Preview edition — Poet in Wonderland is still in progress. The poem is as it appears in the video; the commentary is a working draft.
In a forest veiled in twilight's shroud
A huntsman stood, his heart both fierce and proud
With bow in hand, he watched the night's descent
Guarding the precious books of tales that from what the king's council sent
There, a damsel roamed, untamed and free
Indulging in a fantasy, a dreamer's spree
Her stories spun of enchantment, of creatures strange and grand
Of “Alice's” wonders, a marvelously whimsical land
The huntsman listened, his mind oft in a whirl
As the damsel's tales unfurled like a silken curl
Her words, of myth and mirth combined
Yet to him, they held no end, no truth defined
He pondered, this weaver of fables and of lore
Whose visions soared where eagles dare to soar
To protect her seemed a quest both vain and bold
For in her stories, no danger did unfold
“Fair damsel,” he'd say, “your tales are rich and wild
But in their endings, they leave me beguiled”
Your journey through wonder, through time and space
Leaves not a trace, nor a protective embrace
Yet, she'd smile, her eyes alight with glee
For in her world, she was the queen, the key
And the huntsman, a mere observer in her play
Stood watch, as her dreams danced away
So in this fairytale, where fantasies reign supreme
The damsel and the huntsman live a dual dream
One, lost in tales without a tangible thread
The other, bound to reality, a life unsaid
And thus, the story weaves on with vine
Of a damsel in a fairytale, and a huntsman's silent sigh
For in the realm of stories, where all is possible, it seemed
The huntsman took a step forward to watch the singing damsel glide away to her village, it seemed
Poet in Wonderland · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
Told in sixteen rhyming couplets, this poem sets a practical huntsman beside a dreamy storyteller. He guards the tales, she lives inside them, and neither can quite step into the other’s world.
In “a forest veiled in twilight’s shroud” a huntsman stands with “bow in hand,” guarding “the precious books of tales” sent by the king’s council. There a damsel roams “untamed and free,” “indulging in a fantasy, a dreamer’s spree,” and spinning stories of “creatures strange and grand” and “Alice’s wonders.”
The huntsman listens, “his mind oft in a whirl,” as her tales unfurl “like a silken curl.” Her words of “myth and mirth” seem to him to have “no end, no truth defined,” and to protect her feels “a quest both vain and bold,” since “in her stories, no danger did unfold.”
He tells her that her tales “are rich and wild” but “leave me beguiled,” while she only smiles, for “in her world, she was the queen, the key.” The two “live a dual dream,” one “lost in tales without a tangible thread,” the other “bound to reality.” The poem ends with the huntsman stepping forward “to watch the singing damsel glide away to her village.”