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.
Dain’s Last Stand
by David McG.
There’s a hallowed hill near Erebor were the heirs of Durin were slain.
And there upon that honoured mound stood the mighty warrior Dáin.
For many a year, great peace ensued for Dwarf and Men of the Dale.
The Orc Wars fought so long and fierce had seen the Dwarves prevail.
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
It was at Azanulbizar , Nanduhirion, that Dáin in fire was tested.
When as a stripling of the Iron Hills, the Great Pale Orc he bested.
There it was he at last avenged the death of the honoured Náin.
Though foresight stopped him fighting on, for he’d glimpsed grim ‘Durin’s Bane’
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
Emissaries from the Dark Lords lands had come with words of tempting.
To seek a ‘trifle’ in form of ring, the Great Kings aid pre-empting.
But well knew Dáin of the ancient deceit that had snared many a Dwarven Lord.
He refused the hand of the Morgul realm and they left in great discord.
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
Northward fiersome Easterling’s marched to punish the warrior King.
To lay to waste all Erebor in refusing to aid the ring.
Erebor North down to Gondor South, the armies of Mordor assailed.
Though fiercely outnumbered with backs to the wall, Dàin’s Kingdom again prevailed.
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
Brave men of Dale had answered Dàins call to face the Dark Lords threat.
Sons and fathers who would fight til they’d fall for past wrongs they would never forget.
And so it was for Good King Brand who led the Men of Dale.
Standing side by side with the mighty Dàin he fought there in the Vale.
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
But one by one the defenders fell , step by step retreated.
Til a fateful blow laid King Brand low and the allies seemed defeated.
But the Mighty Dàin would not submit, Brands body fierce defending.
His fiery axe drank dark revenge from a stream that seemed never ending.
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
Finally fell the Mighty King, though his life he sold so dear.
Whilst safe secured behind strong Erebor walls his people conquered fear.
Long assailed the Easterling hordes, long the free folk defended.
Til there came a dawn when the ravens cried “The War of the Ring has ended! “
Oh Mighty Dáin
King Under Mountain
Ruler of Durin’s Folk
Defender of the Dwarven Realms
We feast.
We drink.
We smoke!
~~ * ~~
From Éowyn’s Diary
by Kayla B.
All this time I believed
action was my only worth,
glossy as a thoroughbred
ready to race for the prize—
when really such belief only
lives in other people’s whispers
saying only one kind can win,
only one kind can be right.
Someone saw through masks
I thought were my real faces,
saw down through lie-scars
to the heart still beating
and I saw the rubbed-red-raw
part of me I tried to cut away
when really I am no
thoroughbred
instead I am a woman
who lives by coaxing heartbeats,
who wants to open other
stables of illness, injury,
which is why I never left
my uncle’s creasing face.
My own sick heartbeats
falter at changing pattern,
but if this is real
I will fight through
and I will prove to them
who I really am
and want to be.
~~ * ~~
Tinúviel’s Lengthening Song
by Melissa A.
Like full and flowing beards in Belegost,
As long as mangy tail of Carcharoth,
Or massive Glaurung, terror of the air,
As wide as trunk of Hírilorn the fair,
Like fearsome, sharp, bright blade of Glend, Nan’s Sword,
And Aulë’s ponderous chain, Angainor,
As high as stands the head of Gilim,
Or far as flows the hair of Uinen,
So long may my dark tresses grow to be,
To match the height of towering tree,
That of them ladder sturdy I may braid,
Descend to bring my suffering Beren aid.
~~ * ~~
