Oh My God.
Oh. My. God.
Would you believe that? Would you?
Would you Adam and Eve it? I do not believe that.

I don’t believe my ears! No Way! I don’t care what you say. I don’t care. What you say?

What the Fuck? Really? You’re kidding me? No way. Yes way? No fucking way.

What the Fucking Fuck! FYI. Oh my God. Oh My Fucking God.
WTF. That was like, rhetorical!

Words fail me.


Get out of here!

Oh My God.

Oh. My. God.


Exclusive: The Mad Gardener’s Song, new verses

Well I never.

Upon a walk in January I looked over by a loch, and saw peeking from a rock, these titled verses do not mock, my weary eyes did flock. Preserved a million or more tick-tock, in an oak box upon them I knock-knock. Its wood gave up the ghost and its contents I did clock, I swear upon the dock.

But here is the thing, there were seven additional stanzas not detailed in any extant publication.

I did consider I would make myself a small fortune and auction them off to the highest bidding Lewis Carroll aficionado but there was all a bother of authenticity and provenance and all that argy-bargy rigmarole. Not enough just to take my word for it apparently.

So I thought I would share with the world and make not a penny from my find. That’s the kind of person I am.

The established version of The Mad Gardener’s Song starts with this stanza

He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
‘At length I realize,’ he said,
‘The bitterness of Life!’

If you are not familiar or just want to remind yourself of it then the rest is here.

And now without any further fanfare or ado are the extra verses in the sequence of which I faithfully recorded them. Marvel too at the technological propheticness of one stanza.


He thought he saw a racing horse

Distracted with a pipe.

He looked again and found it was

A gurning butler’s gripe.

‘At length I realize’ he said,

‘The fitfulness of Skype’.


He thought he saw a magistrate

Bewildered by a goose.

He looked again and found it was

A spinster on the loose.

‘It really must be said’ he said,

‘That really is obtuse’.


He thought he saw a carpenter

A louche giraffe rebuke.

He looked again and found it was

A lone reclusive Duke.

‘Well I never’ he softly said,

‘He’s come out from his nook.’


He thought he saw a mannequin

A customer offend.

He looked again and found it was

A sermon without end.

‘It really ought to stop’ he said,

‘My ways I will not mend’.


He thought he saw a publican

A bath of tea did soak.

He looked again and found it was

A man expelled from Stoke.*

‘It is true what they say’ he said,

‘There’s nowt as queer as folk’.


He thought he saw a Débutante

Practising long her sigh.

He looked again and found it was

A trampolining spy.

‘To make some sense of this’ he said,

”I guess he thinks he’s sly’.


He thought he saw a Naturist

Defiant on the moon.

He looked again and found it was

A yodelling baboon.

‘The way now of the world’ he said,

‘This life is out of tune’.


* Here the writing of ‘from’ was difficult to read and it might have read ‘to’ – ‘A man expelled to Stoke’ is equally plausible.

Lewis Carroll was wont to travel widely around the world and even greater wont to leave and lose pages of his work as he went. He never talked about it as as well as causing him great anguish it caused him great embarrassment too. But this does mean you yourselves may find the odd stanza of his floating around your neighbourhood including surprisingly likely verses from this poem.

If you do then please share in the comments below. Such a venture will help bring his long, long work together, and comprehensively this compendium compile.


2.4.2013 – Poem without blog content published to Wattpad.

Empty Paper

This I scrawled unusually for me pencil on paper. And quickly – not so much a flash fiction (which may be short but long in the making)  but like a speed-date or speed-chess, without pausing for reflection or breath. A flash in space yes but in time also.

And does it show I wonder – should I have as quickly scrunched it up and directed it toward my waste-paper bin…

Paper. Empty. Virgin. No ink soil. Infinity beckons.

Promises. Everything. Anything, something.

Too soon thoughts scrawled upon it

Some promises awaken, the rest cast aside, for another time, perhaps

The first thought has escaped me and become word. The first to be read, to be heard.

Momentum tumbles along the rest

One thing led to another

To a conclusion that sought itself out

Beyond my imagining


rushing gushing

stumbling fumbling

stalling walling (writer wailing, if without words)

then up and over to the final full stop.

Feelings and thoughts released and relieved.

Yet always a little haunted, that once again I disappointed, the promise of that empty page.