Rabbit Hole Day

Lewis Carroll was born on January 27th.  The idea of blog Rabbit Hole Day is to stop making sense for 24 hours to honor the birthday of the guy who came up with Alice and the white rabbit and Cheshire Cat and all that.  I, however, take a different approach.  I honor the day not by being inane and insane but by penning a poem that attempts to mimic something.  You get to decide what it mimics.

Rekindling the Day

A pushoning wind bussed up my sails
and tautened all my lines.
I joped the jib and yanced the daels
and harkened to the signs.

The time was ripe!  The blow'ring sea
pulled at my empty heart,
and breathlessly it sang to me,
a most auspicious start.

My boat gachurtled forward
and the harbor fell behind,
as we swiftly slidled toward
the horizon sunburn-brined.

A fortnight and a month I sailed
the despelate, cold sea
til the day I thought my quest had failed
and death was nigh for me.

A moonless night had fallen black
and derkened deep my soul
when then, with a ferocious whack!
we foundered on a shoal.

Shakered and detothered
I was flung into the deep
where the water's weight besmothered
all my breath and made me sleep.

I wakened on a burgened beach
and heard a croftish weeping.
A little man just out of reach
was roundabantly leaping.

His frimpish arms and feeple beard
spashed wild in his hurry.
Possessed he seemed, with spirits weird,
so urgent was his fury.

Above him hanged as if divine
a rope straight from the sky.
He looked a little asinine,
this nimpish, little guy.

He jumped and jumped with howling wail
straight up to grasp the rope.
So small was he, 'twas no avail,
and so he lost all hope.

I asked him, "Why so glum, sir?"
And he skartled up and pointed,
shouting, "Ah! I see you've come, sir!"
And with that, I was anointed.

"You have restified my hope, sir,"
he cajortled, filled with glee.
"Would you pull down on that rope, sir?
It's to high for me, you see."

So I reached right up and took it,
grabbing tight cause it was slick.
When I pulled it, he said, "Lookit!"
and I heard a glibbous CLICK.

Then a wonder started growing
on the easting haunton sea--
the horizon started glowing,
and a warm hope rose in me.

"Ah!  You've done it!" barked the gnome,
and he laughed deep in his throat.
"Now let's send you off for home."
Then, nearby, appeared my boat.

I stepped inside and joped the main
and deeply breathed the salton air
and drank the liquid sunshine rain
as wind befrothed my finsom hair.

Rabbit Hole Day

Lewis Carroll was born on January 27th. The idea of Rabbit Hole Day is to stop making sense for 24 hours to honor the birthday of the guy who came up with Alice and the white rabbit and Cheshire Cat and all that. I, however, take a different approach. I honor the day not by being inane and insane but by penning a poem that attempts to mimic something. You get to decide what it mimics.

With a dollar in my pocket
I set out from Grinnell Lake
walking backwards in my jammies
counting every step I'd take
and I scattered stickle hitches
in the dust stirred by my wake
as I walked beneath the moonlight
wondering when the day would break.

Spichy fregs and skirtle momers
lurkled quisey in the brush
and I think I heard the warbles
of a sprinkle-crested thrush
so I pauzzled for a moment
as I harkened to his hush
heeking closely to his lesson,
since I wasn't in a rush.

"Carry swiftly homeword on,"
said the tinkly, silent bird
so I cocked my head and spread my wings
and rose without a word
then above a horslish wind I soared
til mama's voice I heard
and I woke amid her waksing song,
snugged closely in her skird.

Rabbit Hole Day

Lewis Carroll was born on January 27th. The idea of Rabbit Hole Day is to stop making sense for 24 hours to honor the birthday of the guy who came up with Alice and the white rabbit and Cheshire Cat and all that. I, however, take a different approach. I honor the day not by being inane and insane but by penning a poem that attempts to mimic something. You get to decide what it mimics.

The Mountaintop


"My son, much wisdom have I earned
in years gaflecting through this life,
and leaves both diftly and supimely turned
through happy times, still boredom, and raw strife.


Now to the mountain you must go
and seek yourself the whigid peak,
through thrickened air and white, pernulling snow
to find the wise man there and bid him speak.


Avoid the Anter-Frithing Bear,
with brakish claws and grizing teeth,
and of the black distawling trees beware--
their gnabbish limbs and tangled roots beneath.


And when you reach the mountain's top,
behold the effervizzent view.
You'll find the wise man only when you stop--
for wisdom found is wisdom that finds you."


All this, my father said, and more
and sent me off with heavy pack.
I stand upon the summit, muscles sore,
and look ahead, and left, and right--not back.


Alone, I call out for the man
to see if he will come and speak.
I turn to face the place where I began,
when just a boy I set of for this peak.


So long ago!  So far away!
A lifetime's journey, there to here.
I sit alone in silent, gray dismay
and wonder if the wise man will appear.


I think of what my father taught,
and all the things he said to do.
And then my father's voice floats to my thought:
"Behold, my son, the wise man:  it is you."

Rabbit Hole Day

The southin winds come shiftering
while whistlin' we go walking
among the wildly trepand trees
with branches thick and strocking.

Our path meanders at our feet,
through roots and clathish clay,
and gramley worms caress the leaves
above, this starkling day.

Come now with me to Sparrow Brook,
its feltish water softing,
and sit with me upon its bank
with honeysuckle wafting.

The ice has cracked and melted free
and washed away to sea,
and left this fluorious, fine Spring day
to us--just you and me.