Jabberwocky

T'was brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

- Lewis Carroll

What Colour's the Future?

The future is blue. Squint hard
and it blackens: a bruise, sour plum,
at daylight-savings retreating,
its mouth in its hand. Is near. 
Is the refusal to harvest the root: 
carrot, parsnip, all troops deployed.
You know who I mean. The one
on the hunt, on the prowl, with blood 
on his hands. The fate of the future,
make no mistake, the favoured side
of the coin. Don't forget fear 
(o the future is here!): the rubble 
and gray of the twin match-
stick towers ashing down.
Is a gas —: burns orange, burns
white —: a year that combusts half-way, 
on the fourth of July. The future's 
a palate of colours too foreign 
to worry the tongue: cobalt, 
azure, the future is clear, 
the glass you hold up to the past 
to make it make sense. Make do. 
Make an attempt: put your 
change in the pot. The future 
is green, the green of a well, 
the o of its open, its poison, its entrance
to hell. Is road-kill, rodent, 
near-extinct reptile —: the future's 
a lizard that loses its tail. And
grows back a new one. Or doesn't. 

- Alison Pick

The Shadow by William Carlos Williams

Soft as the bed in the earth
Where a stone has lain—
So soft, so smooth and so cool,
Spring closes me in
With her arms and her hands.

Rich as the smell
Of new earth on a stone,
That has lain, breathing
The damp through its pores—
Spring closes me in
With her blossomy hair;
Brings dark to my eyes.

That which cannot be found

yesterday the wisest man

holding a lit lantern

in daylight

was searching around town saying

i am tired of

all these beasts and brutes

i seek

a true human

we have all looked

for one but

no one could be found

they said

yes he replied

but my search is

for the one

who cannot be found

-Rumi

Love is the Master

Love is the One who masters all things;

I am mastered totally by Love.

By my passion of love for Love

I have ground sweet as sugar.

O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you;

How could I know where I will be blown next?

Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny

Reveals himself a liar and a fool;

What is any of us but a straw in a storm?

How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?

- Rumi
(Excerpt)

Forgotten Language

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

-Shel Silverstein

Stop Being so Religious

What
do sad people have in
common?
It seems
They have all built a shrine
to the past
and often go there
and do a strange wail and
Worship.

What is the beginning of
Happiness?
It is to stop being
so religious
like that.


from Hafiz's The Gift, versions by Daniel Ladinsky