Wander-Land

3 12 2009

I wrote a poem to summarize all of Alice. This is it:

Wander-Land

Autumn breezes blow swiftly by,

together we sit enjoying.

A dressed hare, a glint of gold,

and a curiosity has just begun.

I follow till I fall, OH!

Physics is arbitrary.

Yet how smart I am in my “Yeah, buts” and “How cans”,

truly I have been taught.

I sidle along now, doors surrounding,

where am I, how am I, what?

A bottle I drink, how small I shrink,

A currant cake, and me, so large.

Having cried at the woe of it all,

I waved fan at my face till I shrunk,

and now I am small, so small in fact,

that in that which I wept, I now sunk.

The mouse swims forth,

we argue of pets, and he calls them predators, dear!

We swim to the shore,

he speak his dry tale and we race till we are wet no more.

The rabbit I meet once more,

Maryanne he calls me, “now fetch!”

I obey, yet I think to myself,

how cursed be this, I’m no wretch!

Growing tall once again, I fill the whole room,

get it out, burn it down, they say,

and a Little Bill with a kick (not to kill),

flies away, and so do I flee.

The Puppy he played, the mushroom I saw,

and thereon the hookah and owner lay.

When he left, we had talked,

and he bid me “one side or the other”.

I ate till I grew with a neck long and lean,

the Pigeon was utterly displeased,

“Snake!”, she cried, “I have not slept for three weeks”,

and I left disgruntled, displeased.

Two footmen, for livery made so,

spoke oddly and oddly spoke,

we argued arbitrarily and I entered frustrated,

to the clear and loud sound of sneezes.

She beat her baby,

the chef threw pots,

the Chesire Cat grinned all the same,

the baby a pig turned out to be and its grunts ended its wheezes.

The Cat spoke,

“We’re all mad”, he sighed,

and I continued on to the party,

the party was mad, with hatter and hare, both loath, sad, and hearty.

The party forever,

seemed and was, exactly what it seemed,

for nonsensical nonsense has nonsensical humor,

funny to none but daft fiends.

Leaving tea, I walked,

till the rose garden I came,

saw three gardeners with brushes and fevers.

The Queen came, with family all, and beheadings were her teasers.

We walked and played,

pink-bird mallets in hand,

hedgehogs underfeet,

The Duchess of morals spoke till the queen ordered her to leave it now, or eat it.

The Gryphon and I visited the Mock Turtle,

that lousy, proud, weepy fart,

and of dances and schooling,

uglification and boarding, he spoke, and cried, and performed.

The trial began, the Herald blew,

the jury all was seated,

Alice grew and grew and grew,

until at last “a pack of cards” receded.

This ends the tale of the witty girl,

who frolicked,

then sought and then gave,

she fought her way through, hair, tooth, and tail, but at last her insanity ceded.


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