"whiffling" poems - Hello Poetry

'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.

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7.1k

Lewis Carroll

Jabberwocky

'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.

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Some day, some people you don’t know might get spittin’ mad at each other. you won’t have a ****** thing to do with it. But one morning while you discuss equality at a café on Wilshire you might hear a terrible BOOM In the middle of the city And you could spill your fair-trade iced coffee All over your Egyptian cotton clothes. you might be able to make it home to see If your purebred cats are not dead But most likely you won’t get so far. your ice might melt, Don’t you know? And your faucet might leak. your apartment could be an ocean And nobody would care. You might try to get away But everyone else will do the same And you might puff up like the Chilean Blob, And maybe your hair will come out in tufts And you’ll possibly die with your legs stuck out at obscene angles On a gum-dappled sidewalk, Ashes and fallout whiffling down around your snow-angel death scene. Mushroom cloud don’t care how civilized you is.

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Aug 24, 2012

Aug 24, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC

hope-2

Mushroom Cloud Don't Care

Some day, some people you don’t know might get spittin’ mad at each other. you won’t have a ****** thing to do with it. But one morning while you discuss equality at a café on Wilshire you might hear a terrible BOOM In the middle of the city And you could spill your fair-trade iced coffee All over your Egyptian cotton clothes. you might be able to make it home to see If your purebred cats are not dead But most likely you won’t get so far. your ice might melt, Don’t you know? And your faucet might leak. your apartment could be an ocean And nobody would care. You might try to get away But everyone else will do the same And you might puff up like the Chilean Blob, And maybe your hair will come out in tufts And you’ll possibly die with your legs stuck out at obscene angles On a gum-dappled sidewalk, Ashes and fallout whiffling down around your snow-angel death scene. Mushroom cloud don’t care how civilized you is.

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Don't ask - If that was there in the 1950's... Chances are, it was. Don't ask - Where the Jabberwock is... It is currently whiffling through the Tulgey wood. Don't ask - What normal is... We don't give a Tumtum tree. Don't ask - What a Bandersnatch is... We've been arguing about that since the 1950's. Don't ask - About our Gallbladders... It's one thing we have in common. Don't ask - How to get Raymond started on European history... He'll do it himself. Don't ask - How to say thank you... Just flick the cat off you tongue and get it over with.

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Jul 13, 2011

Jul 13, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC

hannah-thacker

Just Don't Ask (Juncosa Family House Rules)

Don't ask - If that was there in the 1950's... Chances are, it was. Don't ask - Where the Jabberwock is... It is currently whiffling through the Tulgey wood. Don't ask - What normal is... We don't give a Tumtum tree. Don't ask - What a Bandersnatch is... We've been arguing about that since the 1950's. Don't ask - About our Gallbladders... It's one thing we have in common. Don't ask - How to get Raymond started on European history... He'll do it himself. Don't ask - How to say thank you... Just flick the cat off you tongue and get it over with.

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'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.

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Jun 29, 2010

Jun 29, 2010 at 8:48 AM UTC

giovanna-gonzalez

From Through the Looking-Glass, 1871

'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.

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RECORD: 2 + 2 = 5 FROGMAN: RaiDIhO HEAD ***** Wonka: ... There's no Hearthly way of knowing Which way they are growing. There's no knowing where they're toe-ing. Mr. Salt: [weakly echoing] Toe-ing... ***** Wonka: Or which way thought streams'a'flowin. Is it braining, is it storming? Is a braining-storm a'blowin'? [sharp rasp] ***** Wonka: Not a speck of light is showing So the anger must be growing Are the fires of passion a'glowing? Is the grimsly leader mowing? Yes! The anger must be growing 'Cause the toe-ers keep on throwing [practically stcreaming] ***** Wonka: And they're certainly not showing Any sign that they are slowing! [lets out a high-pitched, almost unHearthly stcream] Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen: Throw!... the Hearth Switch! eyeGore: [shocked] Not the Hearth Switch! And, while sparks flew across the slab, The Number 5, with lies and tame, Came whiffling through the Tulgey Lab, And burbled as it came!" -- Lewis Carroll Suzy's: It halted, and it gurgled The QCuloween's Trademark Seal, "I'm just Around 5 foot 9, and weigh a buck ninety-fine!" STOP: TURN THOUGHT

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Feb 13, 2016

Feb 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC

RobertZorro

The Letter-Ing: raidho

RECORD: 2 + 2 = 5 FROGMAN: RaiDIhO HEAD ***** Wonka: ... There's no Hearthly way of knowing Which way they are growing. There's no knowing where they're toe-ing. Mr. Salt: [weakly echoing] Toe-ing... ***** Wonka: Or which way thought streams'a'flowin. Is it braining, is it storming? Is a braining-storm a'blowin'? [sharp rasp] ***** Wonka: Not a speck of light is showing So the anger must be growing Are the fires of passion a'glowing? Is the grimsly leader mowing? Yes! The anger must be growing 'Cause the toe-ers keep on throwing [practically stcreaming] ***** Wonka: And they're certainly not showing Any sign that they are slowing! [lets out a high-pitched, almost unHearthly stcream] Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen: Throw!... the Hearth Switch! eyeGore: [shocked] Not the Hearth Switch! And, while sparks flew across the slab, The Number 5, with lies and tame, Came whiffling through the Tulgey Lab, And burbled as it came!" -- Lewis Carroll Suzy's: It halted, and it gurgled The QCuloween's Trademark Seal, "I'm just Around 5 foot 9, and weigh a buck ninety-fine!" STOP: TURN THOUGHT

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'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.

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Jan 30, 2015

Jan 30, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC

slythersnake18

JABBERWOCKY Lewis Carroll (from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

'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.

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'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

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Apr 30, 2015

Apr 30, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC

firefox

The Jabberwocky

'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

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Over the muttering, a sputtering candle is down to the quick Flashing and flickering, the wick goes out Rumbling skies threaten with scowling fingers of unappeased gods Grey hairs curling in rage at eviction from Olympus The sky then screams in a tumultuous rage: A sacrifice is dire and desperately needed. A maiden-green tree implores to above, silently surrendering still arches as she kneels in the earth, longer than any man has lived. Cleaved by a fissure of light from something dark and then a tremdous clap, thundering and thrashing the towering tree, goes down, face flat. A mother to decay she will become. The rain drums into the humming hills, running down the mountainside. It ruthlessly rushes tearing away grainy earth, bouncing and bubbling in crevices galore, turning all green and lush in an awakening as old as age. The hills inhale blue and green. Buds will flower, petals will die but an end to all is not nigh

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Mar 1, 2013

Mar 1, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC

glass-can

Whiffling Wood

Over the muttering, a sputtering candle is down to the quick Flashing and flickering, the wick goes out Rumbling skies threaten with scowling fingers of unappeased gods Grey hairs curling in rage at eviction from Olympus The sky then screams in a tumultuous rage: A sacrifice is dire and desperately needed. A maiden-green tree implores to above, silently surrendering still arches as she kneels in the earth, longer than any man has lived. Cleaved by a fissure of light from something dark and then a tremdous clap, thundering and thrashing the towering tree, goes down, face flat. A mother to decay she will become. The rain drums into the humming hills, running down the mountainside. It ruthlessly rushes tearing away grainy earth, bouncing and bubbling in crevices galore, turning all green and lush in an awakening as old as age. The hills inhale blue and green. Buds will flower, petals will die but an end to all is not nigh

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He said that it was brillig, but what did that word mean And slithy is a word that I had never seen If you gyre and gimble, what do you really do I guess when in the wabe, you seek the meaning too. Lewis was a master of words that were not real He made you fear the Jubjub, and he made you feel Like your very being, is a door without a latch It takes bravery to shun the frumious bandersnatch. We attack the world of words with a vorpal sword in hand Verses, like the Tumtum tree, sprouting in the sand And structure with rhyming can be a manxome foe Whiffling and burbling, the flaming words will go. Choosing careful phrases can bring a frabjous day And poems not dead, like borogoves, find their mimsy way While galumphing through the tulgey lines with uffish chortled joy It makes me through and through a whiffling beamish boy So Lewis paints a picture with unreal words so clear The Jabberwock seems so real and something we should fear Poetry is the art of words, with phrasing, tales and fun Proceed carefully, and beware the Jabberwock my son.

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Sep 16, 2021

Sep 16, 2021 at 11:32 PM UTC

achunn

Lewis

He said that it was brillig, but what did that word mean And slithy is a word that I had never seen If you gyre and gimble, what do you really do I guess when in the wabe, you seek the meaning too. Lewis was a master of words that were not real He made you fear the Jubjub, and he made you feel Like your very being, is a door without a latch It takes bravery to shun the frumious bandersnatch. We attack the world of words with a vorpal sword in hand Verses, like the Tumtum tree, sprouting in the sand And structure with rhyming can be a manxome foe Whiffling and burbling, the flaming words will go. Choosing careful phrases can bring a frabjous day And poems not dead, like borogoves, find their mimsy way While galumphing through the tulgey lines with uffish chortled joy It makes me through and through a whiffling beamish boy So Lewis paints a picture with unreal words so clear The Jabberwock seems so real and something we should fear Poetry is the art of words, with phrasing, tales and fun Proceed carefully, and beware the Jabberwock my son.

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