hosted
by my mentor and fairy god-father, Edward C. Patterson.
(Be sure to visit his web pages by clicking here.)
All LOTR photos courtesy of New Line Cinema
The
poems presented on this page are my own, created and kept in my memory,
sometimes for years, and only occasionally given to friends for viewing.
Finally, however, my verses are being gathered together like recalcitrant
children, given a last, hasty polishing up, and handed over for the
enjoyment of the masses. Sounds rather like I'm sending them to the
lions in a Roman amphitheater, doesn't it? Believe me, it almost feels
as though I am. I have visions of mauled and mangled words and phrases
being strewn about the court of public opinion because they were somehow
lacking in whatever it was that people expected from them. Well, so
be it. Although my ego is wrapped up in the success--however you care
to define it--of my poetry, I think it's finally time to step aside
and let them fly or fall on their own merits. Any parent will know how
hard that is.
(sung on the way to Crickhollow)
And make the sky my blanket.
The stars are embers of the sun's
Bright fire as I bank it.
I need no noisy cock to crow
The breaking of the day
For with the dawn the sun shall sweep
My bedroom quite away.
No longer sings its songs,
A Flower of Dreams it's now become
And for its past it longs;
A past when elven children sang
Their lovely golden songs.
Laurelindorenan it was called
When Elves first gave a name
Unto this golden vale, before
The evil Morgoth came
And first-born Elves began to leave;
Then Lorien it became.
A Noldor elf I came here once
From fair lands to the West
And fought the long defeat until
I, too, withstood the test,
Though now I mourn that I must fade
And leave like all the rest.
Eowyn's
Plea
I care not for the gentler arts
of other maiden's fair.
If forced to spin and weave my soul
would die in dark despair.
I fear not pain or death so much
as woman's guilded cage
that keeps her home to grieve
in unrelenting, hopeless rage.
So hand me sword and hand me sheild
but hand me not the gown
that bars me from the battlefields
of valor and renown.
The Anguish of the Ringbearer
In wilderness I walk alone
bereft of family and of home,
and near despairing I must roam
through lands where desolation's grown.
Broken roads I walk upon
past ruins where I don't belong.
Exhaustion sings its tempting song;
I face defeat, yet stumble on.
No comfort on this road for me,
all rest must short and cheerless be,
then on again by sad decree —
never stopping...never free.
Sauron
Overthrown
How
proud thou'st grown upon thy throne
In Barad Dur in Morder,
For with thy hate thou canst create
Chaos out of order.
But look thou West for there the best
Of Arda shall assemble,
And with their cries divert thy eyes
And set the hills a-tremble.
Then they shall fight with all their might
Thy evil cold and great
While, halfling size, with Elven eyes,
Another holds thy fate.
How proud thou'st grown upon thy throne,
But to thy utter ruin
Small Frodo threw thy ring into
The fires of Orodruin.
Seeing Elijah is neat,
But hearing him talk is a treat.
He's always polite,
His mom raised him right.
Now, SHE'S someone I'd like to meet.
Elijah's Eyes
The blues of pale chalcedony
And deepest lapis lazuli,
And if you look you're sure to see
The blue of summer skies.
Oh, the passion! Oh, the fire!
What emotions they inspire!
A painter's dream, a girl's desire:
Our sweet Elijah's eyes.