With callooh quickness sidestepping his blade I cry out “nobody outgrabe’s me”— Gimble circles me.
Eyes locked together two lost-raths in the night frabjous moon laughs— Gimble sees me.
Beamishly he stares eyes dripping tears remembering our love gyre kisses lost— Gimble flees me.
Trailing behind him whiffling white fluff swirls softly around my tulgey toes— Gimble forsakes me.
Again. Coward.
Note: This poem uses neologisms found in Lewis Carroll’s famous Jabberwocky poem and was started as an assignment for a poetry class I took from M. Todd Gallowglas last weekend. It’s got a bit of a different tone than I usually write and I’d love to know what you think. Thank you!
While I’ve always admired and enjoyed poetry, the skills it takes to craft such beautiful imagery within the framework of a poem have eluded me. In an attempt to improve my writing all around, I enrolled in a poetry class specifically designed for fiction writers. We meet once a week and have assignments that I find both challenging and enjoyable.
I’ve decided to be transparent about my journey, as a way to chronicle my exploration and perhaps inspire others. Here’s the culmination of my first week’s work. There are three free-verse poems.
A poem borrowing heavily from Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky”
A poem critiquing something we dislike in genre fiction
A combination of the two poems
I hope you enjoy my first, clumsy attempts. As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.
Part I: My gimble love
we were to meet near the Tumtum grove sweetest Mimsy and I in the wabe of the bright callay moon
vorpal drunk on too much gyre and honey-wine myriad dreams rollicking, frolicking singing multitudes, manxomes, moments
yet snicker-snack, quicker-quack and outgrabe you caught me instead slithy and slimy-the ultimate uffish trickster
tying my hands with rough tulgey strands behind my burbled back whispering wicked words under frumious breath
wound and wound, like ugly bandersnatches to silence whiffling cries hands and heart knotted, cold as beamish bears
you couldn’t let violet joy breathe between sweetest Mimsy and me no, not with such a frabjous, frivolous hallow heart
oh, what will become of me, dearest mome without my gimble love stuck within the fettered borgogoves for all eternity
Part II: Too sweet for me
Super sweet taffy names sticky, pointless, giant cones of toothaches you feed them to me relentless as if more is more is more confused I throw you down and you smile and tell yourself it’s me who doesn’t get you
wheels of definitions, connections turn in place while story gets lost under sideways leanings cleverness loses characters messes mess with me wondering where did the story go
where is the truth behind the many, many words names, places, movement half-light and half-truth half right don’t tell me a lot of nothing tell me all of one thing I can believe is real
where is the soul of the sweet the ingredients of the truth the messy darkness cloudy with connections and conversations the door within the door the dream within the dream truth I can truly feel
don’t just tell of deeds done action, reaction, repeat but the why and the why and the way curiouser and curiouser deeper and deeper secret journals in watery caves monsters within who fight with gospelly fingers
give me contradictions wrapped in truth make me feel something I know make me know it again with the kind of unexpected gasp I won’t, can’t forget so when I close the book your words live inside me forever
Part III: Lover, tell me more
in the wabe of the bright callay moon you feed them to me relentless as if more is more is more confused I throw down singing multitudes, manxome, moments you smile and tell yourself it’s me who doesn’t get you
slithy and slimy—the ultimate uffish trickster turning wheels of definitions, connections sideways leanings behind burbled backs messes mess with me whispering wicked words under frumious breath to silence whiffling cries while I’m left wondering where did you go
untruths hidden behind many, many words wound and wound, like an ugly bandersnatch messy darkness stuck in action, reaction, repeat half-light and half-truth—half right vorpal drunk on too much gyre and honey-wine don’t tell me a lot of messy nothing tell me the thing I seek
unwonted discovery, hidden verity knotted, cold as beamish bears door within a door—dream within a dream secret journals in watery caves frabjous, frivolous hallow hearts monsters who fight with gospelly fingers everyone, anyone stripped naked real
let violet joy breathe between contradictions wrapped in truth lost and found within the pulsing borogoves make me feel something I know but make me know it again with unexpected gasps I won’t, can’t forget your words alive inside me
Bridgette Tales 