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 poetry@theonering.net 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.
Gallantry
Joel D
Hark! ye lads of noble stock
To lore of courage born on rock
Hark, Oromë! Hark, Nahar!
Praise the tale sung under Star
A Firstborn of the Kindreds Three
The son of tree and branch was he
Worn by grief of Olórin slain,
He heedless journeys on again
Keen of eye and fleet of foot,
The Elven prince leaps from his root
Forth the Three Hunters!
Yo ho!
Not the least among Durin’s folk,
He tramps his boots o’er rill and rook,
Striding twice for every step
Of Man and Elf beside him, kept
Watch at midnight, awake at dawn,
Running, running, o’er hill and lawn,
Never tiring, ever forward,
Never yielding, ever onward,
With iron will and heart of flesh,
The Dwarvish lord ne’er stops to rest
Forth the Three Hunters!
Yo ho!
Come! O Wind, to speed their flight,
Through endless day, through restless night
Come, Elessar! Come, Andúril!
Both Tree and Flower endureth still
Now he holds his hand on high,
Wielding sword and crying, Fly!
With me cross stone and plain
Our friends to find, our foes to gain!
Long foretold, rugged, old,
The King of Men came, strong and bold
Forth the Three Hunters!
Yo ho!
~~ * ~~
To Break Men
by David McGlinchey
Long time forming, melding, churning.
Long time planned from Melkor’s yearning.
Long time whispered, chanted the curse
From Sorcerer’s lips inscribed to verse.
This time, my time, the time to end time
This time, Saurons time,
Time to cease, the White Tower chime
Time for the Wolf’s head
Time for my roar
Time ends for Men when I smash down their door!
~~ * ~~
The Dance of the Wind and Dust
By: Tom Frye
All we are is dust in the wind,
is an understatement here in Nebraska.
Because here, it’s the dust of
a thousand back country roads,
that keeps the landscape alive.
That same dust was kicked up
by the buffalo and horses
of the Plains Indians.
That same dust found its way
into the cabins of
the first pioneers to tread the land.
It’s the dust of those country roads
that mars and scars the old wood
of the barns, farmhouses, and road signs.
That dust paints a vivid picture
of the distant past, the present day,
and the oncoming future.
Particles of dusty DNA
are carried far on strong winds.
Those same winds once
blew winter storms away,
sent tornadoes howling
and screaming across the prairie.
Wind and dust created a wild dance,
like barroom betties kicking up their heels.
It’s the wind and the dust
that we endure out here in the sticks
of Nebraska.
Because if we can survive that,
we can survive anything.
© Copyright 2019 by Tom Frye
~~ * ~~
