Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our Great Hall of Poets.
So come and join us by the hearth and enjoy!
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to firstname.lastname@example.org
One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
A cry from Orthanc
By: Hoyt H.
Orthanc tower of Isengard,
Protrudes from the earth like a blackened shard,
A bone of the earth fractured in war,
The throne of a wizard that lives no more,
It’s windows clamped, its doorways barred,
The eternal tower of Isengard.
Orthanc tower was the home,
Of a wizard content not to roam,
The wizard white,the council’s head,
From whom many wicked fled.
Praises were sung by many a bard,
About that lord of Isengard.
Orthanc old held magic fair,
Sauruman skill was beyond compare,
He led the Istari in chaos and order,
Peace reigned within his rocky border.
A place of rest in times hard,
There was shelter within Isengard
Orthanc tower held Saruman,
A wizard beyond the strength of man,
His power grew his magic was great,
But like all he met his fate.
Evil grew and none were scarred,
More than the keeper of Isengard.
Orthanc once a place of joy,
Became a home to an evil ploy,
From Sauron Lord of trick and lie,
Saruman was bent to serve the eye.
His name was ruined his land was marred,
And evil came to Isengard.
Orthanc was stripped of its mighty trees,
There branches burned to Sauron appease,
Saruman spirit was defeated,
By Sauron who stole, and burned and cheated.
Evil took over and the world was jarred,
When good departed from Isengard.
Orthanc now stands to remind all,
That even the strongest, men can fall,
In power we still see the white wizard,
In the blinding snow of a freezing blizzard.
And no mortal can discard,
The lesson learned at Isengard,
Orthanc still stands where it always will,
All who behold it know it’s thrill,
While evil took Saruman away,
The true white wizard is seen each day.
In snow capped peaks that stand guard,
Over the ancient Isengard.
Orthanc remains while Sarumans gone,
The wizards magic shall ever wan.
In white capped waves and Sandy shores,
Saruman has past through a new set of doors.
His presence is felt in each square yard,
Within the sight of Isengard.
Orthanc was home to Christopher Lee,
Who captured Saruman perfectly,
Now he too has reached the undying lands,
A pure white boat on pure white sands,
But on stands for ever that one last shard,
Of Saruman, in Isengard.
~~ * ~~
From the Blessed Realm sailing, Shining Valinor,
By the Eldar King sent on a burdensome chore.
Fragile he seemed yet his eye gleamed
As he departed from that Farthest West Shore.
Fair Mithlond received him and Middle-earth was blest;
As mortal he came this brave humble guest.
Círdan said “Master this Ring I do bring,
I deem it may aid thee ere end of your quest.”
Two thousand years and more he did toil.
From errand oppressive he did not recoil.
Weary of load wandering long lonely road,
From Havens to Last Desert over Middle-earth soil.
When in dark cavern deep and dungeon cold
Was found Ring bright, wrought with gold;
And Mithrandir knew this was the clue:
The Dark Lord to stop with desperate plan bold.
After time without end and trials indeed hard
O Pilgrim Grey be still on your guard!
For foe may be hidden coming unbidden
Your plans to thwart your hopes to discard.
Then Companions brave trodding dark Khazad-dûm
Were faced by the Terror released from his tomb.
Alone he fought as was his thought –
The means to the end more important than his doom.
Ever he battled monstrous Durin’s Bane,
To earth’s bowels deep then upward again.
From Silvertine’s summit the Balrog did plummet,
But alas! Savaged Wizard also was slain.
Back went the Grey Pilgrim from whence he departed;
Grace He was given, new plots to be charted.
Back came the Light as Gandalf the White,
And hope was restored by this Wizard bold-hearted.
White Rider the Mover, Middle-earth he did save;
The victory was His with those that did brave.
With errand now ended Mithrandir ascended
White Ship tall to sail West over wave.
O Mithrandir sundered from us to that place of evermore;
Yet long his tale will linger, long our hearts will soar.
And we who must remain will endlessly retain
Fond memory of this Wizard from that Shining Far West Shore.
~~ * ~~
By: the Champion of Mirkwood
Darkness covers the lost path,
Revealing the faded shadows,
Time has come yet it has passed,
Consumed by crippling battles.
All glory has now decayed,
The Halls are robbed of their masons,
History has been written,
With Dwarven blood at the basin.
The nostrils are under siege,
The stench has become prevalent,
The olfaction must stand trial,
With a verdict quite evident.
Decayed flesh divides the air,
And conquers all the senses,
The scent has grown more putrid,
Dismantling hope’s defenses.
The air has become heavy,
Like butter that is now rotten,
Flooding the mouth with disgust,
The fresh air has been forgotten.
With another toxic breathe
Sinking the lungs of travelers,
Ash and flesh reign in these Halls,
Now the tombs have found their handlers.
Readied sword, axe, and arrow,
The travelers grasp their weapons,
The pilgrim forced to relearn
The ancient Mine’s evil lesson.
The corridor’s stone is cold,
A chill runs rampant through the skin,
A homecoming is thwarted,
As the Dwarf now mourns for his kin.
The silence has grown louder,
With each echo getting longer,
Every footstep screams its pain,
And every breathe is more somber.
Nine hearts beat in unison,
Like battle drums in the distance,
The ghosts have finished their song,
The Balrog demands submission.
THE PARTY TREE
By: Cora H.
In the land of Middle Earth,
There is a haven called the Shire,
Where people are wide of girth,
And wear colourful attire.
Within this lovely place,
Hobbiton can be found,
There is no lack of space,
For Hobbits live underground.
Atop the hill where Hobbits reside,
I stand, tall and proud.
On me little Hobbits love to hide,
And play beneath my shroud.
Under my branches festivities are had,
With much ale and food.
And no party could be bad,
With Gandalf to lighten the mood.
Fireworks go up from my hill,
Illuminating the sky,
Everyone can see the mill,
And the smoke rings floating by.
Inside them all,
There is much food and wine,
They all dance and have a ball,
Under my verdant vine.
They come to me to gather,
They also come to eat.
Though in winter they would rather,
Keep warm their furry feet.
My services have no fee,
When they come to call.
I will always be their party tree,
Until I decay and fall.
~~ * ~~
Once again there were a number of wonderful poems submitted for June, Mithril and I had a really hard time narrowing it down to just four. So a very big thank you to everyone who sent them in. You can see all of them here, in our Great Hall Archive.