Alice in Verse: The Lost Rhymes of Wonderland Read online

  All on a summer day:

  The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,

  And took them quite away!

  The Knave of Hearts returned the tarts

  Still later that same day;

  And with them came his earnest shame,

  And all was right and gay!’

  The Hatter, seated near the Knave,

  As counsel most beguiling,

  Exchanged a snort about this tort

  With counsel counter-filing.

  The Hare then shook his tawny head,

  Whilst winking unassuming,

  And strode up to the witness box,

  With posture most presuming.

  ‘The facts are clear as evidenced:

  The tarts were clearly taken—

  And then returned, without a bite:

  On this, be not mistaken!

  It’s true a crime here has been done,

  But whom here is the victim—

  With tasty treats returned un-ate,

  As if he’d never nicked them?’

  He paused to let this settle in,

  Before applying final spin:

  ‘This trial is but a mockery

  Of justice and contrition—

  If served with tarts but not with tea

  To supplement nutrition!

  If such it be—this travesty—

  This humble court’s position,

  Then you, and me, and he, and she

  Be guilty of sedition!’

  At this, the King of Hearts concurred—

  To rounds of boisterous cheering—

  And so he brought the gavel down

  At once to halt the hearing.

  As tea was poured and tarts were passed

  Around the courtroom freely,

  Both Hare and Hatter raised their cups,

  And sipped away genteelly.

  When cups were drained and plates were cleaned

  Of tea and tarts delicious—

  When all consumed, the court resumed

  With matters most judicious:

  ‘We’ve heard the charge brought by the Hare

  Upon this crucial matter.

  And now, before we hang this rogue,

  We’ll listen to the Hatter…’

  THE HATTER’S DEFENCE

  ‘Now the devil you know is the better on par

  Than the devil you don’t, strictly speaking—

  For the devil you don’t is more devilish by far

  Than the devil whose sins you’re critiquing!

  He’s a thief and a liar—of this we are sure—

  But he’s also quite handsome and strapping;

  And although he’ll conspire, his motives are pure—

  And he looks like an angel whilst napping!

  He’s a troublesome lad—though his manners aren’t bad—

  And it’s true that he stole from the Queen;

  But his story’s complex and remarkably sad—

  And his form is quite lovely and lean!

  He’s a mischievous rogue, with the mien of a prince,

  And the mane of a god—only neater —

  With the sweetest of smiles and the deepest of dints—

  And the rest of him looks even sweeter!

  He is carefully groomed and suspiciously clean,

  With a hygiene beyond expectation:

  You’d be hard-pressed to find a more unsoiled teen

  Who is riper for decapitation!

  He’s a rascal, a bounder, a basher, a boy,

  And it’s true that he’s often confounding—

  Yet he’s patently charming and blatantly coy,

  And the ladies all find him astounding!

  He has dark, dreamy eyes, and a lovely pale throat—

  Though, in truth, it is ripe for the stretching!

  He will pillage your pies and then openly gloat—

  Still, the devil you know is quite fetching!

  So bring on your verdict, your blade and your rope,

  And we’ll rally his swift execution—

  If so chilled is your heart to the wiles of this mope,

  And the swell of this grand elocution!’

  THE HARE’S REBUTTAL & THE HATTER’S REBUKE

  With the evidence laid, so the jury was bade

  To retire for a judicious huddle—

  ’Neath the cover of shade at the rose colonnade,

  There to sort out this dubious muddle—

  But their premature run was cut short half-past-one

  By the verse of the March Hare’s rebuttal:

  ‘The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts

  Upon a summer’s morning:

  The Knave of Hearts, he came along,

  And stole them without warning!

  There’s little more or less to say—

  Unless he pleads suborning;

  If not, then round his lovely neck

  A noose shall be adorning!

  I’m sure my colleague would agree,’

  The Hare concluded cheekily.

  The Hatter merely sipped his tea,

  Then smashed the cup quite suddenly.

  ‘And if, by that, you do imply

  This brute that I’m defending

  Was so inclined to thievery

  Upon another’s wending,

  You may do well to reassess

  The message that you’re sending—

  For three can swing as well as one,

  With verdicts yet impending!’

  At this, the Hare demurred at length,

  Until the point was sinking—

  To depths untravelled, deep within,

  Where warning signs were blinking.

  ‘I pray the court forgive my most

  Erroneous rebuttal—

  I hence defer to my consort

  Whose mind is less a muddle.

  The act of this malicious brute

  Was his alone, without dispute!’

  With rebut laid to rest by rebuke sharply stressed,

  And the gavel at once interceding—

  With the loopholes addressed, and the jurors abreast

  Of all evidence, fair and misleading—

  With the sun in the west, at the good King’s behest,

  There was time for yet one final pleading…

  THE KNAVE OF HEARTS REPENTS

  The Knave was gathered to the fore,

  Still shackled, wrist and ankle,

  And forced upon the witness floor,

  As feathers took to rankle—

  The jurors being mostly fowl

  Would often flap their wings and yowl.

  The Knave stood tall and handsomely

  Upon the witness planking,

  And waited, rather patiently,

  Until they’d quelled their cranking—

  A careful lad, and most polite,

  So carefully he did recite:

  ‘How doth the shade of midnight bleed

  The moonlight that it teases,

  Yet stanch the flow of every ray

  That ultimately pleases.

  How casually it mitigates

  All feelings of compunction;

  How thoroughly it permeates

  At each and every junction.

  How darkly spreads its chilly grasp

  About the night to seize us,

  And whispers through the highest boughs

  With scornful little breezes.

  How swiftly does it still the flows

  Along the running rivers,

  And wilt the budding garden rose

  That tenuously quivers.

  How gently doth the ruling hand

  Embrace the lovely flower,

  And so insure its swift remand

  Into her ivory tower.

  How doth she prize the sweet perfume,

  With mercy most judicious,

  When there it blooms, within her rooms,

  To serve her as she wishes!’

  A s
ilence fell about the court,

  And echoed round the garden,

  As none there offered up retort

  To circumvent the pardon—

  None there at all, except the King,

  Whose regal voice at once did ring:

  ‘A touching verse!’ the King declared.

  ‘A moving recitation!

  But should the lad be thusly spared,

  And offered vindication?

  I cannot rule, for all I’ve seen—

  And so it falls unto the Queen…’

  THE QUEEN’S SENTENCE

  The Queen released a heaving sigh

  That shook the palace gables,

  And sent a wave of turbulence

  Along the garden tables—

  As tears began to freely flow,

  And flood the nearby stables.

  And when the flow was stanched at last,

  So did the Queen embrace her task:

  ‘I made a tray of treacle tarts

  (We know this to be true)

  And garnished each with tiny hearts

  Of lovely crimson hue.

  I gave him one, he gave them three,

  They gave each other four;

  Then all returned from him to me

  (Still two shy of a score).

  They told me he had been to her,

  And mentioned me to them,

  Who’d sullied my good character,

  And painted me so grim.

  If they or she should chance to be

  Involved in this affair,

  Then trust that we shall hang all three

  With swift judicious care!’

  The Queen fell into silence, whilst

  The Hatter and the Hare

  Did contemplate such violence with

  A most indifferent air—

  And sipped their tea quite casually,

  As if they’d not a care.

  They waited with sedated mien

  To hear the ruling of the Queen:

  ‘It’s true, the crime committed here

  By three may have been done—

  And yet the theft, it would appear,

  Was carried out by one.

  Yet one of whom, one must admit,

  Beyond one’s modest measure,

  It could be said one might acquit—

  If so one’s royal pleasure.

  A notion that one could explore,

  With little trepidation,

  If not for one who would ignore

  Such tender supplication.

  Still torn my soul and pained my heart

  Upon this weighty matter:

  To spare the thief who stole the tarts,

  Or send him up the ladder?’

  The Queen approached the fated Knave,

  Who knelt upon one knee,

  Yet held his head up, high and brave,

  For all the court to see—

  A handsome head, it had been said,

  And none could disagree.

  As tears began to flow once more,

  So did her final verse outpour:

  ‘How gently flows the poetry,

  How smooth the sweet refrain;

  How deeply cuts the lovely rose

  Into the regal vein.

  How yet this dark and lonely night

  About us tempts and teases;

  How, too, this ever-waning light

  So thoroughly displeases.

  How carefully the ruling hand

  Doth cut the budding flower,

  And thus ensure its safe remand

  Into the royal tower.

  How deeply shall it please the host

  To view the lovely head—

  Atop the highest corner post

  Above the royal bed!’

  THE ROYAL FLUSH

  The King reviewed the evidence,

  The Mouse began to scurry,

  The Hatter brought the hammer down,

  The Hare prepared the curry.

  They trapped the Mouse; the King cried out

  (As if there’d been no flurry):

  ‘We’ll carry out the sentence first,

  And then hear from the jury!’

  The court concurred most heartily,

  And promptly took to cheering.

  The Knave approached the chopping block,

  His final moment nearing.

  Whilst Hare and Hatter plied the Mouse

  With soothing elocution,

  There rose a voice in bold dissent

  To halt the execution:

  ‘You cannot have the sentence first!

  That’s not the way it’s doing!’

  ‘You mean it’s done,’ the Hatter said,

  ‘Unless I’m misconstruing—

  If not, my dear, then hold your tongue,

  Until the tea is brewing!’

  ‘Or, if you must,’ the Hare put in,

  ‘At least until it’s spewing!’

  The Dormouse squeaked, the Hatter shrieked,

  The Hare was off and running—

  Though twice as quick, not near as slick,

  Nor nearly quite as cunning!

  The Mouse ran up the balustrade,

  The Hatter blocked the railing,

  The King released the royal guard,

  The jury took to flailing.

  ‘Collar that Mouse and turn him out!’

  The Queen of Hearts was screaming.

  ‘Off with his whiskers! Off with his head!’

  (‘Wake up, dear Alice, you’re dreaming!’)

  ‘Suppress him and pinch him and pepper his tail!

  And butter him up till he’s gleaming!

  Then bring me his head in a treacle-filled pail!’

  (‘Dear Alice, wake up now, you’re dreaming!’)

  WAKING

  She wakes with a start at the most frightful part:

  With a flurry of cards still descending;

  With the Hare and the Hatter, the King and the Queen,

  And all others now swiftly ascending—

  To the spot on the green where the Knave had once been,

  With the verdict of birds yet impending—

  To the soft garden bed where the roses, now red,

  Are still wet with the freshness of mending—

  To the trail of the twins, with their mischievous grins,

  And the rattle o’er which they’re contending—

  To the deep tulgey wood, past the long-standing wabe,

  Where the darkness is ever-descending—

  To the party of tea, and the disgruntled three,

  And the cat with his smile condescending—

  To the sage on his ’shroom, and the door-laden room,

  With a bottle and biscuit portending—

  To that place in her dreams where the memory seems

  More and more like a happier ending—

  To that moment in time where both rhythm and rhyme

  Are but virtues still well worth defending.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  J.T. Holden is the author of the forthcoming books Bedtime Tales for Naughty Children and O The Dark Things You’ll See! As a boy J.T. would often make up rhymes and limericks to entertain friends, but it wasn’t until one of them gave him a gift-wrapped box containing a blank notebook and a pen that he took that first crucial step.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR:

  Andrew Johnson currently works artistic venues in the Chicago area. An aficionado of all-things-Wonderland, it was Andrew’s childhood dream that he would one day create illustrations for an Alice in Wonderland book. Andrew is also the artist of the upcoming book O The Dark Things You’ll See!, which marks his second collaboration with J.T. Holden.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  J.T. Holden would like to thank

  Lori A. Woolf

  for that dark and spooky autumn night;

  for that unmistakable laugh;

  for making me believe I could

  write a poem in the first
place.

  Beverly Brock

  for that moment in a darkened theatre;

  for teaching me how to drive a

  5-speed manual transmission;

  for that certain summer.

  &

  Jan Jeanblanc

  for guiding me through the botanic gardens,

  beyond whose gates what memories

  continue to feed my creative soul;

  for all those late-night chats by the warm glow

  of the pumpkin lantern in the kitchen window;

  for taking in an orphan and caring for him as your own:

  no natural son was ever more loved,

  and I am proud to call you my mother.

  Also Available from Candleshoe Books

  visit us at www.candleshoebooks.com