He said that it was brillig, but what did that word mean
And slithy is a word that I had never seen
If you gyre and gimble, what do you really do
I guess when in the wabe, you seek the meaning too.
Lewis was a master of words that were not real
He made you fear the Jubjub, and he made you feel
Like your very being, is a door without a latch
It takes bravery to shun the frumious bandersnatch.
We attack the world of words with a vorpal sword in hand
Verses, like the Tumtum tree, sprouting in the sand
And structure with rhyming can be a manxome foe
Whiffling and burbling, the flaming words will go.
Choosing careful phrases can bring a frabjous day
And poems not dead, like borogoves, find their mimsy way
While galumphing through the tulgey lines with uffish chortled joy
It makes me through and through a whiffling beamish boy
So Lewis paints a picture with unreal words so clear
The Jabberwock seems so real and something we should fear
Poetry is the art of words, with phrasing, tales and fun
Proceed carefully, and beware the Jabberwock my son.
Categories:
whiffling, poetry, tribute, word play,
Form: Rhyme
Beneath a bearded tree I sat
Expecting on a gaze,
When interview a headless hat
Came whiffling through the haze.
For laffs he wore a slight of grin,
And luck a charmless arm.
Four feathers grew upon his chin.
His steptwin was a farm.
Good Rooter with his tranquilize
Spread fat across the land.
To bleat the water from his cries
And polish up his hand.
‘Beware the Moo!’ A Cow called out,
His udders clothed in drag.
‘Beware its hook and pout-ful shout.
Its Moo-beams in a bag!’
Beneath a bearded tree I sat
Re-musing on the dayz.
When interview a stripy cat
Came whiffling through the haze.
Categories:
whiffling, nonsense,
Form: Rhyme
fine, faintly flickering face,
a goddess' gilded grimace;
eyes sharp, slightly squinting,
lips pursed, concentrating;
arms strained, straight, steady,
inch by inch, pulling in the cord,
pushing away at the sturdy bow
that bends so slowly in, arched.
deft fingers firmly clasp,
but ever so lithely guide
the lethal arrow's feather
past her cheek near the ear;
pulls hard, stretches taut
and tense the bare bowstring,
impatiently anticipating,
savoring the inner, aching thrill;
waiting for just the right time,
but waiting forever, it seems;
the prized prey, still out there
feeding freely on freedom still;
her destiny, chiseled, shaped
by her sculptor's whiffling whim,
is to forever take a careful aim,
but never to make the final kill!
Categories:
whiffling, imagination
Form: Free verse
disarmed of perspective, mindless,
to this ancient forest I pay homage,
my senses soaked in misty meadows,
the dark-green carpets of its clearings,
as rough edges of leafy bough sway
and cut the blank blue of their only sky;
with arms outstretched, I stand in awe,
oblation to the wondrous wonders around,
I stretch myself, hoping that I may become
just like an artist's taut, transparent canvas
on which no less than artless and artful truth
may then be indelibly etched and painted;
by allowing this inchoate enchantment
to permeate the core of my whole being,
in a light sense , I feel good having done
something good, no matter how fleeting,
for it whiffles away in the din of subways,
gnarled traffic and toxic smog of rat race city !
Categories:
whiffling, nature, places, urban, may,
Form: Free verse
fine, faintly flickering face,
a goddess' gilded grimace,
eyes slightly squinting,
razor-sharp concentrating,
lips pursed and puckered,
arm straining straight, steady,
pushing away at the sturdy
bow that bends in, arched;
with deft fingers firmly
pinching, lithely guiding
the arrow's feather past
her cheek near the ear,
she pulls hard, stretches
taut the bare bowstring,
impatient, anticipating, she
flushes with an aching thrill,
itching for a primal burst
of some pent-up emotion;
but with the prey out there,
freely feeding on freedom still,
her destiny, indeed, at her
sculptor's whiffling whims,
is to forever take a careful aim,
but never to make the final kill !
Categories:
whiffling, imagination, introspection, time,
Form: Tail-rhyme
O My Ariel, my angel, my love,
I wait below your window overnight.
Wind knocks at your window above,
giving me a helping hand, to my delight.
The waves of moonlight is wafting soft.
They are gushed from my lovesick heart.
Whiffling, rustling trees hail you aloft.
Open wide your window of joyful art.
Through the swaying branches of this tree,
I get glimpses of you weeping in solitude.
My heart aches for what the eyes can't see.
Bear a life with cheerfulness and fortitude.
Categories:
whiffling, love,
Form: Rhyme
Scabbard symbol enchanted flowers opal potion milky skin
Gold-embroidered purple robe , green eyes flashing stars.
Beautiful faintly beeswax smell in village meadow chamber
Horse's necklace "clack! clack! clack" sleek coat bobbed tail.
Velvet lined rose queen , green tree snake salty evening air
Tea tree branch , topiary mazes , old Kingdom noonday sun.
Fresh dawn , wood ash , surrounding woods, veil of mist
Twisting and turning , sliding and re-arranging themselves
slender fingers pulled the needle back and forth on the loom
Nuzzling against his face an eager lip/nostril whiffling noise
Ice crystals etched along its blade felt the glow of his spirit
took a deep breath voice tiny siver bell with a high sweet note.
Brightly wrapped box he suddenly smiled a number of times
Wispy tendrils of red curls straggled free of their satin ribbon
She paused to feed a thread of scarlet into the pattern of blue.
They continued up the hill , beyond the ridge they saw the King
riding , his amber-coloured stallion charged ahead of his men
at the edge of the creek , green with ferns and rich moist moss.
Categories:
whiffling, childhood, friendship, life, love,
Form: Verse