”Gibberwacky” may not appear to make much sense, but that is because it is, like, profound and stuff. You could try reading this poem first. It still won’t make any sense, but you’ll have a deeper sense of appreciation for my artistic genius.
‘Twas midnight, and the sleepy Hails Did yawn and fidget in her chair. All blurry were the words on-screen And ’twas getting hard to care. * * * “Beware the Gibberwack, my dear! The grammar mistakes, speling gone rong! Beware the punctuation errors, and shun Apostrophe’s where they don’t be’long!” * * * She took her coffee mug in hand: Long time the sleepiness she fought. So rested she upon the sofa And kept on blogging; she blogged a lot. * * * And, as in drowsy thought she sat, The Gibberwack, like sleeping gas Came sneaking through the open door And left her quite aghast. * * * Alas! Alack! The Gibberwack Left Hails with drowsiness filled. And when her eyes re-opened Her coffee all was spilled. * * * “And, has thou slain the Gibberwack? Why no! He took you out!” The Gibberwack had got her words And she knew not what she wrote about. * * * ‘Twas midnight, and the sleepy Hails Did yawn and fidget in her chair. All blurry were the words on-screen And ’twas getting hard to care.Filed under: blogging, confusion, insomnia, mental health, poems, tiredness
This is classic twistage! Hail to Hails! There is no dodging the Gibberwack at times. Especially at those times directly after a bottle of cheap wine…
The Jabberwocky is one of my most favourite pomes
I quote the first verse whenever anyone irritating pokes a video camera in my face and tells me to say something, as it’s the best way to get them to F off.
K8, K8, K8… just when I despair that nobody *gets* me, and am about to remove my Gibberwackery forever, your comment arrives and reminds me I am not alone in my unusual (but brilliant) thinking.
I learned Jabberwocky off by heart when I was 9, with the sole purpose of freaking out my mother by reciting it randomly in a public place. It worked.
You have restored my faith in my own sense of humour. O, frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
[...] Sadly, when it comes to writing poetry, I’m not particularly gifted and have to stick to silly rewrites and amusing observations rather than anything [...]