Don’t Ask Alice (Poem/Guest Post)
Meet Karen, a light-hearted Californian who's just trying to brand the world with her unique voice. Adept in all forms of sweetness, she's quick to offer her readers a laugh and will just as quickly have your head spinning with humorous, yet thoughtful works like the one below. Follow her on her site, Twitter, or Facebook using the links provide at the end of theis post. Thanks to Karen for adorning the pages of my site and contributing this unique look down the rabbit hole.
Spoiler Alert! This is the 11th limerick in an unserious series. To start at Limerick #1, click: Check-Mates, and follow the links!
Freshly back,
from Looking Glass,
were Tweedles’ Dum & Dee.
And worst of all—
came with them—faux tall—
Alice, high as trees.
And mad as hell!
(about dried sea)
Since she owned its beachfront.
Leasing shacks—
for huge greenbacks,
a resource rendered defunct.
And though I
wanted more details—
I felt it would be mental
To go ask Alice—
(full of malice)
more about her rentals.
Some Fairies, also,
* reappeared *
freshly waxed and dried.
Balded—scalded—
—Zombies that—
withstood the melt of Hive.
Bluebeard was
among the horde
of reinvigor’ed Lore Folk
He seemed in shock
from sudden dock,
or maybe from his wax soak.
His face was shorn
of famous beard—
as in Rapunzel’s case.
The difference was,
he had peach fuzz,
of azure on his face.
On terra firm’,
His fight returned,
and brandishing machete,
he gave pursuit
—with Twins and Hook—
Tall Alice, quick but sweaty.
Clutching Teddy—
to my breast, with Cat,
I ran for shelter.
Aided by—
Pawns on the fly,
revealed in the welter.
Cheshire Cat—
kept pace with us,
in spirit and in smile.
Advising we—
turn left sharply,
and run another mile.
And so we did,
Cat, Ted and Pawns
–the Waxing Cheshire, too–
which working adverb,
seemed absurd—
in light of our to-do.
We changed our tack
—as fast as that—
and when we did my heart skipped.
We weren’t in Cally’s—
—Plastic Valley,
But on Sin City’s famed Strip.
Impromptu sail—
aboard the ship,
had veered us from our course.
Else it might be—
the sudden flight we—
took upon the Winged Horse.
Despite the Cheshire’s
broken drone—
that kept suggesting Harrah’s
We ducked inside,
a church to hide,
that charge ten bucks for marriage.
We hid behind,
some folding chairs—
lined neatly in a row.
Quaking—shaking—
—ear drums aching—
listening for our foes.
You needn’t battle!
—Came proclaim.
You still possess the choice.
And though I searched,
the whole darn church,
A Haze obscured the voice.
Click: ??? to read the 12th & Final limerick in this series.
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“Don’t Ask Alice” is the penultimate limerick by Karen Robiscoe in a sequence of 12 called the: Fairy Tale Hive Series.
Published poet & CNF author
Keep up with Karen at: CHARRON’S CHATTER–http://karenrobiscoe.com/
Find Karen on Facebook! http://www.facebook.com/SpiritedRemix.
Or follow on Twitter: @KarenRobiscoe
