The Great Hall of Poets – September 2013

3 Trolls in 6 (Movie-verse)
By The Grey Elf

A stooped trio peered into a kettle
Wiped clean from licks many and spittle
“It’s empty,” observed tall one-ton
“So’s yer ‘ead” said Bert Sr.’s son
A grocery list indeed they must settle….

Scabby carrion and pickled summer moss
Fungal goo drops, very pure, plus vermin dross
From rabid jaws, fresh squeezed slaver
For a blood sauce, marrow of cadaver
And gray mouse tails so they can thoroughly floss.

“Me apron’s on, Tom, get yer to market”
“Kindlin’s cold, Bill, grab a flint and spark it”
“‘Where’s me purse?” cried simple Tom
Upon his face, Bert slaps a palm,
“T’were written out!” and clouts his slow target.

By and by, Bill raised up from his latrine
“Did yer wash yer hands? Are they squeaky clean?”
“Did I wha’?” asked wafty Bill
“Good lad! Yer can have yer fill.”
See, Bert wasn’t all couth-less and mean.

A fetid soup sat reeking before them
“Time fer grace,” Bert said, discharging some phlegm
“Give us gold, give us grog,
“Give us grub and a mad dog ” –
“Now fall in, lads, let us swill to the brim.”

With bellies bulbous, three trolls digested
Their pastime was now closely contested
“Oi’d like a tale!”, “‘Oi’d like a smoke!!”
Tom piped, ” ‘ow ’bout karaōke!!!”
An all-out brawl proved what answer bested.

By RangerLady23

[1st Age]

This land is beautiful
so untamed
so many lands
that have no names.
Trees to plant
and grass to grow
and other things
we’ll never know.
Songs to write
like none before
that shall be sung
forever more.
Birds and beasts
to fill the land
things to awaken
with a gentle hand.
Elven kind
so young and brave
have much to learn
but many days.
And so we danced
content with peace
knowing not
fear or grief.
The age’s end
was drawing near
we felt that good
was always here.
First age is past
and next begun
but two will be
as good as one.
Or so we thought
but we were wrong
our downfall’s sung
in many songs.

[2nd Age]

The Elves were blind
he tricked us all
and now we fear
the world shall fall.
What have we done?
Why did we trust?
His kindly words
have turned to dust.
His evil ways
were always set
and we have naught
except regret.
Seven rings
he has them all
nine for Men
obey his call.
The Elven three
are hidden well
and not an Elven
soul will tell.
The One is His
and His alone
One for the Dark Lord
on His Dark Throne.
Another age
is passing by
and very soon
the Elves will fly.
To the Havens
then set sail
and trees will die
that once were hale.
But ere we sail
to peace and calm
we’ll help the Men
to right our wrongs.

[3rd Age]

The One is lost
or so it seems
“It’s mine! “It’s mine!”
we hear him scream.
Searching near
and off away
it will return
to him one day.
Our days grow thin
our glory fades
our happiness
will pass away.
and Rivendell
Mirkwood fair
but also fell.
All will pass
when we are gone
but be remembered
in our songs.
This age will fade
and fourth draw near
a King will come
in battle gear.
This age for Men
and not for Elves
we’ve saved the land
but not ourselves.
The Three are safe
and so we planned
their powers faded
from our hands.
we give our blessings
to mankind
and hope that they
will someday find.
The beauty of
this Middle-earth
the living things
and all their worth.
To the Havens
we go in haste
but do not weep
this is our fate.
So here at last
we say fare well
to Lorien
and Rivendell.

Son of Gondor
by: Shannon C.

Son of the steward of the white city,
eldest of his father’s heirs
warrior and defender
protector of Gondor

Marshaling his garrisons
keeping Mordor’s onslaughts at bay
courage unequaled
strength to fend off the shadow

Mighty was he in strength and stature
tall and grim
the blood of Númenor ran in his veins
he bore a horn made from that of a wild ox

United with other free peoples of Middle-earth
on a quest to oppose the enemy
to hinder the ever-growing malice
he set out from the land of Imladris with eight others

Long and terrible their quest seemed
defeated by cruel Caradhras
the fall of Mithrandir in the Mines of Moria
the Orcs pursuing their company

Upon Amon Hen his will was corrupted
drawn by lust for the One Ring
seeking to use it’s power to protect the people of his city
thus it was that the Ring corrupted Boromir son of the lord Denethor

He endeavored to seize the Ring from the halfling Frodo
to snatch that which would give him power
he attempted to undo what the council at Imladris decided
he tried to take the Ring from the ring-bearer

His lust to save Minas Tirith was too great
and the Ring’s power made his lust grow
on Amon Hen he faltered
the halfling escaped his grasp

The revelation of his great mistake came ere the hour of his death
he could not find the halfling and was told to look after the halfling’s kinsmen, Meriadoc and Peregrin
upon the struggle to help the halflings, the enemy’s forces were on the move
they reached Amon Hen
they slew the mighty warrior

Upon the great ox horn he blew mightily
alas for he was not in the boundaries of his homeland,
no help came
he fended his companions as long as he could
but at last he fell
pierced with many arrows
wounded many a time
in a valiant attempt for redemption,
the great son of Gondor fell
His time in the world was ended
upon his death bed, he received redemption from Aragorn, one of his companions,
and thus did Boromir depart from Middle-earth

The Music of the Ainur
Cycle One, of an ongoing project: 
The Entire History of Arda, in Verse
By: Me 

In the beginning there was One
Ere yet the Moon or Sun
Did shine their face
Upon those of Elven race

The All-Father, Illuvatar
saw the Void stretch wide and far
Then made He the Ainur strong
And taught them to make song

They sang their own songs pleasantly
One or two, or only three
And as they increased in harmony
Each new voice added his beauty

Then He a theme did unfold
And by their music, Eä would mold
Taking up song they did sing
Thoughts unfolding like flow’rs in Spring

A great and powerful melody
Everchanging as the sea
Rising and falling in a swell
Filling the the hall where they did dwell

But then it entered into the mind
Of Melkor, to follow his own design
To him was given the greatest gift of power
And he rose alone, tall as a tower

Dark and bitter thoughts did he conceive
Apart from his brethren, and now did weave
His own ambitions and desire,
(Lust for Eru’s Secret Fire)
Into lyric ,black and grim
Discord rising about him

No longer did they sing one song alone
For in every note pride’s seed was sown
At last those near him began to falter,
And yet others began to alter
Their own song and did forsake
The melody they had set out to make

Higher and louder the tumult grew
Until Illuvatar started anew
A song different and more brave
Against which Melkor’s did rave

New phrases sounded in their ears
Softly falling , like gentle tears
A lament for what is lost, but shall be
Forever held in memory

This agony of passion frail
Was eas’ly drowned by the gale
That Melkor and his followers made
The Ainur then, their music stayed.

Strong his song in truth became
Without any grief or shame
Trying to challenge Eru’s plan
But just then ,a third began

Eru’s song was rich and full
It shone out as a jewel
A very pattern of his heart,
In which no Ainur had a part

Melkor’s song turned to braying
Never able but still assaying
To overcome and subdue
This final theme ,as on it drew

The Ainur’s reply ,artless but loud
Without form, but high and proud
Seeking only the mastery to claim
By volume, this was its only aim

And as the new anthem rolled,
Taking the place of the old,
The defiant notes could only add
To the beauty it already had

Melkor tried, but In vain
To conquer this, the final strain
Only to make it greatest than the first
It’s glory growing with each verse.

At the end did toll
One final note, out did roll
Higher than heaven, deeper than sea
Crashed, bringing all Ainur to the knee

Gimli’s Ode
By The Grey Elf

Unearthly is Lothlorien’s gold leaf
Like ingots spell-cast into a silk sheaf
Flaxen auroras may beguile
Yet fade conjuring a queen’s smile
Her coiled lock keeps my heart in sweet grief.

A Fallow Land
By The Grey Elf

A fallow land lies half-awake and looks up at clouds
Images stir and shift in shape like white unfurling shrouds
As seeds scattering o’er a wild heath
words rain down to lift what sleeps beneath
this fertile Middle Earth, where tales sprout from dreaming brows.

We Would Like to Thank the Academy
By The Grey Elf

Captured live was Smeagol by A. Serkisss
Whose genius channeled all of our quirksess
No awards? That’s no riddle
In the dark, his peers twiddled
!Gollum! We weeps for his dismissed worksess.

Yes, Preciousss, it injures and it irks usss
We rights wrongs with our best nasty cursesss
A tricksy pox will horrify
When Sauron’s flaming Stink-Eye
Melts their statues for being such jerksess.

By The Grey Elf

Apparitions dwell in his pipe of halfling leaf
Wraiths of disappearing rings, its smoky motif
Wisp-ers of shadow fill his lungs
Omens circle a hobbit young
Sauron’s black bellows swath his head with grey grief.

Bombur Twice
By The Grey Elf

Behold me, a worldly patron of gourmand taste
Any dish any drink enjoy I any place
Food’s my savory sovereign
Ahem, well after great Thorin,
Tis true I’ve more of an equator than a waist.

My gingery red beard once disappeared mid-dine
Now my bald chins pillow a mustache most refined
Conversation at dinner
Only makes people thinner
Though it’s been rumored that I swallow my own lines.

What’s in a Letter
By The Grey Elf

Linguist Tolkien patented a letter scarlet
“S” spells corruption in his fabled alphabet
Front and foremost in a name
It monograms an evil stain
A change of character might a new nature beget ….

If Sauron were Mauron, a monocle he’d sport
Yaruman would bake humble pies and merry tortes
Blaug a carousel flyer
Treagol in a cherub’s choir
Free of Sssssses, he’d with trilling angels cavort.

What of brave Samwise? No dastard villain is he
His initial fails to mar true-blue fealty
The exception to Tolkien’s rule
An archetype purely faithful
Selflessness the key to his moral literacy.

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