Gandalf the White (The Rake's Song, Colin Meloy)

I have Lord of the Rings on the brain right now.  Here's a reflection from Gandalf - the slightly less responsible movie version, who's into drinking in libraries and barging in on hobbits in the middle of the night - addressing Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas to the tune of the Decemberists' The Rake's Song.

Gandalf the White

As I researched objects of power,
I blew rings and guzzled tankards of beer.
Then an Elven matron caught me,
And she chided, “Sir, you can’t smoke in here,
All right?  Books might ignite!”

Though I was irked, I had what I needed:
Confirmation we were facing the worst.
So much to do, a war to prepare for...
But I had to see Frodo off first.
I brought his plight to light
And gave him quite a fright.

“Frodo,” I told him, “Bilbo left a golden trinket.
I can’t rest until it’s finally gone.
Riders from Mordor could come to your door,
So you and Samwise must leave with the dawn.
Your flight starts at first light.”

Then when he left, I went to the wizard
Who I could count on to help with my quest.
Though I suspected that my efforts would be futile,
I had hope when I consulted the best -
The White - he’d set things right.
But White was not too bright.

Saruman locked me on the top of a tower.
Took an eagle to escape from his wrath.
Came back to you, and I led you but tumbled
Toward the Balrog as you ran up the path.
Our fight went on all night.

Then after I won, I left but returned here.
Seems the world was not finished with me.
I know that you think I don’t look like Gandalf;
That’s because the Grey is gone, you see.
So cite delight, not fright.
I’m called Gandalf the White!

Moria (Today, Randy Sparks)

Gimli sings the praises of Balin and Moria to Legolas to the tune of John Denver's Today.

Moria

Today, in the kingdom that they call a mine,
We’ll find sanctuary and lavishly dine.
The tests of tomorrow are ages away;
Balin the valiant will host us in style today.

Legolas, let me assure you that no one
In all of your halls where the Elven lords sing
Can rival the heart of that cousin of Gloin.
Truly he’s the noblest of kings.

Today, in the kingdom that they call a mine,
We’ll rest - once the wizard can work out this sign.
The tests of tomorrow are ages away;
Balin the valiant will host us in style today.

His deeds are recounted in old Bilbo’s story,
Well-known to the hobbit who’s bearing the Ring.
Come, let us meander through Moria’s glory;
Beauty is not just an Elf thing.

Today, in the kingdom that they call a mine,
We’ll marvel at mithril so fluid and fine.
The tests of tomorrow are ages away;
Balin the valiant will host us in style today.

Today, in the kingdom that they call a mine,
We’ll find sanctuary and lavishly dine.
The tests of tomorrow are ages away;
Balin the valiant will host us in style today.

The Ranger (Angel, Sarah McLachlan)

I've had Lord of the Rings on my mind lately, so here's a song addressing Frodo Baggins on the subject of the mysterious Strider around the time that he first meets him, to the tune of Sarah McLachlan's Angel.  This one goes out to my good buddy Crissy!

The Ranger

Spent half the night waiting for a hint or glance
Of the guy they call Gandalf the Grey. 
Just count on a wizard!  When the going gets tough,
Then those sorcerous sorts stay away.
You’re itching for action and, driven by caprice,
Warble a lively refrain.
But then you vanish, and a mystery man asks
To aid you in your plight.

You’re alarmed by the Ranger
Who has met you here,
For he’s dark, hardly well-groomed
And insulting you with his sneer.
But he knows of your mission
And the violence that you flee.
You won’t be harmed by the Ranger;
You will find he is sincere.

So unsure of Strider, but very soon you’ll learn
To trust that he’s watching your back.
This gold does not glitter.  While he wanders, he’s wise
To the ways of the riders in black.
You‘re such an innocent, you’ve got to have a guide,
So stick with him when you leave.
Though he’s a stranger, he will shield you from danger
And foil your enemies.

You’re alarmed by the Ranger
Who has met you here,
For he’s dark, hardly well-groomed
And insulting you with his sneer.
But he knows of your mission
And the violence that you flee.
You won’t be harmed by the Ranger;
You will find he is sincere.

Don't be alarmed by the Ranger;
You will find he is sincere.

Galadriel (Midnight Well, Phil Coulter)

At the request of my dad, here's a song to the tune of Phil Coulter's Midnight Well about the Fellowship's stay in Lothlorien in Lord of the Rings, and in particular Frodo's offer to give Galadriel his Ring.

Galadriel

In the golden wood of Lorien
Lived Galadriel.
She could gaze into the hearts of men,
Galadriel.
Eight travelers charged with a perilous quest
Approached her in wonder and fear.
She awarded them rest
But encountered a test
When the innocent Frodo drew near.

For he bore an object much desired
By Galadriel,
And the humble hobbit, who admired
Fair Galadriel,
Quietly made her an offer.
He stood exhausted and half-hypnotized.
With trust in his voice,
Frodo gave her the choice
To lay claim to the power she prized

When he said,

"Take the Ring, take the Ring from me,
Please lift this thing from me, Lady of goodness and light.
Take the Ring, take the Ring.
Wear it proudly and set the world right."

As he watched, a shadow crossed the face
Of Galadriel.
In her eyes was guile and not the grace
Of Galadriel.
She mused, "I could rule over all Middle-earth,
Inspiring both love and despair."
But the dark moment passed
As she bravely held fast,
And an elegy hung in the air

When she said,

"Keep the Ring, keep the Ring from me.
Temptation's sting will decline as I fade with the light.
Keep the Ring, keep the Ring.
Hold it close and continue to fight." (repeat twice) 

Midnight Well (scroll down to music player)

Frodo, Where's Your Finger? (Donald Where's Your Trousers, Andy Stewart / Neil Grant)

This one goes out to my uncle, a big fan of both Lord of the Rings and The Irish Rovers.  This is a parody of their version of the delightfully silly Donald, Where's Your Trousers?

Frodo, Where's Your Finger?

From the Cracks of Doom back to Hobbiton,
Since the day that my quest was done,
I have heard from everyone,
"Frodo, where's your finger?"

Now liberated from Sauron's Eye,
I huddled with Sam and prepared to die.
Then Eagles swooped down from the sky,
Screeching, "Frodo, where's your finger?"

From the Cracks of Doom back to Hobbiton,
Since the day that my quest was done,
I have heard from everyone,
"Frodo, where's your finger?"

While I was praised in Gondor's hall,
I spied the cheekiest Took of all
And grumbled as I heard him call,
"Frodo, where's your finger?"

From the Cracks of Doom back to Hobbiton,
Since the day that my quest was done,
I have heard from everyone,
"Frodo, where's your finger?" (2x)

Returning home, my friends began
To scrub away the damage of Saruman,
While I was keen to start a ban
On "Frodo, where is your finger?"

From the Cracks of Doom back to Hobbiton,
Since the day that my quest was done,
I have heard from everyone,
"Frodo, where's your finger?"

I'm on my way to the distant West,
To join the ancient Elven blessed.
Now after all this time, I can have a rest
From "Frodo, where's your finger?"

From the Cracks of Doom back to Hobbiton,
Since the day that my quest was done,
I have heard from everyone,
"Frodo, where's your finger?"
"Frodo, where's your finger?"

G-I-M-L-I (Oscar Meyer Bologna Song)

Here is one of the shortest parodies I have written, to the tune of the Oscar Mayer bologna song. I was on a car trip and trying to take my mind off of motion sickness. My brother warned me against such a venture; I ignored him for this little post-Rivendell rant by Legolas. At least it's over in the blink of an eye...

G-I-M-L-I

This companion has a first name.
It's G-I-M-L-I.
This companion has no second name;
He's just that sort of guy.
Our Fellowship would be just great
If we could knock nine down to eight,
'Cuz bearded Gimli has a way
Of I-R-K-ing me all day.

Bilbo and the Eagles

I've been going through some of my files, and I came across half a dozen Tolkien-related poems that I never posted during my rush of Middle-earth poetry a year and a half ago. I guess I left them out because I don't like them as much as the others, but they're halfway-decent, so I might as well complete my little collection online, and then maybe I can get around to writing some new ones.

One problem with this one is that I can't seem to confirm whether the Lord of the Eagles in The Hobbit is, in fact, Gwaihir. I thought he was, but now I'm having doubts... Ah, well. Anyway, here's Bilbo in flight, not something he's particularly thrilled about, and yet a little part of him is...

Bilbo and the Eagles

Jump for joy or quake in fear?
Bilbo can’t decide
How to greet the great Gwaihir.
Is he on their side?

Stern but still not quite unkind,
He lets out a cry.
Swiftly, as if of one mind,
His subjects fill the sky.

Bilbo shudders, stunned and shaken,
When a mighty eagle
Grabs him like a piece of bacon.
How can this be legal?

What a rush of vertigo!
Bilbo writhes around.
He does not care where they go –
As long as it’s the ground.

After what seems like hours,
All the eagles land.
He marvels at their power,
Drawn from wings, not hands.

Bilbo bows in homage to
Lord Gwaihir’s dominion.
Though terror’s in his talons, true
Beauty’s in his pinions.

He’s relieved to feel the earth
Underneath his feet.
But this ride’s been a rebirth.
The difference is discreet.

No one but the wizard sees
He’s changed with the descent.
Awakened by the journey, he’s
Ready for adventure.

A Fading Queen

This is one of my oldest Lord of the Rings poems, barring some really crummy ones I wrote in middle and high school. I probably wrote it about five years ago. I guess Galadriel isn't really a queen technically, but I've always thought of her as one. The Elves have a rather tough time of it in Lord of the Rings, and Galadriel is an especially tragic case...

A Fading Queen

In Lorien a maiden fair
Was born to reign as queen.
The sunlight shimmered in her hair
Through mallorn treetops green.

Aerendil’s haunting star of light,
Reflected in her eyes,
Betrayed a cruel heart-wrenching plight
That she could not disguise.

Her ancient wisdom served to tell
Of sorrows yet to come
But could not show Galadriel
A way to save her home.

Then opportunity arose
For her to take her place
As ruler greater than her foes...
But she declined with grace.

Her pristine spirit’s Elven glow
Would not be extinguished.
With dignity she’d fading go,
Wistful, but distinguished.

In misty lands across the sea –
Beyond the west of West –
Her enchanted soul wanders free
In soft slumberless rest.

A Prejudiced Protest

Here's a little rant I wrote in the voice of grumbly Gimli. He certainly wasn't too keen on spending much time with Legolas when the Fellowship was formed. If only he knew...

A Prejudiced Protest

I don’t want to go questin’
With any ruddy Elf
From the high and mighty West.
I would rather go myself.

I would rather battle Sauron
With my axe and my bare hands
Than accompany this moron
Across strange and barren lands.

I won’t travel any distance
With this pointy-eared buffoon.
I will utter my resistance
Till the light of Durin’s moon.

He’s self-satisfied and prissy.
Gandalf thinks he’s grand, I know,
But I bet that he’s a sissy
And he’s never used that bow.

He’s ethereal and pretty
With his lustrous golden hair;
Our adventure will be gritty,
And he’s surely unprepared.

I can almost hear him whining
In his silly silken style.
He’ll be melancholy, pining
For his trees mile after mile.

I’m a noble son of Gloin.
I resent being subjected
To his company. I’m goin’,
But I’m angry and dejected.

If I can, I will avoid him,
Difficult as that may be;
If I find I have annoyed him,
That will be just fine with me.

I will put up with this Greenleaf,
But don’t blame me if I fail.
He will be giving me more grief
Than a Dark Lord grim and pale.

If I manage not to kill him
By the time this journey ends,
I will be impressed but still
Know we never can be friends.

Good Morning

Here is another poem about Bilbo Baggins, this one focusing on his fateful meeting with Gandalf in the first few pages of The Hobbit.

Good Morning

“Good morning!” Bilbo greeted
The wizard at his door.
Internally, he bleated,
“What is it he’s here for?”

His figure was imposing,
As was his gnarled pole.
What right did he have nosing
Around his hobbit hole?

As Bilbo’s stomach rumbled –
For second breakfast waited –
He did not dare to grumble
But stood there with breath bated.

“Adventure” was the sole word
Escaping Gandalf’s lips
That Bilbo actually heard.
His hands went to his hips.

“Nasty things,” he objected.
“They make you late for dinner.”
“Tomorrow,” directed
Gandalf, “We will begin.”

He left poor Bilbo in dismay.
The hobbit thought, “How could
I be foolish enough to say
This morning would be good?”

The Innkeeper

I always really liked Butterburr and was a bit bummed when the whole incident with the message from Gandalf that he failed to deliver was cut out of the movie. He's a great character. Hm, and his name is suspiciously similar to butterbeer, my favorite fictional beverage...

The Innkeeper

Is Barliman a snarly man?
Oh, no. Hardly ever.
With ready smile and pleasant style,
He’s kindly, if not clever.

With warmth and cheer, he serves up beer
That travelers admire.
His cozy restaurant’s the best
On this side of the Shire.

The rousing tales, good food and ales
That fill the Prancing Pony
Spark gratitude. His attitude
Is grand and never phony.

Running this inn has worn him thin
(In mind, that is, not body).
It’s hard to claim that he’s to blame
If his memory’s shoddy.

And if he must watch with distrust
The dark, forbidding Ranger,
It’s no surprise. Those hooded eyes
Are flecked with hints of danger.

His heart is pure, but Butterburr’s
Rosy cheeks are redder
Than ever now. He can’t see how
He could forget that letter.

It’s understood this man is good;
He may be spared his gizzard.
But still he quakes, for his mistake
Has quite upset a wizard.

In his defense, the consequence
Of Barliman’s omission
Was not too grim. It’s not on him
If Frodo fails his mission.

He is, of course, filled with remorse.
As tears roll down his face,
Gandalf just sighs, “All right, don’t cry.
Your heart’s in the right place.”

A Dragon's Dreams

Here's a rather sad little ode to Smaug, the fearsome dragon in The Hobbit. He's certainly not a nice creature, but there are times during his conversation with Bilbo when I can't help but feel a bit sympathetic toward him...

A Dragon’s Dreams

Mighty Smaug, treasure hog,
Loiters in his cave.
All alone on his throne,
He need not be brave.

He need not give a thought
To the world of men,
But if gold makes them bold,
He’ll give chase again.

He will show that he’s no
Obsolete reptile.
His foul breath will bring death.
They will call him vile.

They’ll declare him unfair,
Repugnant and wrong.
“Villainous!” they will fuss,
Hating him in song.

He will spread gloom and dread
With his midnight raids
Twice a year, so the fear
Never fully fades.

Smaug’s dream stops. His tail flops.
With a startled snore,
He is bent toward a scent
He’s not smelled before.

He can’t see what must be.
Soon he will descend
Upon Dale, where he’ll fail
And his dreams will end.

You've Got an Ent (You've Got a Friend, Carole King)

All this Charlie on the brain has put me in mind of Merry, so here's a little song for Merry and Pippin for their sojourn in Fangorn Forest, to the tune of You've Got a Friend.

You've Got an Ent

Have you found that double
Hobbits make a charming pair
But never, never can match the might
Of the evil enemy
That could be anywhere?
And what about this guy? Is he all right?

When you bid him "hello,"
If his answer's painfully slow -
So long coming, you see the moss grow -
If his hair changes each fall,
If he's ancient, gruff and tall,
If he's Treebeard,
You've got an Ent.

Since the Shire you love is
Threatened by the Dark Lord's shroud,
You feel bold. You want to make orc heads roll.
Treebeard may be weathered,
But he is fierce and proud.
Stick with him and you will achieve your goal.

When you bid him "hello,"
If his answer's painfully slow -
So long coming, you see the moss grow -
If his hair changes each fall,
If he's ancient, gruff and tall,
If he's Treebeard,
You've got an Ent.

Ain't it good to know you've got an Ent?
You're out of the orc horde's hold.
He'll shade you, and he'll aid you
In making Isengard crumble.
Hold tight; don't tumble!

When you bid him "hello,"
If his answer's painfully slow -
So long coming, you see the moss grow -
If his hair changes each fall,
If he's ancient, gruff and tall,
If he's Treebeard,
You've got an Ent.

Where Has All the Pipe-Weed Gone? (Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Pete Seeger / Joe Hickerson)

I wrote this one a while back and wasn't going to post it because, as you can see if you are familiar with Where Have All the Flowers Gone?, I didn't change much. But then I figured... Eh, why not?

Where Has All the Pipe-Weed Gone?

Where has all the pipe-weed gone, long time passing?
Where has all the pipe-weed gone, long time ago?
Where has all the pipe-weed gone?
Hobbits made smoke rings, one by one.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Where have all the hobbits gone, long time passing?
Where have all the hobbits gone, long time ago?
Where have all the hobbits gone?
Chased by Riders, every one.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Where have all the Riders gone, long time passing?
Where have all the Riders gone, long time ago?
Where have all the Riders gone?
Back to Sauron, every one
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Where's the Dark Lord Sauron gone, long time passing?
Where's the Dark Lord Sauron gone, long time ago?
Where's the Dark Lord Sauron gone?
He's an eye bright as the sun.
Oh, when will he ever learn?
Oh, when will he ever learn?

Where have all the sun's rays gone, long time passing?
Where have all the sun's rays gone, long time ago?
Where have all the sun's rays gone?
Gone to pipe-weed, every one.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Where has all the pipe-weed gone, long time passing?
Where has all the pipe-weed gone, long time ago?
Where has all the pipe-weed gone?
Hobbits made smoke rings, one by one.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

He Didn't Scour the Shire (We Didn't Start the Fire, Billy Joel)

I am a huge Tolkien fan, and I was thrilled with Peter Jackson's film trilogy. But the purist in me cried out on a few occasions, and many I know cried out even louder, so I thought I'd point out all his mis-steps. I figured Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire would give me a lot to work with. I kid because I love, Pete. And because sometimes you frustrate me...

He Didn't Scour the Shire

We are rabid Tolkien fans, and we make great demands
On that bearded, nerdy weirdo who's the guy who took
The professor's thrilling epic, made it base and anti-septic.
Start to finish, he diminished our favorite book.

What of Bombadil? Peter Jackson said nil.
Arwen replaced Glorfindel; we think that's a sin.
Rosie is a barmaid, Sam wishes he had stayed
In the Shire. We are tired of the changes he made.

He didn't scour the Shire.
Even though we pleaded,
Peter never heeded.
He didn't scour the Shire.
Though we tried to fight it,
Peter wouldn't write it.

Middle-earth's long history must remain a mystery
To the newbies who are too befuddled to know
Just why one big eye's such a threat to this shy,
Flaccid furry fellow who's called Frodo.

Helm's Deep? We weep every time Legolas leaps
Like a surfer and Gimli says to Aragorn, "Toss me!"
Have to hold us down when Sam-fool turns around,
Heading home all alone while bawling profusely.

He didn't scour the Shire.
Even though we pleaded,
Peter never heeded.
He didn't scour the Shire.
Though we tried to fight it,
Peter wouldn't write it.

We admit we're a bit grossed when man and elf swap spit.
Would you tell these fans, why'd you axe Saruman?
When did the ents become so completely ho-hum?
Pip and Merry? Well fed, fruity couple of pot-heads.

Sam gets rope and complains, grumbles each time it rains.
Covets potatoes in a flash video.
Gollum goes free-lance, swears and does a crazy dance
On a dumb awards show. How low can he go?

He didn't scour the Shire.
Even though we pleaded,
Peter never heeded.
He didn't scour the Shire.
Though we tried to fight it,
Peter wouldn't write it.

Hobbits are too young, immature and far-flung,
Nonsense accents tripping upon their tongues.

Pippin's always in the mood to abscond with someone's food.
Scary Merry lectures ents severely.
Frodo has doe eyes. Worst of all, though, is Samwise.
Cries all day! Clearly gay! What else do we have to say?

He didn't scour the Shire.
Even though we pleaded,
Peter never heeded.
He didn't scour the Shire.
Though we tried to fight it,
Peter wouldn't write it.

Legolas makes teens swoon. Gimli wants to kill him soon.
Aragorn sings, hating that he's king.
Boromir, who's hopping mad, wants the Ring for his dad.
Gandalf smokes and guzzles mead while he sits and tries to read.

Faramir is cruel and crass. Eomer has got no class,
Never done poking fun at 'most everyone
Who is less than four feet tall. Celeborn's part is too small.
Scrubbing bubbles win the war. We can't take it anymore!

He didn't scour the Shire.
Even though we pleaded,
Peter never heeded.
He didn't scour the Shire.
Though we tried to fight it,
Peter wouldn't write it.

He didn't scour the Shire,
And when he is gone,
We will grumble on and on and on...

Tom Bombadil (Don Quixote, Gordon Lightfoot)

Here is an ode to that most enigmatic of Tolkien characters, Tom Bombadil, as eccentric in his own way as Don Quixote. I can't really take issue with his omission from the blockbuster trilogy, but I thought he deserved a bit of attention...

Tom Bombadil

Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes an horseman wild and free.
Plucking flowers, singing nonsense...
Who could the sprightly fellow be?

He seems young, but he is ancient.
He is wise but unaware,
Richly clothed but often naked.
Bombadil is free from care.

Reaching for a hobbit's hand,
He rescues him from Old Man Willow's grasp
And, prancing like a fairy prince,
He sings upon the mossy forest floor
Till he can sing no more,

"I have left Goldberry waiting
In our home, not far from here.
Very soon, I'll start relating
My adventures through the years.

I have ridden Fatty Lumpkin
Over hill and over dale.
Middle-earth is in a slump,
But nature's beauty will not fail.

See the rabbits in the meadow.
See the thrushes in the trees.
See the branches, steeped in shadow,
Swaying in a gentle breeze."

Reaching for a hobbit's hand,
He laughs, as giddy as a bubbling stream.
Then striking up a lordly pose,
He sings upon the mossy forest floor
Till he can sing no more,

"See the flowers timidly
Peek out to greet the rays of sun.
See the endless starry sea
That fills the sky when day is done.

See the dew that lightly rests
Upon the leaves in gleaming drops.
See the songbirds build their nests,
A joyful job that never stops.

See the berries ripe for eating.
When we get back to my lair,
We will have a happy meeting.
You will see Goldberry's hair.

Hey dol, merry dol, me laddies!
Ring dong dillo! Ring a dong!
See the world with me and Fatty,
Happy as the day is long!"

Reaching for a hobbit's hand,
He babbles, unconcerned with what he says,
And standing like a statue now,
He sings upon the mossy forest floor.

The setting sun illuminates
The verdant clothes that drape his lanky frame
As he repeats his name,
Ol' Tom Bombadil.

Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes a horseman wild and free.
Plucking flowers, singing nonsense...
Who could the sprightly fellow be?

He seems young, but he is ancient.
He is wise but unaware,
Richly clothed but often naked.
Bombadil is free from care.


Don Quixote

Samwise (Bright Eyes, Mike Batt)

I knew I'd have to rhapsodize about Sam Gamgee sooner or later, and what better way to do it than with Bright Eyes, one of the most beautiful songs I know? 

Samwise

Were you this kind from birth,
Furry-footed young squire
Following your master through Middle-earth?
Do you know your worth?
Though you're most at home in a garden,
You have proven that you
Are brave enough to serve the hobbit who
Was destined from birth
To save Middle-earth.

Samwise, child of the Shire.
Samwise, integral to the tale.
How could you know
Without you, Frodo's
Quest would be doomed to fail?
Samwise...

Haunted by Mordor's shadow,
Calmed by Earendil's light,
Wandering, praying to be unseen,
As if in a dream,
Do you miss wind in the trees
And green grass and fresh air?
Is Rose Cotton wondering, "Where'd he go?"
Will you meet your end
Protecting your friend?

Samwise, child of the Shire.
Samwise, integral to the tale.
How could you know
Without you, Frodo's
Quest would be doomed to fail?
Samwise...

White Shores

One of my very favorite scenes from the entire Lord of the Rings film trilogy was the exchange between Gandalf and Pippin as Minas Tirith crumbled around them and it seemed more than likely to Pippin that he wasn't going to live to see another day. I didn't expect it because it wasn't in the book, and I'm not at all sure Tolkien would have approved of it. A delibrate tweaking of Tolkien's theology for Middle-earth, perhaps. Or just Gandalf blowing off smoke. But I preferred to take it as a delicious secret, hidden there all along, that suddenly was brought into the light of day. White shores are not reserved for the heroic likes of Frodo alone. The ordinary shmucks have a chance, too. Or so I'd like to think, anyway.

White Shores

The old and grizzled wizard had a hobbit by his side,
And a nervous, tender-hearted soul was he.
Little more than just a child, the Halfling’s innocence had died
In the face of war’s colossal misery.

All that he had to cling to was this figure robed in white,
This stern and distant leader he admired,
And gazing in the distance, fairly shivering from fright,
Pippin felt alone and miniscule and tired.

Torn from his true companion - Oh, where was Merry now? -
He wondered if they’d ever meet again,
And what he’d say to make up for his foolishness, and how
He’d ever manage to survive till then.

The day grew ever darker, and the enemy’s advance
Left him on the verge of sobs and short of breath.
Biting back his inhibitions, Pippin dared to take a chance
And engage the mentor who had stared down death.

“I didn’t think,” he stammered, “that it would end this way…”
And Gandalf turned and gazed into his eyes
And painted him a picture he could see as clear as day
While Pippin blinked in gratified surprise.

“White shores,” the wizard promised with a voice warm as the sun.
“A far green country.” Greener than Shirelands?
“A swift sunrise.” Could it be that when this dark day was done,
New life would dawn? He clasped the wizard’s hands.

Perhaps the words were empty, just some murmured loveliness
To calm a shattered spirit at the end
Of a long and valiant struggle. They’d have hardly moved him less
As the final desperate comfort of a friend.

He took them to be truthful, though; if nothing else, they meant
That his little life was worth a little more
Than he’d dared to dream. “That’s not so bad,” he whispered as he bent
Toward the battle, unafraid to take the oar.

Humility

I can't help but root for the underdog. I guess that's why I love Faramir. He's such a gentle, compassionate person, yet his father doesn't seem to appreciate him at all. My last poem sided with the dad, but in this father-child relationship my sympathies lie with the son. Faramir will always be my favorite human in Lord of the Rings.

Humility

Faramir. A docile man, a scholar and a dreamer,
A Hobbit sympathizer grim but gentle.
A loyal son, but not a master military schemer,
Not built for battles dire and monumental.

There’s more of Elf and Hobbit about him than mortal man.
With little use for glory, gain and power,
He’d rather spend his afternoons in peaceful, verdant lands
Than lead the charge in Gondor’s darkest hour.

But though he is unsuited, he’s his kingdom’s final hope,
So play the role of warrior he must,
Deterred not by the enemy and its enormous scope
Or by his father’s obvious distrust.

He knows that he forever will live under the shadow
Of Boromir, his favored older brother.
He’s haunted by the knowledge, undeniable and sad.
This truth torments him more than any other.

And yet he does not compromise his own integrity
For Denethor, demented would-be king.
His senses are unclouded and his eyes can clearly see
The danger that’s inherent in the Ring.

He must lead his troops to battle, where they will fight and fall,
As hopelessly outnumbered as they are.
This tactical advantage, this gift could save them all
And win love that’s eluded him so far.

It would be all too easy to seize the Ring of gold,
But he resists, and Middle-earth survives.
With dignity and honor, he’ll gracefully grow old
While Gondor, draped again in glory, thrives.

All will hail the mighty king and little laud the steward
Standing on the sidelines, calm and quiet.
But Faramir’s a hero, and he saved Middle-earth too –
Though if somebody said so, he’d deny it.

On This Mountain

So it's been a while since a wrote a Tolkien-inspired poem, and I decided it was about time. I finally broke down today and bought myself the Lord of the Rings poster calendar, and the picture for January is what is quite possibly the most beautiful image in the whole trilogy: Sam carrying Frodo up Mount Doom, a la the Pieta. Looking at it, I could hear the instrumental strains of Into the West rising up. Beautiful. So that was the scene I tackled in the following poem. Hope you like it.

On This Mountain

There is danger on this mountain,
Where the air is foul and fell
Far above the lava fountain
Where no decency can dwell.

Frodo’s gentle eyes are clouded,
And he can’t recall the Shire,
For his faculties are shrouded
In ferocity and fire.

There is naught to taste but ashes.
Little memory remains
Of Hobbiton’s wholesome hashes
Or its berries ripe with rain.

All its idylls and its greenness
Are desperately far away,
And the world is full of meanness
And distortion and decay.

Yet with all the gloom around him,
Samwise stubbornly remembers.
Dim despair has not yet found him
In the darkness and the embers.

With a pain profound and piercing,
Samwise watches his friend fade,
And his passion makes him fierce
As he finds strength to bring him aid.

“I can carry you!” he roars.
With a focus undefiled,
Sam plucks Frodo from the floor
And cradles him like a child.

Every step is slow and steady.
As the Cracks of Doom draw near,
Defiance renders him ready.
He is numb to any fear.

And this scene so grim and gritty,
So engorged with grief and grime,
Evokes feelings not of pity
But of glory as he climbs.

Now the Shire is not so distant,
Nor its beauty out of view.
Sam reclaimed it in an instant
With, “But I can carry you.”