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 email@example.com 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.
In a hole in the ground lived a Hobbit.
In a house in a street lived a boy.
In a book on the shelf lived adventure
In adventure there lived so much joy.
In a world full of hardship and sorrow
In a land far away there sprung hope
In the pages lay truth and redemption
And in this lay the means for to cope.
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By Andrew Wittemann
As I breathe in that sweet, fragrant smell,
I am reminded, as if, by a ringing bell,
Of lovely lazy days in the shade by the porch,
Where that hot summer sun shan’t my fair skin scorch.
Yet here I am, far far from home,
And through the dry leaves of the two barrels comb,
My fingers, feeling the familiar sensation,
Of Old Toby – My what compensation!
Our journey has brought us to the brink of death,
When always we thought, “Is this my last breath?”
And now we sit – a barrel for you and for me,
Smoking as happily as Hobbits can be.
~~ * ~~
Princess of the Lavender Mist
In the fading light of day,
she twirled her purple gown,
rippled by soft winds, she cast
aside her pine-tree crown.
As the stars came out,
as the darkness fell,
the princess of the fairyland,
went dancing through the dell.
In deep dark waves of violet,
through luminous lavender mist,
she flew above the forest,
searching for her prince to kiss.
Calling to the silver stars,
singing to the full moon,
her flight through the night was long,
and morning would return soon.
So the princess left a message,
formed of tears she’d cried,
so that her wandering prince
might read it, on his morning ride.
The princess returned to the hill,
where she’d cast aside her crown,
and back to sleep she went,
wrapped up in her purple gown.
In morning light a dawning,
her prince rode among the trees,
indeed he read her message,
glistening upon the leaves.
He waited until lavender,
once more painted the sky.
And after the sun had set,
they danced long into the night.
© Copyright 2007 by Tom Frye
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