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.
In the Mist Upon the River
by Mrs Adam C.
In the mist upon the river
Still I stand and silent shiver
As the reed beds wind-swept quiver
In the wind upon the river.
In the wind upon the river
Silver foams the waters driven
By a slender vessel riven
Wreathed in mist upon the river.
Wreathed in mist upon the river
Grey the vessel silent drifting
Twisting currents ever shifting
Borne upon the flowing river.
Borne upon the flowing river
Turns the Elven vessel, staying
Motionless its burden laying
Lapped within the crystal river.
Lapped within the crystal river
Lies a pale warrior sleeping
Shredded mist about him creeping
Still before me on the River.
Still before me on the river
Marked with numerous wounds bitter
In his dark hair droplets glitter
Tossed like jewels by the river.
Tossed like jewels by the river
Are the tears that bathe my brother
Vain I wish it was another
Borne in death upon the river.
Borne in death upon the river
Clasped with leaves of golden shimmer
In his hands his blade-shards glimmer
Washed clean by the flowing river.
Washed clean by the flowing river
Long dark locks with care arrayed
At his head his round shield laid
Shining faintly in the river.
Shining faintly in the river
Emerald brooch wrought ‘neath the trees
His cloak grey-green as linden leaves
Woven with the rippling river.
Woven with the rippling river
Strands of radiance faintly glowing
Like the water round him flowing
Dreaming vision of the river.
Dreaming vision of the river
Granted peace and victory
Beneath your feet, your enemies
Lost to darkness in the river.
Lost to darkness in the river
Your great horn you no longer bear
From distant lands silent you fare
Slipping swiftly down the river.
Slipping swiftly down the river
Slowly spinning your grey boat turns
Borne away never to return
Upon the bosom of the river.
Upon the bosom of the river
Fading the ethereal gleam
Yet I know it was no dream
My brother lost unto the river.
My brother lost unto the river
Passing onward to the sea
There to sleep eternally
In the mist upon the river.
In the mist upon the river
Still I stand and silent shiver.
As the reed beds wind-swept quiver
In the wind upon the river.
~~ * ~~
Khazâd Ai-Mênu!
by Mirelien
The sun glinted off armor of gold
As the thirteen leapt to defend their mountain.
Thorin commanded them, King in his majesty;
Behind him his sister-sons, bearing shield and sword.
Courageous contenders for Erebor’s glory
Against a great army ten thousand orcs strong.
But Thorin was brave, and his bold arm strong.
Long had he waited to reclaim his gold
And now would he win it by works of glory,
Take his throne as rightful King under Mountain:
Raven-crown, Arkenstone, even the Elvish sword
Would seat him in Erebor, accent his majesty.
At his side Fili, heir of his majesty,
Stood at the ready, his lionheart strong
With love for the uncle who forged his first sword.
Armor and hair ‘neath the sun shone bright gold;
Worth more than all treasure in the mountain
His uncle held him and his bright glory.
Kili the valiant came next—not for glory
Fought he, but rather to guard Thorin’s majesty
And that of Erebor, tall Lonely Mountain,
New-found home. Hope made his arm strong
To strike at his foes who would steal the gold
If he failed to keep it with Dwarvish sword.
Dwarvish and Elvish, Mannish and orc sword
Flashed in the sunlight, steel-cold glory.
Silver drew scarlet, streaking the gold
Of heart, hair, and helm, marring their majesty
But not destroying. Their arms were strong
And deadly their blows in defense of their mountain.
At last the long battle ended. A mountain
Of fallen, both friend and foe, stolen by sword
And arrow and axe in the hands of the strong.
Long will the minstrels spin songs of their glory,
Long will they tell of the Durinsons’ majesty,
Striving for hope, for a home and for gold.
All hail the sword and its glittering glory,
All hail the gold in its myriad majesty—
All hail the strong, the Heirs of the Mountain!
~~ * ~~
Mithril and I would like to send a special thank you to everyone who sent in their poems this month, they are all so good we had a really hard time choosing which one’s to showcase on the frontpage, let us know which one’s are your favourites by checking them all out here. Cheers Kelvarhin x
