Long Mad as a hatter Poems
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Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?
In spite of the way I was doomed in the past
I might have resumed all my duties at last
The ship captain's daughter who killed for a lark
Was tossed overboard in the path of a shark
The captain himself made a pitch in the punch
For helping the witch who was having my lunch
The bulk of the pirates were sure I was dead
The captain was second-in-line to be fed
I learned of his fate from an old pirate mate
A scurvy old sailor who thought I was great
A stable companion when we were at sea
Who seemed rather stunned by the image of me
He thought I returned as a spirit or ghost
Or maybe the wrath of a watery host
The image of someone who died for the harm
Of hurting the lady who fell for his charm
He cried like a baby to learn I was real
And not merely someone who died as a meal
The friend that he knew by the fact I was kind
A gentleman pirate with nothing in mind
The captain was dead, so he offered himself
To serve in his stead from the top of the shelf
The pirates were pleased so they voted him in
To serve by the curve of his broad, toothy grin
I asked my old friend if the couple they tried
Were found to be fit or just fit to be tied
He told me the captain was mad as a hatter
And even his daughter was no laughing matter
The lady was grinning when you made a splash
She said that you died when they took out the trash
We stared at each other and said this can't be
That pirates and shipmates should die stupidly
The captain was drunk when he made his mistake
But when you are sunk there is no second take
He plead for his life and he plead for his daughter
We fed them on board and we fed them in water
When learning of late that my captain was dead
I turned from my mate and I lowered my head
The man was reduced by the last of his brood
But no one alive should be treated as food
I knew that my life as a pirate was done
When I was a fool in the course of my fun
The future of pirates on land may be dim
But even a pirate should know how to swim
So many brave pirates who plunder in wigs
Are trading the sea for a cow and some pigs
My life as a pirate is what I love best
But even a pirate must bury his chest...
Down, down, down, further and further I tumble, once again into the rabbit hole looking for my Alice. I am swallowed by an avalanche of darkness, bumping into slippery walls that propel me further into the void, back among the other lost boys. Dazed and confused, I am trapped in a bleached out, made up world, surrounded by mountains and valleys of half-truths, all vaguely familiar; perhaps from another visit?
The wind peeks around the corner as rust colored leaves crunch under my feet and I find it impossible to feel solid ground, always sliding back to where I began, wondering if all rabbit holes are like this? I see a frosted gray sky that makes me feel small and lost, as I close my eyes to block a haunted memory. I am desperate to find my way home before the dark creatures of this endless night seize another helpless victim.
I stumble ahead to seek safe harbor from the sting of the wind, finding myself captive in the same dream; always awake, always with no way out. I turn to see whose voice I hear, but only the barren winter tree limbs stare back, and they refuse to bear witness to the words I think I may have heard. It is the curse of listening to the constant staccato sound of my own voice until I barely know to whom I am talking.
Swamped by the darkness, I stumble into a gaping hole in the middle of this endless dream sequence; a portal to a never-ending maze, surrounded by unreal images that float on wisps of air. It is a turn of events I never seem to be able to escape.
Suddenly a frigid blast of air races through the rabbit hole, and sucks me upward as I try to grasp the shimmering walls, momentarily sliding back, desperate to stab a toe hold in reality. I brace myself against the wall and reach up, determined not to fall back into another adventure in the rabbit hole and its never-ending realm of repetition.
I am able to scramble out, slamming right into the gate keeper; a naked, smiling temptress, mad as a hatter. I straighten up, and with my last shred of fallen dignity, vow this was my last adventure down the rabbit hole. She nods her head, knowing she has heard all this before. This is the curse of love.
shadowed ...
the China hills
like little pills set on end
and stairs that wend to the moon
so far from June, he thought
wrought now with frustration
on the ramp of the station
her - taking the express
in his favorite dress … Mr Mess, behind
(he was trying to be kind)
yes ...
too many y's, too many why's
too many wise old Manchurian sighs
he always thought with his eyes
so, was easy to fool
school time, Miss Farmer
given an arm or a leg, (or dimpled back)
on tip-toe to show her better side
(what a ride) ...
she was a jaded jester
just her breath on the window
frozen ...
chosen to speak for her, cold
(that chin - so sweet!)
squeak, squeak, squeak
tip-of-finger in the feral frost
his peril cost him naught but time
but there, in rhyme
chilled between them on glass
(he'd seen them at last)
now melting, but fast in his matter, gray
mad as a hatter
they and the deed, defended
ended ...
when did he lose her?
she answered with a terse curse
her lips pursed to first refresh the frost
so the words ...
so the words would ...
so the words would be CLEAR
so he'd finally hear her soul speak -
"I! DON'T! LOVE! YOU!"
written in ice crystals
as nice as a pistol's business end
(and to send the bullet home ... )
"But I'll always ... be your ... friend!"
BAM!
he crumpled
onto his knees ...
onto the icy platform, alone
the train tenderly pulling away ...
her message now freezing
the cold quickly seizing his heart, abiding
frosty pane hiding the two of them
him ... and them ...
how fitting, thought he
that the phrase she'd chosen
(to rub his nose in)
now lingered, frozen ... frozen ...
frozen ...
like the day ...
(darkening, quiet)
like the rail, gunmetal gray
(screeching, choking, smoking)
like the winter-tide song of a sparrow
spearing him bone-to-marrow ...
(lone, the morrow)
like his chill being ... fleet, fleeing
like the swollen breast of March
like the empty bed, set loose, his head
like the blade should find her throat
(hidden deep, his coat)
like dreams, lost
like love's cost ...
like hell.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 6, 2021
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,
nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like hoar.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
I was a child, yes, even little old me,
curious and happy, my smile wild with glee.
But at the tender age of seven,
I learnt that family go to heaven.
My aunt, a distant, great, great one,
who I'm told baked Welsh cakes second to none,
passed on by in her sleep,
no sickness, no hospital stay or cardiac bleep.
Too young to mourn my mother said,
too far to go for distant dead.
To be honest, it wasn't until that time,
that I learnt about my family's line.
My grandad had two sisters see,
each as unique as one could be.
One died some time before my birth,
now sadly this aunt was laid in earth.
Yet, along came a parcel, a letter, a note,
'To Charlotte' , from 'Uncle Sam' it wrote.
The parcel, I opened, like any young child,
ripping at the packaging, like kid gone wild.
Inside was a teddy bear, my aunt had owned,
given at the same age as me, seven years old.
The letter was written in cursive, neat, aligned,
with a twenty pound note, how beyond kind?
It said 'use on something you will treasure,
please write me a letter, at your leisure'.
Who would have known that I'd do just that,
buying a fishing rod, a reel, tackle and hat.
And sooner than later we visited, on my request,
he greeted us, in wellies, lumberjack shirt and vest.
Such a marvellous man, such stories he told,
from sheep stealing dinners to finding lost gold.
A friendship of two, age didn't matter,
we were both unique, quirky, mad as a hatter.
Fast forward ten years, he is so gravely ill,
me at his beside, in the hospital on the hill.
I speak of stories, now tales of my own,
a distraction from his internal body groan.
I hug, I smile, bless him for his love,
and that next morning he was called above.
Through bereavement and loss, I gained a friend,
we remained close right until the end.
Love like that, so unique, and so raw,
changed my whole outlook down to the core.
My heart still skips, like I was seven,
when I reminisce about my uncle, now in heaven.
06.05.2021
Tender moment as a child contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
(alternately christened great insight
to those who Braille)
Ah.... so glad thee did ask
summoning poetic title
tis most daunting task
if lucky forthcoming praise
will yours truly to bask
and bathe with short lived,
while I quaff vintage
amber liquids out the
golden silver made flask.
Utter exhaustion taxes me
fifty shades of gray matter
while trying to grasp just
one measly idea amidst
all that scatter
to and fro hither and yon
analogous to mire and muck
that doth splatter
courtesy nasty driver
mad as a hatter.
Yours truly scrunches his brow
in an effort to provide,
enable and allow
gamut of meaty notions,
when finally satisfied utter holy cow,
mama mia, eureka, aha... ejaculate
(hoop fully not premature),
cuz arduous effort analogous
to navigating dhow
sailing frothy, choppy, angry... seas
until sudden (b)rain storm doth endow
sudden burst of inspiration
compelling necessary thrust to plow
ahead and expound therein how
so ever dictates of spontaneity now
let me smoothly coast along
offering scant obeisance, thou
divine fabulous intervention,
hence I feebly kowtow
despite covenant, viz devout atheist
nonetheless puzzled what activates
hitting me figurative pow
similar to Batman disabling enemy,
temporarily speechless disbelief
merely summoning wow.
Much time yours truly doth calibrate
what seems bajillion years I agitate
sitting days, weeks, months...
in an effort to nearly ready to abdicate
and disappoint countless followers
thus, this wordsmith doth dedicate
a section of this battlefield... before to late
(think Gettysburg Address)
no matter minuscule chance fate
will find mine path crossing
unknown online respondent(s),
whose feedback doth inflate
inestimable self confidence (ha)
generally held in check modesty sedate
even when praised in person, I emanate
introspective mien downplaying
genetic and/or environmental factors
wherever talent did originate
cobbling words together arose
courtesy this bookworm
doth really associate
predilection to hash out poem.
Hey Mitch McConnell...
about all this talk (I hear) about indefatigable (Phila/ Philly-buster)
Police sirens wail doth punctuate the air
ear splitting soundclouds blare
another typical arrest
(guilty until proven innocent if ever)
so much for Black Lives matter protests
biased accusations didst plainly reveal
how strong arm off the law doth err
injustice against persons of color ain't fair
discrimination toward mine brethren insnare
prejudice against skin color
finds white supremacists to jeer
I don't blame Senate Minority Leader,
yet his clout asserted
courtesy gesticulating midair
helping to legislate
(outside his Kentucky bailiwick)
against racial profiling nightmare.
I live far from city of brotherly love,
a peacemonger at heart else known as a dove
yours truly ofttimes seeks succor
tilting head above.
Nevertheless (meaning no matter
yours truly lives safe distance from
where citizens take up arms
showing themselves mad as a hatter)
humility devoid of white privilege,
one country bumpkin does flatter
himself versus those donning haughtiness
trumpeting arrogance, bombasity, conceit...,
qua egotistical chatter.
Such nonstop ceaseless bluster
characterizing prolonged speech
never employed courtesy
General George Armstrong Custer
unbeknownst to above named Civil War fighter,
nary non violent stonewalling tactics,
he did not muster
namely delaying antics named filibuster
from Dutch word meaning "pirate"
became popular in the 1850s.
As an aside,
the Battle of the Little Bighorn
in Montana a fiasco
for said United States Army officer,
(a cavalry commander
in American Civil War
and American Indian Wars)
decimated his 7th cavalry regiment
against a band of Lakota Sioux
and Cheyenne warriors.
Native Americans got bum rap
essentially their tribes encountered deadly zap,
no matter mass slaughter, née genocide
occurred (figuratively) fast as fingers snap
essentially life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness abrogated
forever caught in cross hairs of bigotry trap.
Many years ago my partner gave me an unexpected birthday surprise,
A trip to Lake Windermere, the beauty of it there’s no compromise.
The hotel where we stayed was right on the edge of the lake,
A perfect location for a peaceful and relaxing break.
On the first evening we went into the hotel bar and brasserie,
We looked through the menu to decide what to have for tea.
As we sat having our drinks, another couple I observed,
The loudness of the woman’s voice was really quite absurd.
I tried to ignore the opinionated tone of her voice,
Hoped our food would soon be ready to get away from the noise.
I suddenly realised she was staring across the room at me,
What was her problem and what she was hoping to see?
I stared right back at her then my attention was pulled away,
Our table was ready, pleased near her I didn’t have to stay.
The meal passed by with laughter and lots of pleasant chatter,
Forgotten was the woman who’d seemed as mad as a hatter.
As we walked down the hallway to go back to our room,
The woman was staring at me again which really made me fume.
She watched every single step as we walked on by,
I was so annoyed with her; I looked her straight in the eye.
We continued to walk and turned into the customer lift,
I looked right at the ignorant woman and raised up my fist.
To my partner’s surprise I then gave her a two fingered gesture,
An old lady in the adjoining restaurant saw and nearly lost her denture.
Choking and red faced, she pointed her finger over towards me,
Her family totally shocked, looked at me helplessly.
It’s horrible to say but at this spectacle before me, all I could do was laugh,
My partner got me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me further back.
As the lift doors shut, I turned to face him waiting for my fate,
“What am I going to do with you, you’re an absolute disgrace?”
The moral of this story is, if you’re going to give someone the bird,
Have a good look round who can see or you’ll end up being cursed.
Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
Ransacking treasure trove
of maximum headroom.
To remedy a fate worse than death
or orange hair oaf becoming
forty seventh president
or contracting one
of several viral diseases named pox
permeate heavy shut tight door
with numerous deadbolts
and sophisticated locks
and impossible mission to out fox
analogous to roach infestation,
who favor nesting within custom made
Roper men's shoes brand name Docks.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Das scribe's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned
in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!