav lava flow
quickly rapped (like a snoop doggy dog tune),
swept, and twittered predominantly
(this only the beginning phase
of Armageddon clobbering debacle),
where nature nymphs, sprites, trolls, et cetera)
decked out with tartan kilted
Scottish residents comprising
the moral majority population
within bucolic community of Harrisburg,
(yes the same place name and Das Capital
of Pennsylvania) before swallowing
(as an itty bitty, teensy weensy
hors d oeuvre), a healthy
barley noticed portion of planet Earth.

Faster than a speeding bullet
lubricated with greased lightning,
and one rather extremely uncommon phenomena,
the devastating, instantaneous,
and outrageous volcanic activity,
(that forged the Allegheny Mountains)
unexpectedly goose-stepped,
doggedly catapulted back to life
after a bajillion years of dormancy
entombing, hotly freezing (in perpetuity),

and guaranteeing, limning, and ossifying
unchanging lifelong livingsocial abode
of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum
at that juncture (of happy and healthy)
within the space time continuum
4 after Midnight, (when Christine
came down with severe bout of misery
qua writer's block), and sponsored
by Plexus, nexus Lexus Wilkie Buick,
who guaranteed their

handsomely crafted automobiles
(specially designed with an app
to weather fierce blistering,
pelting thermal withering geologic events,
sans natural catastrophes)
included extra durable crushed bougainvillea
(allegedly beefed chromosomes)
deftly effected fortified (gluten free)
genetically housed immensely
jimmied, kindled, lionized magnetized numbskulls.

The volcanic magma seemed to possess
an uncanny intelligent, eerie ability
to discriminate among bias,
die hard extremist stances, liberal take
on hot button controversial issues,
political ultra factions, hence the eye catching,
shining, yet confusing moniker
"Smart Ash" soon codified, fructified, indemnified
with the reputable, musical, and inestimable
qua personae non gratae prodigy Sam Ash".

Actually, there did seem to appear
some natural likeness in violent temperament,
resonant penchant, and nascent lambent
Jill Saint John habiliment
between former magmatic material,
and protean Primate prehensile prattling Simian,
who (as a sidereal stellar story teller)
happens to be yours truly.

Anyway, due to strict
parochial Lutheran hackneyed dogma,
no iota of boasting, flattering, nattering chattering
allowed from this anonymous,
hip po' eponymous, harmonious, industrious,
innocuous, judicious, loquacious, marvelous,
querulous Norwegian bachelor farmer.

Ponder with scrunched furrowed brow
in a serious effort to expound at large
this incredulous nebulous,
shape shifting (than compound
an understandably mixed up notion),
thus now tis a noteworthy opportunity
to point out divulging the name of this scribe
would immediately necessitate notification
of Non-Coms, who would forcibly usher
this lapsed long haired pencil neck geek.

This action (not newsworthy in the least),
would thus mocks nix notorious nauseating, nasty,
never-ending nonsensical noodling.

How sad, hence tis not wise tune hip
virtual thorn in the dark side.

Rather best bet would be to buffer end
this figurative bud dee **** encased
within corpus callosum.

Though identity guard disallows revealing namesake
of this nincompoop, the most information
told about this little known author
can be reduced to one word.

That abridged version would deprive
any subsequent reader a brave attempt
to interpret convoluted spaghetti writing.

Despite ambition to bob and weave continuously
(creating a conglomeration of ever increasing
virtual loose threads),
one final capstone concept begs to be conveyed.

Thine ziggurat severely atilt rivaled
(sorry tubby cheesy),
but the Leaning Tower of Pisa!

Asinine argot acquired bilious berserk baggage,
which stakes no claim nsync with
longevity, magnanimity, notoriety, et cetera.

A series of unfortunate literary,
lickity-split liberty unintentionally
left a prose ache wake.

An honest to dogness attempt bedeviled crux
displaying evident fiasco.

Slinky circumstances, sans synonymity,
synergistically, and synchronicity
yielded a feeble effort at fame.

Birth thing a complex mental edifice
begot aborted aspiration foray zing
grateful, mindful, and respectful characterization.
Timothy Fuller Mar 2022
Wonderland is dead.
It was shot in the head.
Not by the Red Queen,
though her smile did glean.

No, it's Alice's fault,
she brought my life to a halt,
she sent me madd again,
put me out in the rain.

No more White Rabbit; no Hare,
no Tweedle to dare.
Just me and my mind,
no filler to bind.

Instead I wonder afar,
into a new tales; bizarre.
Ones with turtles and dragons,
and pints and flagons.

Tales as old as time,
and some that even rhyme.
Tales of princes in court,
and all of that sort.

Worlds richer than Wonderland,
and all we had planned.
Worlds wrapped in gold,
where I'm made to feel bold.

Thank you Alice my dear,
for setting my mind clear.
Maddness is to me,
what to you would be glee.

Please don't think this the end,
the next tale is around the bend,
The Hatter lives on you see,
He lives on in me.

We will write new poems for you all,
some short... some tall,
some long winded or short,
some an essayed retort.

Please don't follow or like,
on your keyboards don't strike,
just read as I post,
HelloPoetry thanks for the host.
I know I spelt Madd and Maddness wrong. It is on purpose.
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2019
A stitch past nine on borrowed time,
memories come rushing back

The Wolf is feasting in Grandma’s bed,
Red Riding Hood a snack

A Cow gets ready to jump again,
but the moon drops from the sky

Humpty Dumpty a mess on the floor,
Tweedle-dum starts to cry

The candle burns for Jack’s last jump,
a quickening funeral pyre

The stepmother screams, Cinderella hides,
her daughter’s dress on fire

Little Jack Horner abandons his corner,
curds harden and whey runs aground

As Mother Goose watches the Grimm Brothers die
—not a child in sight to be found

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Third Eye Candy Feb 2020
as i colonize my outskirts, moon junk sick with the real pity of an angel
but half the size of a whole thing… sort of a trojan armada
marching out of wasted time. a tweedle dee in the steam trunk
of my misadventures.
mostly maple leaf tempura
dozing off in a tempestuous kiss
like a pumpkin praying to Chinese
with a Pi.

we slip into the stream of our afternoon-
and dare the span of a constant dark,
our lanterns possessed
of all the fire we enkindle
beyond spark.
we breathe on the wind
that our sails obey.
however, lost.
eating gumption with
our bare hands-
like golden brutes
tugging sunshine from
a cave.

— The End —