everyadventure
02-03-2011, 04:00 PM
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
-Lewis Carroll
Urged by
vague
curiosity
I peer at LitNet
through the glowing screen
Of my MacBook
I lean closer—
too close!—
and fall
A wondrous
tumbling
head over
heels over
head
Words pass me by
I reach for them
metallic
messy
meows
But they are not solid matter
I fall
and
fall
and while away
the time
by penning a poem
in my head
I land with a
THUMP
in the
middle
of a forum
I search for an exit
at last spying
a tiny door
“This is absurd!”
I stamp
one slippered foot
“I am much
much
much
too large.”
A sharp, rude prod
against my backside
I whirl around
to face
Of all things
a Goose
“I beg your pardon!
Did you just poke me
with that horrid, hardened
beak?”
The Goose gazes at me
with one shiny eye
and gives a regal nod
Her beak opens
and out rolls
a vial
that stops at my feet
I pick it up
“Drink Me,”
I read.
The goose nods
encouragement as
I uncork
the bottle and
hesitate
before lifting her criticism to my lips
I drink
swallow
And am promptly
shrunk down to size
I’m relieved to find
I don’t go out altogether,
as a candle.
“Thank you!” I call
over my shoulder
as I scurry
through
the door
and emerge
in a lush garden
“Perhaps I
can find someone
to show me the way.”
I soon come upon
a most curious creature
languishing on a mushroom’s cap
ardently suckling
his hookah
“Hello!” I call.
He looks down
from his fungal throne
and envelops me
in an
exhalation
I try again
“Hello,”
I say,
“Who are you?”
He s t r e t c h e s
to his full height
“I
am
Jerrybaldy!
And w h o o o o
are you?”
Who indeed?
“I know who I was
when I got up this morning
but I think
I must have been
changed
several times since then.”
“You must be Missing,”
he surmises
“Recite!”
as though a poem
will bring me back
to myself
I begin
with Bronte
“My God! O let me call Thee mine!”
Jerrybaldy reddens with rage
“It is wrong
from beginning to end!”
He leans low
and shouts
“There is no God!”
His skin splits
and he is freed
of his casing
wings unfurl
and off he flies
leaving me
still
quite grounded
Curiouser and curiouser.
I walk on
and come across
a pigeon
all aflutter
“A Preposterous Affair!”
she splutters,
speaking
of eggs
and nests,
of earth
and spring
Then points
with an elegant
feathered wing
“A serpent!” she accuses
“No, no,” I protest
“A poet, not a serpent!”
But it’s useless
“I can see
you’re trying to
invent something!”
she cries
“And as we all know,
a poet never tries!”
I’ve had quite enough
and take my leave
It isn’t long before
I hear a meow
And look up at a
cat
perched on a bough
It looks good natured;
still,
it has VERY
l o n g claws
and a great many
teeth
and I feel it ought
to be treated
with respect
“Hillwalker,”
he purrs
in answer
to my unspoken question
“Hillwalker, please,
would you tell me
which way to go from here?”
“That depends
a good deal
on where you want
to get to.”
“I don’t much care---”
“This,” he purrs,
“Is a case
of the tail
wagging
the dog.”
And with that
he vanishes.
I’m feeling giddy
not nearly as grounded
as I was this morning
but there’s nothing to do
but keep going
At last I see
a table
decked for tea
“Finally, civilized people!”
I sit beside a young man
with a hat
that
perches precariously
upon his head.
He extends a
gloved
gentlemanly
hand.
“How do you do?” I ask politely.
“Lonely with cold sincere thoughts,”
he confesses.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply.
“But perhaps we should find
some more palatable
conversation?”
He clasps gloved hands
in delight
“Rumours of gossips!”
“Oh dear,” I say
“That wouldn’t be polite.”
“How about a riddle?” he asks
crumbs of bread and butter
falling from his mouth
“If we are sole judge on are merits
are merits of luxury?”
I ponder and ponder
but find no answer.
“I’m very sorry,
but I still have a
ways to go.”
He waves me
graciously
onward
I spot
two fingerposts
pointing
the same direction
One marked
“To Bartleby’s House,”
the other,
“To Grit’s House”
The path takes a turn
and there I see
two men
each with an arm
round
the other’s neck
“Could you tell me,
please,
which is the best
way for me?”
They grin
And say in unison
“The woods!
The woods!
All good stories
end in the woods!”
“But…
I don’t want to end,
I just want to leave!”
“Take a dog,”
advises Grit
“Or a cat,”
counsels Bartleby.
But I have neither
(where is Hillwalker
when I need him?)
and continue
alone
I finally emerge
in a grassy clearing
rimmed by a row
of tidy rose hedges
Jack of Hearts
is busily painting
white blooms
scarlet
“Who are those for?” I ask,
pointing to the
roses
He turns to me
sincerity seizes all his features
and the shiny coins of his eyes
gleam
“They’re for… uh…
my queen.”
“The queen!” I declare
“There is a queen?”
Jack paints with nervous vigor
“Of course there is a queen!”
As if on cue
I hear the blare
of trumpets
A procession!
Led by a minstrel
(or perhaps a prince?)
tooting his own horn
His notes scatter
in an apparently
aimless
way
And there!
The queen!
Naked, glorious,
resplendent girth!
“Halt!” she bellows,
spying me.
She points a blood-red
fingernail
“She has stolen my poem
and given it to another!
Off with her
head!”
"Wait! Wait!"
I exclaim
"Alright
right
right
I'll wait
wait
wait
but only because
you asked me to."
“Please,” I begin,
“I’d rather play
croquet?”
-Lewis Carroll
Urged by
vague
curiosity
I peer at LitNet
through the glowing screen
Of my MacBook
I lean closer—
too close!—
and fall
A wondrous
tumbling
head over
heels over
head
Words pass me by
I reach for them
metallic
messy
meows
But they are not solid matter
I fall
and
fall
and while away
the time
by penning a poem
in my head
I land with a
THUMP
in the
middle
of a forum
I search for an exit
at last spying
a tiny door
“This is absurd!”
I stamp
one slippered foot
“I am much
much
much
too large.”
A sharp, rude prod
against my backside
I whirl around
to face
Of all things
a Goose
“I beg your pardon!
Did you just poke me
with that horrid, hardened
beak?”
The Goose gazes at me
with one shiny eye
and gives a regal nod
Her beak opens
and out rolls
a vial
that stops at my feet
I pick it up
“Drink Me,”
I read.
The goose nods
encouragement as
I uncork
the bottle and
hesitate
before lifting her criticism to my lips
I drink
swallow
And am promptly
shrunk down to size
I’m relieved to find
I don’t go out altogether,
as a candle.
“Thank you!” I call
over my shoulder
as I scurry
through
the door
and emerge
in a lush garden
“Perhaps I
can find someone
to show me the way.”
I soon come upon
a most curious creature
languishing on a mushroom’s cap
ardently suckling
his hookah
“Hello!” I call.
He looks down
from his fungal throne
and envelops me
in an
exhalation
I try again
“Hello,”
I say,
“Who are you?”
He s t r e t c h e s
to his full height
“I
am
Jerrybaldy!
And w h o o o o
are you?”
Who indeed?
“I know who I was
when I got up this morning
but I think
I must have been
changed
several times since then.”
“You must be Missing,”
he surmises
“Recite!”
as though a poem
will bring me back
to myself
I begin
with Bronte
“My God! O let me call Thee mine!”
Jerrybaldy reddens with rage
“It is wrong
from beginning to end!”
He leans low
and shouts
“There is no God!”
His skin splits
and he is freed
of his casing
wings unfurl
and off he flies
leaving me
still
quite grounded
Curiouser and curiouser.
I walk on
and come across
a pigeon
all aflutter
“A Preposterous Affair!”
she splutters,
speaking
of eggs
and nests,
of earth
and spring
Then points
with an elegant
feathered wing
“A serpent!” she accuses
“No, no,” I protest
“A poet, not a serpent!”
But it’s useless
“I can see
you’re trying to
invent something!”
she cries
“And as we all know,
a poet never tries!”
I’ve had quite enough
and take my leave
It isn’t long before
I hear a meow
And look up at a
cat
perched on a bough
It looks good natured;
still,
it has VERY
l o n g claws
and a great many
teeth
and I feel it ought
to be treated
with respect
“Hillwalker,”
he purrs
in answer
to my unspoken question
“Hillwalker, please,
would you tell me
which way to go from here?”
“That depends
a good deal
on where you want
to get to.”
“I don’t much care---”
“This,” he purrs,
“Is a case
of the tail
wagging
the dog.”
And with that
he vanishes.
I’m feeling giddy
not nearly as grounded
as I was this morning
but there’s nothing to do
but keep going
At last I see
a table
decked for tea
“Finally, civilized people!”
I sit beside a young man
with a hat
that
perches precariously
upon his head.
He extends a
gloved
gentlemanly
hand.
“How do you do?” I ask politely.
“Lonely with cold sincere thoughts,”
he confesses.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply.
“But perhaps we should find
some more palatable
conversation?”
He clasps gloved hands
in delight
“Rumours of gossips!”
“Oh dear,” I say
“That wouldn’t be polite.”
“How about a riddle?” he asks
crumbs of bread and butter
falling from his mouth
“If we are sole judge on are merits
are merits of luxury?”
I ponder and ponder
but find no answer.
“I’m very sorry,
but I still have a
ways to go.”
He waves me
graciously
onward
I spot
two fingerposts
pointing
the same direction
One marked
“To Bartleby’s House,”
the other,
“To Grit’s House”
The path takes a turn
and there I see
two men
each with an arm
round
the other’s neck
“Could you tell me,
please,
which is the best
way for me?”
They grin
And say in unison
“The woods!
The woods!
All good stories
end in the woods!”
“But…
I don’t want to end,
I just want to leave!”
“Take a dog,”
advises Grit
“Or a cat,”
counsels Bartleby.
But I have neither
(where is Hillwalker
when I need him?)
and continue
alone
I finally emerge
in a grassy clearing
rimmed by a row
of tidy rose hedges
Jack of Hearts
is busily painting
white blooms
scarlet
“Who are those for?” I ask,
pointing to the
roses
He turns to me
sincerity seizes all his features
and the shiny coins of his eyes
gleam
“They’re for… uh…
my queen.”
“The queen!” I declare
“There is a queen?”
Jack paints with nervous vigor
“Of course there is a queen!”
As if on cue
I hear the blare
of trumpets
A procession!
Led by a minstrel
(or perhaps a prince?)
tooting his own horn
His notes scatter
in an apparently
aimless
way
And there!
The queen!
Naked, glorious,
resplendent girth!
“Halt!” she bellows,
spying me.
She points a blood-red
fingernail
“She has stolen my poem
and given it to another!
Off with her
head!”
"Wait! Wait!"
I exclaim
"Alright
right
right
I'll wait
wait
wait
but only because
you asked me to."
“Please,” I begin,
“I’d rather play
croquet?”