Write a poem that follows the beats of a classic joke. Emphasize the interplay between the form of the poem – such as the line breaks – and the punchline.
I think I bent the rules a bit. But I like writing nonsense that has some logic. And I also like writing about The Mad Hatter and Alice (I have quite a series of them). If you put Hatter or Alice into my search box you will probably find all of them. They have an ongoing relationship.
She went out when he came in,
they lived inside a weather-house.
They found the decor very strange.
Their hearts were in a dreadful spin.
She was quiet as a mouse
but Hatter wasn’t quite deranged,
not at the moment seasons change.
Sometimes time will stand quite still
and when that hopeful moment came
they built a new house on a hill,
they found a place they both could fit.
If Alice shrinks or grows quite tall
Hatter fails to notice it.
It has no consequence at all.
And when his moods are quite bizarre
he never walks off very far.
Which only shows,
you never know
which way next a story goes.
my words were lashed,
in bonds of my own making,
with good sense and clear reason,
to stop foundations shaking
for any word i spoke out loud
might all amount to treason
my tongue was tied
my body bound
my dreams were all illusion
the roses scattered at my feet
fell in dark profusion
the bridge of stone was empty now.
loves promise had betrayed me.
i wrapped myself, against the cold,
and wondered at my purpose
but i heard waters singing
beneath the bridge
beneath the ice
beneath the river’s surface
i followed in its journey
for there is no returning
Frabjous ~ amalgam of joyous and fabulous
Fraptious Day ~ a day after which nothing will ever be the same again
*****
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did all the things they usually did.
The Hatter hid, inside his hat,
To snare the dreaded Bandersnatch.
He’d had enough of tea and clocks
And fading smiles from Cheshire Cats.
He was with the belfry bats.
Alice was a windy girl,
Wandering about the land,
Blinded by her flying hair.
She didn’t always seem quite there.
Alice came and Alice went.
Alice went and Alice came.
It seemed a tiring, endless game,
And Hatter always felt the same.
Trapped inside an unsolved riddle.
He wished that they could dance and sing
And fly about and braid her hair
And she might learn to play the fiddle.
Chasing diamonds in the dark,
He might ignite a special spark.
The Hatter had a fervent wish
That Alice, one fine summer day,
Would come to Wonderland to stay,
And never ever go away,
If she would,
If she could.
(He always really thought she should).
But time and age and logic rules.
Alice was severely schooled
In all the things he thought were wrong
(His wish for magic being strong).
The Hatter, so completely mad,
Wanted Alice to be glad
And share her wishes all with him
But she came out when he went in,
And he was very rarely out.
She went she came,
She came she went,
Until the Fraptious Day arrived.
He knew she wouldn’t come again.
The frabjous time had blown away,
And then he knew he was insane.
It came to him as quite a shock.
It was that jolt that stopped the clock.
Love’s a story, very old,
If truth be told,
(and I won’t lie)
Love’s a thing that doesn’t die.
But when the chicks refuse to hatch
And Humpty Dumpty’s egg is cracked
And Alice lost, and won’t come back,
The March Hare screams and runs away.
It’s time to face that Fraptious Day!
The Hatter then removed his hat
And tears ran down his creasy cheeks.
He stood in sorrow in the dark
And faced the sadness in his heart.
He told the Red Queen
(so it’s said)
That she was welcome to his head.
With Alice gone,
Quite gone for good,
The Hatter sadly understood.
He turned the teapot upside down.
He groaned and frowned
And spun the table thrice around,
Which, at the time,
Seemed quite profound
(But only proves that he’s still mad).
He hoped that Alice was alright.
He knew her world could be quite bad.
He had left there long ago.
He knew the clocks there all ran slow.
The trouble was, she might not know.
Alice, through the mirror, looked.
Alice still was not impressed.
In the morning
Hatter dressed.
He brushed his hat
And put it on.
He knows that Wonderland is best.
As for the rest,
Hatter cannot really tell.
Perhaps if fortune casts a spell
All will settle very well.
He scratched his head,
A little vexed,
And thought out loud,
For none to hear…
”Surely wonder isn’t dead!
I’ll ask the Caterpillar next.
We’ll see,
For he’s a day ahead of me.”
(He wiped a tear)
“She was a dear,
A darling dear.”
The Hatter isn’t mad!
He is misunderstood
By errant fools and noisome knaves.
They’re the ones who rave.
It’s true he likes to break the rules
When tea time will allow.
But where? and why? and how?
And what’s the point of getting up
When the pot is full of tea
And his friends are always there.
He’d welcome you and me.
(that should be ”I”? – says Alice,
examining the grammar,
studying the dictionary).
The Hatter doesn’t care.
He lets the March Hare worry,
In a hurry and a scurry.
He lets the Dormouse sleep
In a snoring heap.
The secrets of the Hatter
Are the dreams inside his hat
(he won’t speak of that,
nor should you and I).
He smiles at pretty Alice
As the days drift by.
The truth about the Hatter
Is the twinkle in his eye
”Have another cup of tea”
he says.
”My cake won’t make you fat”
And wonders if you’ll shrink.
”Let’s not think!” he shouts
As the table turns about.
Alice sits still
Contemplating her knees
Fiddling about with her toes
While the birds in the trees
Sing what they please
To the words that only she knows.
Buttercups, daisies, all stand in line
And circle around her grass seat
From her head to her feet
She is very complete
In her sparkle of youth
And delight.
As she grows old she blooms like a rose
But only the Hatter knows
How lovely she is
And he’s mad.
She wouldn’t believe him
Whatever he said .
She thought the road lead
To the vale of the dead
Where all the daffodils die.
”Look at the bulbs”, he said.
”There’s a wink in the cuckoos eye.
The secret is – never ask why.”
The Hatter really loved sweet Alice
but Alice always thought him mad,
always did and always will,
so he’s gone back, under the hill.
He always thought it was prosaic
to keep both feet on the ground,
he’d rather be over or under it
and now he can’t be found.
He’s still in Wonderland.
The Hatter is a lunatic
He never knows which card to pick.
The March Hare is always running late.
He hasn’t even got a date.
The clock’s not as it seems.
The Hatter has bad dreams,
He’s always in distress
And Alice has a problem too,
She’s not sure what to do
When she doesn’t fit her dress.
They’re lost inside a fairy tale
And none of it is true.
There’s a thought inside the Hatter’s head
That Alice is his match
But he hears laughter all the time.
The cards are hard to catch.
He can’t make reason out of rhyme,
And every time he thinks of love
He’s haunted by a bat.
Twinkle twinkle little dove,
His stars may help with that,
They’re shining bright enough above
And all will be complete
When he sees roses
Scattered at his feet.
The Hatter is a lunatic
He never knows which card to pick.
The March Hare is always running late.
He hasn’t even got a date.
The clock’s not as it seems.
The Hatter has bad dreams,
He’s always in distress
And Alice has a problem too,
She’s not sure what to do
When she doesn’t fit her dress.
They’re lost inside a fairy tale
And none of it is true.
There’s a thought inside the Hatter’s head
That Alice is his match
But he hears laughter all the time.
The cards are hard to catch.
He can’t make reason out of rhyme,
And every time he thinks of love
He’s haunted by a bat.
Twinkle twinkle little dove,
His stars may help with that,
They’re shining bright enough above
And all will be complete
When he sees roses
Scattered at his feet.
she remembered she was falling
reaching for a cake crumb
swallowing a draught
that completely turned her head
she was running round the roses
painting red and white
challenging the chess board
to manoeuvres in the dark
she had a distant memory
of a love that struck a spark
but the tables all kept turning
when he tried to take her hand
in the horrors and delusions
that stalked this troubled land
he loved her all the time
but he had lost his mind
lovers often lose their way
whether they are sane of mad
all is topsy-turvy
when the news is always bad
they race around in shadows
tying to find a light
their dreams become a nightmare
ruining their night
but up above the stars shine out
constellations point the path
if only they could both sit down
gazing up at last
the roses never needed paint
he knew that all along
check mate only brings an end
to more that can be done
lovers only need to sit
and think what love’s about
and forget the silly games
that pull them inside out
The Dreaming Path 