The Great Hall of Poets – February 2014
( By Britt F)
He thought he’d strayed into a dream
and shaded both his eyes from gleam
of starlight? Moonlight? Sunlight’s kiss?
He’d never known such light as this
Then thinking that his song took life
and conjured him of Beren’s wife
Luthien in all her splendour white!
A phantom dreamt from songs delight
But no; she danced before his eyes
with raven hair and dark blue eyes
as real as any maiden fair
but somehow made of silken air
In silver gown and cloak of blue
with diadem of every hue
Her beauty pierced his soul with pain
and fearing she would not remain
but disappear like morning dew
and leave his soul bereft; He threw
all caution to the winds and cried
not once but twice to Beren’s bride
His heart but stopped, as she turned her head
She stared and smiled, then sweetly said
‘Why call me thus, ‘Tinuviel’?’
And captured in her beauty’s spell
he awkwardly recalled his song
and how he thought he’d dreamt ere long
that she would vanish from his sight
fair Luthien from out the night
But laughing like the trilling water
she gazed on him; Elrond’s daughter
and told him of her name and birth
No nymph of light; a child of worth
Fairest maid of Rivendell
Then sank his spirits low again
for she was far above him; Then
as if to leave he heaved a sigh
for all his glory passed him by
How proud he was of lineage fine
‘The Ring of Barahir is mine
and yet I reach beyond the sky
for that which mortal can only cry’
She touched his hand in soft caress
and by the act deepened distress
but knew his heart forever hers
and wondered at his sorrowed cares
For she too, taken with such passion
a flight of heart in unknown fashion
that filled her with a need of he
as endless as the rolling sea
‘Perhaps, Estel, you yet might see
that dream fulfilled for you and me’
A cloud then darkened her sweet brow
as deep in thought she realised how
the dream was met; her doom was sealed
yet in his eyes, her soul was healed
‘The life of the Eldar, will I give
To see our son, Eldarion, live’
And thus was sealed in the bonds of fate
the beginnings of a love so great.
Melkor’s Speech to Fëanor
In the Age of the Trees Melkor approaches Feanör in Valinor and poisons his heart with lies saying that the Gods have imprisoned the Elves in The Blessed Realm to withhold them from their birthright: To be the Kings of Arda:
To Finwë’s son now Melkor came
He bowed to Feanör as in shame.
Proud and mighty was that soul
burning hot like smouldering coal.
In him did Melkor see the tool
to His designs: This haughty fool!
His soul might yet be set afire
a blazing boon, a funeral pyre,
and raze the Bliss of Valinor,
in ruin lie its very core:
The Silver Tree and Golden Twin,
Telperion and Laurelin.
To him did Melkor tell his lies
and Feanör listened through despise
though never trusting Melkor’s mind
to lies and ends he still was blind.
And Melkor said, “Behold the Gods!
These Kings and Queens to Elves are Lords
They shield you from the World, they say
but are the Firstborn weak then? Nay!
I say to you, my friend, beware!
To shelter you they have no care.
Afraid that by your Elvish might
to Middle-earth, now under night,
you would go forth for all to see
that Elves where born both strong and free!”
“A prophecy there was of old
long ere the time began, it told
of second-borne, the Death-doomed race,
that soon from now the world will grace
and live apart from Elves and Gods
to rule the Earth as rightful Lords.
A weaker race, the Men will be
and easy to control, for see:
To you the Earth was set aside
to own and rule. Instead you hide
in Valinor ‘neath watchful eyes
with eagles spying from the skies.
The Kings of Earth cannot be known
when Elves in prison have been thrown!”
The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey – Poem Edition
By N Sokol
Thirteen Dwarfs on a journey set,
One tiny Hobbit and a gambling bet,
A wizard gray of ancient old,
A journey set towards the stolen gold.
From nasty trolls and their fouly smell,
To saving sunlight making stone their hell,
From hated Elves and their selfish pest,
To a heartily welcome in their peaceful nest,
From moving mountains throwing stone,
To mountains’ pass on a Goblin Throne,
From Goblin Town and Gollum’s routes,
To one pale orc and his wargen scouts,
A final chase down the forest slope,
Driven into trees at the ends of hope,
An Oakenshield and a Dwarven rage,
Saved by a Hobbit in a fearless stage.
Goblin screams and wargen cries,
Eagle wings caught by their eyes,
Companions saved and flown to rest,
With Eagles landing at their nest.
A grateful speech and a friendly thanks,
A companion new to Dwarven ranks,
A final glimpse of a distant hill,
A sign of heart and a Dwarven chill.
A Dwarven city laid far the East,
Over mountains high and Mirkwood’s mist,
Through woods of dark and lands of shade,
A place called home they’re set to raid.
A fiercely fire that yet awaits,
All theft it burns and strongly hates,
Sleeps on top a golden throne,
With one eye opened for the Arkenstone.
by A Kent
They call me death
they call me fire
and there’s no faith
when I desire
the death of the one
who calls him KING
the Thrain’s brave son
Ithilien Tout le Monde
French, in all the earth
By Neal Dachstadter
“A Riot of Careless Descendants” – JRR Tolkien
Verdant, competing, and nudging the lake,
A riot of flora, deep-rooted to slake
Mimosa and Lilly, some Cypress and grass,
Magnolia, a Maple, the common and crass
Cutting Briar, with the Berry and Sweet Gum with speed,
Their offspring unyielding, positioned with greed
On the fecund, wet bank fed by Bass flitting near,
‘Neath the gentle Live Oak, and the Elephant Ear.
The golden sun will cast it’s rays
across the quiet vale
the river will rush onward
with it’s never ending tale.
The leaves will bud in springtime
and scatter in the fall
the birds will trill their mating song
upon the ancient walls.
The flowers will burst open
fill the air with fragrant smell
but Elves walk here no longer
in the land of Rivendell.