Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Once Upon a Mid-night Weary









 It was a sound that was felt, more than heard.

Like the faint hammering of fists on the oaken door of my soul.

I awoke from my death-like slumber to find a large long haired animal on the floor by my bedside, 
where my golden lab should be, and in the dim early morning light, the opening verse 
     to "The Jabberwocky" on my lips.

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


It had been a Hellish night of pain and distorted dreams. 
Fit for writing by Poe, in his madness.
I listened for a repeat of the noise that had awakened me.
And found none.
I moved Bear out of the way with my feet and got out of bed. I stumbled my way on rubbery legs to the front door to let the dogs out. Upon opening the door I found it was raining and neither wanted outside.

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


There was no sign of vehicle traffic in either driveway and no muddy footprints on the porch.
What was the sound that had disturbed my sleep? I listened for any rumblings of distant thunder and heard none. 

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.

I made my way to the kitchen window and searched for any sign of what had raised me so early from my bed. 
Nothing......

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

Finally I sat before my computer and started to type.

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.

The panic of the offending sound was gone.
Bear and Harley curled at my feet.

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

Mayhap I shall return to my slumber after all....

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


P.S. - A big Thank You to the late Ms. Isbister, my 10th grade college prep. English teacher. 
           For her stellar performance in the reading of Lewis Carroll's famous poem, which caused me 
           to memorize the horrid thing.

2 comments:

robin said...

I REALLY hate when I wake like that! I often wonder if it wasn't in my dreams....

warren said...

I remember being creeped out in 1st grade by that poem...I've never been right since!