Backyardian Bravado

There's no such thing as...

“There’s simply no such thing!” she cried.
The teacher, hands still shaking, sighed
and slammed the chalk as if to say:
the case is closed; be on your way!

The girl then stood in formal dress 
and, eyes wide open, climbed her desk.
She stretched her arms and eye-to-eye 
belabored on with Mrs. White.

“It’s out there. I can prove it too!
I’ve seen it twice and know it’s true.
But if you don’t believe me—fine,
I’ll hunt its head ‘fore bed tonight.”

White-knuckling now her broken chalk 
Ms. White, not chuckling, tried to talk
but flustered, only merely muttered,
“You must be mad…” a trailing stutter.

“Mad you say?” the child cried,
she dashed some pencils to the side
and grabbed some scissors tit-for-tat,
“Well here’s what I’ve to say ‘bout that!”

T’was yester’s eve in my nightroom
and tucked I was to bed a-frum
and not a star was out aglow
except my bedside lamp below.

It dawned a perfect evening for 
a fiendral sighting on the moor.
T’was brillig and the slithy toves
did gyre by the hilly groves.

The borogoves’ late doleful cry
kept me aturned long past my time.
So to my window perch I sought
and leered through glass in uffish thought.

I hung not long to contemplate
before it broke my fociate,
A blurble rose over the wabe,
on wings, with warbled whirls it came.

In distant dark I saw it plain
frush out the trees with eyes of flame,
with claws to catch and teeth to tear,
a direst fearsome sight to bear. 

I’ll head straight home from school. Tonight
I’ll hunt it down from where it flies.
I’ll jaunt across both wabe and field
I’ll turn the tulgey wood outseeled.

No small amount of wit will catch
this beast, it’s no mere Bandersnatch.
Though frumious, it feeds on peace
of mind and still serenity.

With patient bait I’ll lure it in 
and lie in wait with trenful zen.
Such dinner it will not deny,
benighted to me it will fly.

So swift approaching drear and cold, 
jaws open to eternal dole;
it tears through TumTum trees like scrolls
and whiffling rears to swolt me whole.

At last in face this thing I’ll stand
unsheathing vorpal sword in hand,
to drail my blade through scale and scruff
its glaunting eyes of flame will snuff.

With glonderful, revered display
my vict’ry will be to your shame,
and since the burden’s mine to prove
I’ll show-and-tell its head at school.

She jumped back down dramatically
and, sheathing scissors, turned to leave
with Mrs. White in battered shock,
collapsed in chair with broken chalk: 

“Alice dear…” her voice did trail,
“there's no such thing as Jabberwocks.”

Credit where it’s due

This poem was inspired by “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll—you know, Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, etc. Unless you hate short, fun poems, please go read it. My hope was for “Backyardian Bravado” to serve as a small expansion pack for anyone who wanted more of Carroll’s original. I hope you enjoy it even more reading back the second time.

What is Epikos?

Substack says, this isn’t just a post, this is a community! And yeah, that sells.

But as someone who said: “I’ll start today,” two years ago, I cannot promise this to be a thriving community of cool cats who enjoy storytelling or poetry or doing fun things with words. If it becomes that—amazing! And I tuly welcome any and all feedback on anything here. But right now, I have a single post, not a community (yet).

Until Epikos becomes the shining community on the hill, I am writing narrative poems (poems that tells a story). I will post them here every two weeks to share with you and anyone you choose to share them with.

---