In cobbled lanes where gears convene,
Stood Alice, goggled, quite a queen.
Her skirts of bronze, her boots so grand,
A clockwork wonder, wand in hand.
Beside her, Hatter, wild and bright,
With fiery hair and eyes alight.
A grin so vast, a teethy show,
“More tea, more steam! Where did time go?”
His top hat brimmed with ticking gears,
Ignoring all sensible fears.
For in this world of brass and steam,
A very mad and wondrous dream!
Within the cavern’s crystal-laced embrace,
Young Alice stands, a smile upon her face.
With steady hand, a ladle she does hold,
To stir the secrets of a story told.
Beside her, Fle, the aged old elf,
A gentle guide, in verdant clothing self.
He turns the crank of the arcanum machine,
A bubbly brew, a vibrant, glowing scene.
From humble sacks of ‘FERTILIZER’ and ‘SOIL,’
The earthy base for their enchanting toil.
They add the Arcanum, a liquid bright,
A splash of magic in the cavern’s light.
The air is thick with whispers of the old,
A tale of wonders, beautiful and bold.
As colors swirl in the machine’s deep bowl,
They mix a potion to enrich the soul.
And watching on, a mouse with curious eyes,
Nibbles on cheese beneath the cavern skies.
The scent of magic, a soft, ethereal haze,
Fills Alice and the elf with sweet amaze.
Alice found the elf by accident, as she found most things: by tumbling into them. This time, it wasn’t a rabbit hole, but a fissure in the earth, hidden by a blanket of moss and the shade of a weeping willow. She landed with a soft thump on a bed of ferns, her gingham dress a bright splash of blue in the dim, green light.
A pair of very, very old eyes blinked at her from the shadows of a gnarled oak. They were the color of faded leaves, and the wrinkles around them were like the rings of a tree. “Well, bless me,” a voice rasped, like dry leaves scuttling across a stone path. “Another one.”
Alice, never one to be flustered for long, brushed a stray leaf from her nose. “Another what?” she asked, her head tilted to the side.
“Another child who has lost their way,” the elf said, emerging from the gloom. He was slight and stooped, with a beard the color of winter frost. His name, he told her, was Fle. “I’ve seen so many. They all come seeking something. A way home, a lost toy, a purpose they’ve misplaced.”
Alice considered this. “I’m not lost, exactly,” she said. “I know where I am. I’m in a sort of underground forest, and you are a very old elf.”
Fle chuckled, a sound like gravel rolling down a hill. “Ah, but you are. Lost in the way that all mortals are. You are looking for an adventure, aren’t you?”
Alice’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“I’ve been watching the world for a very long time,” Fle said, settling himself on a mossy root. “And I’ve learned that the ones who fall into the quiet places are the ones who are looking for the loudest stories.” He gestured with a spindly finger to the world around them. “This place is full of them. The tales that have been forgotten. The songs that have been silenced.”
He told her a story of a talking mushroom that wept tears of light, and of a river that flowed with liquid dreams. He spoke of a queen who ruled over a kingdom of clouds, and a knight who wore armor made of moonlight. His words were like a spell, weaving pictures in the air, and Alice listened, her heart thrumming with the rhythm of his ancient tales.
“So, you see,” Fle said, when he had finished, “the world is not just a place to be. It is a place to be discovered. And sometimes, the most wonderful discoveries are found when you fall into the quiet places.”
Alice stood up, her blue dress a beacon in the twilight. “Thank you, Fle,” she said, her voice full of a new kind of wonder. “I think… I think I understand now. It’s not about finding my way back. It’s about finding my way forward.”
Fle smiled, a thousand years of wisdom in the gentle curve of his lips. “Precisely,” he said. And then, as quietly as he had appeared, he faded back into the shadows of the old oak, leaving Alice alone with the rustling ferns and the whispers of a thousand forgotten tales, ready to write her own.
🌟 Alice on Top of the World 🌟
Alice climbed the tower tall,
Above the streets, above it all.
No rabbit late, no ticking clock,
Just breezes dancing ‘round the block.
The rooftops bloomed with flowers bright,
A secret garden kissed by light.
She twirled her skirt, her bow held fast,
And waved at clouds that floated past.
“Hello!” she called to birds in flight,
Who answered back with sheer delight.
The sun on glass made castles gleam,
The city shimmered like a dream.
No Hatter fussed, no Duchess frowned,
No Queen to shout, “Off with her crown!”
Instead she ruled with gentle cheer,
The sky her throne, her realm so near.
Her subjects? Windows, bricks, and bees,
And secret whispers in the breeze.
Her courtiers? Flowers, tall and free,
Her crown? A wreath of greenery.
So Alice laughed, and Alice sang,
Her joy across the skyline rang.
For Wonderland was not below,
But up above, where gardens grow.
And every soul who paused to see,
Felt lighter, brighter, suddenly—
For happiness, when shared, can twirl…
Like Alice, on top of the world.
Alice was minding her own business, which is the most dangerous occupation for a girl of her size and curiosity, because one’s own business has a wicked habit of becoming everyone else’s. She had laid out her tools upon the garden path—one honest screwdriver (which insisted it was quite respectable), a pair of tweezers (which took offense at everything), and a clockwork bird with its beak stuck slightly open as if it had been caught forever in the act of saying “Oh!” The roses wobbled about on their stems in a breeze that smelled faintly of coal and toast, and the daisies gave great, polite sneezes.
“Bless you,” said Alice, for she was a well-brought-up child, even when addressing flowers.
“Steam,” sniffed a daisy, quite dignified. “We are allergic to steam.”
“There is no steam,” said Alice, peering about. “Only sunshine and Sunday. If there were steam, I should see it, and if I saw it, I should surely say it.”
At which a discreet hiss sounded from under the azalea bush, and something somewhere went tick-tock, whirr-clank, hiss-puff!—the exact sort of reply that contradicts a person very rudely without saying a word. The roses coughed. The daisies sneezed again. Alice, being one who could not resist a noise that sounded like an argument between a kettle and a typewriter, put down the screwdriver and knelt in the flowerbed.
“I say,” she called into the dark. “Are you a mouse, a mole, or a machine?”
“None and all,” said a voice like a penny-farthing talking in its sleep. “Stand clear of the exhaust.”
Alice had just time to wonder if an exhaust was something you could trip over when the soil trembled and the bush erupted. Out burst a white blur with brass rivets, whiskers wired like telegraph lines, and a waistcoat stitched with gears that clicked themselves in a most improper fashion. It was the White Rabbit—only more so, as if someone had wound him up to a higher setting.
“You’re late!” he squeaked, and a valve near his collar let off an indignant toot. “Horribly, dreadfully, scandalously late!”
“For what?” said Alice, who did not at all like being told about her lateness, especially by a creature whose ears appeared to be tuned to the Foreign Stations.
“For the Invasion Tea, of course!” He tapped his breast, where a pocket watch had given up being merely a pocket watch and bolted itself to his ribs with a handsome row of screws. “The minutes are marching without permission! The seconds have staged a revolt! The hour has barricaded itself behind a samovar! Oh, oh!” He patted himself down as if he might find a spare minute in his pockets. “No time! Even less than that! Negative time!”
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https://thecrazymadwriter.com/alice-in-wonderland-stories/alice-in-steampunk-dalekland/
Alice was sipping her tea with a sigh,
When a blur dashed past with a glint in its eye.
A rabbit—white-furred, with a waistcoat and frown—
Was muttering, “Goodness! I’m terribly down!”
She blinked once or twice, then sprang to her feet,
For chasing odd rabbits is never a feat
That’s best left to reason, or clocks, or to maps—
So off she did tumble through twists, turns, and gaps.
He darted through hedges, then dove down a hole,
(A perfectly rabbit-sized dark rabbit hole),
And Alice, not stopping to question the fall,
Went tumbling behind, skirts and ribbons and all.
She fell past the teacups, past tables and hats,
Past mirrors and muffins and sleepy old cats.
She landed (quite gently) on carpeting red—
The White Rabbit gone, but his echo just said:
“I’m late for a something! A thing! Or a who!”
(Though what that might mean, Alice hadn’t a clue.)
Still, onward she went in pursuit of his tail,
Through puddles of poetry, puddings and snail.
So if ever you’re feeling a touch out of sorts,
And time seems to twitch in peculiar contorts,
Just follow the White Rabbit—don’t ask him why—
For Wonderland waits where the clocks go awry.
I am a Cat, it said smiling at her,
A Cheshire Cat, you can tell by my fur,
My paws and whiskers are also a hint,
But the smile on my face is most significant.
*
I can see by your fur, said Alice – I do,
And also your paws and whiskers – it’s true,
But that smile on your face has me all in a tizz,
Coming and going in such a whiz.
*
Still smiling at Alice, the Cat dryly replied,
You’d never believe me; you’d think I had lied,
If the smile on my face was gone – it’s a fact,
No one would listen or look at this Cat.
*
Without offering Alice the chance to reply,
The Cat went on with his horrible lie,
Creeping closer and closer, until ever so near,
When he pounced, lashed out, cutting her ear.
*
Feeling the hurt and the blood running down,
Alice said, Oh, I was such a clown,
To have ever believed a Cat with a grin,
Take that, and that, you horrible thing!
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A NEW ALICE IN WONDERLAND STORY
I am a koala, it said smiling at her,
A cuddly koala, you can tell by my fur,
My paws and claws give also a hint,
And the smile on my face is significant.
*
I can see by your fur, Alice answered, I do,
And also your paws and claws; it’s true,
But the look on your face has me all in a whirl,
A smiling koala is alien to this girl.
*
Still smiling at Alice, the koala replied,
You’d never believe me; you’d think I had lied,
If the smile on my face was gone; it’s the truth,
No one would believe in this koala, forsooth.
*
Without offering Alice the chance to reply,
The marsupial went on with his horrible lie,
Creeping closer and closer, until ever so near,
He pounced, lashed out, and cut her left ear.
*
Feeling the hurt and the blood running down,
Alice said, I was such a sad clown,
To have listened to you, an animal smiler,
Take that, and that, you horrible liar!
Wonderland – gone MAD.
************
I am Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry today,
I am laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hey hey!
You may think I’m not too serious, and I might even agree,
But I’m still Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hee hee.
*********************
Alice in Wonderland Christmas story
*****
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 