Down the tricky rabbit hole
I descended an awful depth
The ground fell from under my feet
’twas a downward leap of faith.
Growing smaller and smaller
Somehow I grew taller, reaching heights unknown.
The door knob bumped against my head
And caused a swollen collar bone.
But I hit the floor at last, Thank God,
’twas made of checkered stones.
Through a giant keyhole I saw a world instead,
Opened up like an oyster, in its pretty shell.
The sky was crazy crimson
but the clouds were bleak and pale…
In the garden, The Duchess sat
(plonk upon a mad hatter’s hat),
She was rather busy, spinning the tallest tale.
The Duchess she sat, upon the hat,
So madly glad and gay,
The March hare was quite certain
That ‘twas the merry month of May!
The Red Queen would have none of it
So throwing a huffy puffy fit,
She cried out in a puffy huff,
“I don’t see the point of it!”
Brandishing a sword as dull and dry
As her mindless wit,
“Off with their heads” she loudly shrieked,
“Now just get on with it!”
The undulating caterpillar
Shrugged a soft yet sinewy spine,
It looked cuddly cute and strangely mute
Holding an ornate hookah fine.
The Cheshire cat appeared too for a little while
With an almost-but-not-quite, enigmatic smile.
I drank my tea out of a dainty lobster shell
‘twas a lovely hollow scoop with a tiny pointy tail
Spiraling out of my fingers, wriggling very well
And in it swam, snarling, a sniveling snooty snail.
The tea was lovely, the tea was good
There were cakes and scones, and mouthwatering food,
But they didn’t behave, the way good food should.
The cakes refused to allow the edgy knife
To carve out even the thinnest slice
Jumping off the table for their scrumptious lives.
’twas naughty of them, they were just not nice.
The scones were sadly falling apart, silently they cried
Dripping bitter butter from their moist and runny eyes
Limp with defeat they complained
how the walrus always lied.
I fell to wondering why they were so sad
I really couldn’t eat the poor lads
So I sipped my lobster shell of tea
And asked the scones to tell me
Who the Walrus was and what was his crime
But that’s a story for another time.
© Amrita Valan
Excerpt from the book “Down The Rabbit Hole”
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About the Book:
Tick tock says the magic clock
In a language that’s part of the soul
Get in line for the gate
You don’t want to be late
For your trip down the rabbit hole…
“Down the Rabbit Hole” is a collective work of writings from poets who like you, live their lives inundated with the challenges and demands of everyday life. They have unlocked the door to boundaries we all make for ourselves and turned those boundaries into fantastic, beautiful worlds to both help ease the boredom and perhaps spark the imagination.
Lyne Beringer, Author of “Alaskan Vogue – Poetry From the Land of Ice and Shadows”
100% of all proceeds from this book are being donated to the “Starving Artist Fund” to assist writers in becoming published authors. Please support a writer today!
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