Senseless acts of poetry
Mar. 13th, 2007 06:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wombat1138In spring, a young(ish) marsupial's thoughts turn to Tolkien pastiche. Or something. I have no other rational explanation.
Fit the first: Balrog/Shalott.
The world was green, the Trees yet shone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
In many-pillared halls of stone
A king he was on carven throne
Beneath cold Caradhras.
Fanuidhol and Celebdil
Dwarves also delved for pale mithril
Down through the mountains' roots until
They dug too deep, alas.
They roused from sleep in brimstone bed
A nameless terror, wroth and red;
They wakened Durin's Bane and fled
From Silvertine and Cloudyhead,
From Redhorn's snowy pass.
Yet in far lands, the dwarves still sang
Of Khazad-Dum, Kheled-Zaram,
Of great halls where their hammers rang
Beneath cold Caradhras.
So Balin, Fundin's son, came forth
With friends and kinsmen from the North
Rekindling as by right of birth
That ancient realm beneath the earth
With lamps of crystal glass.
A few years prospered, but the cold
And silent dark returned of old;
No further word came from the bold
Of what had come to pass.
Through hidden doors in Hollin land
The wizard Tharkun came unplanned,
Gondolin's sword swift in his hand
And Anor's fire at his command;
Cried he, "You shall not pass!"
The Balrog's shadow spread out wide
Like wings unfurled from side to side
Upon the narrow bridge astride
The depths of Caradhras.
The wizard smote the bridge; they fell
Long time through darkness, deep as hell,
And still by sword and flame and spell
They fought. High on Zirak-zigil
As white as silver glass,
Ascending through the Endless Stair
To Durin's Tower, still the pair
Fought fiercely in the icy air
Beside cold Caradhras.
The Balrog fell, the Tower crashed
Upon the mountainside in ash;
At last was quenched his fiery lash.
But Gandalf's body too was smashed
Like shards of silver glass.
And yet by Valar's grace reborn
he rose again like silver morn;
Away by eagles he was borne
From cruel Caradhras.
When at last Isildur's Bane
Fell too into its mountain's flame,
Barad-Dur crumbled. The end came
To Sauron and to Mordor's reign.
Away from Caradhras,
Away from Middle-Earth the sail
Of the last elf-ship glimmered pale.
And so too ends the wizard's tale:
Namarie at last.
Fit the second: Nimrodel Lee.
It was many and many an Age ago
After Gil-galad fell
That an Elf-maid lived in Lothlorien
By the name of Nimrodel.
She was fair of face and fleet of foot,
Her voice was a silver bell.
But lost she was in the White Mountains;
Where she is now, none can tell.
At Edhellond, Amroth's grey ship stayed,
Waiting for Nimrodel;
A wind blew out of the North by night
As if some evil spell
Would drive his ship far out to sea
Without his Nimrodel.
He cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far across the swell,
Far away from his Nimrodel.
But his love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who lived to tell:
From helm to sea they saw Amroth leap
To return to Nimrodel;
His strong limbs flashed forth through the sea
As deep as a funeral knell.
Those havens are called now for that Elf-king,
And still the waters of Lorien sing
The songs of Nimrodel--
But nothing is known of Amroth's fate
Nor that of Nimrodel,
The beautiful Nimrodel.
And now for something completely different:
Axes don't faze them,
Torches gutter;
Ice won't glaze them,
Chainsaws stutter.
Bullets just pock them,
Anvils cause stains;
Nothing can stop them.
Might as well eat brains.
Addendum: the zombie jamboree continues.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
Out of the Valley of Death
Lurched the Six Hundred.
"Sharpen your stakes, my lass!
Aim for their hearts!" he said.
Out of the Valley of Death
Lurched the Six Hundred.
"Stake them straight through the heart!"
Was the brave girl dismayed?
Not though the Slayer knew
Someone had blundered;
Hers not to make reply,
Hers not to reason why,
Hers but to do or die.
Out of the Valley of Death
Lurched the Six Hundred.
Zombies to right of her,
Zombies to left of her,
Zombies in front of her
Ate brains and chundered;
Clutched at with rotting hands,
Boldly she took a stand
Against Six Hundred.
Brandished her stakes mid-air,
Kicking ass here and there
Wondering the hell where
Her Watcher studied;
Didn't that stupid git
Know that a zombie kit
Needed more chainsaws?
Still she fought on, unbit
By rotting jaws;
Zombie crud in her hair,
Bruised but unbloodied.
Zombies to right of her,
Zombies to left of her,
Zombies behind her:
"Bugger this for a lark!"
Rain flashed and thundered
O'er the desert park.
She ran back for an axe;
Chopped zombie heads with whacks--
No more live brains as snacks
For the Six Hundred.
Zombie confetti stained
The sand; good thing it rained
Into the Valley of Death.
"Looks like gazpacho."
The Slayer caught her breath
And fired her Watcher.
Fit the first: Balrog/Shalott.
The world was green, the Trees yet shone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
In many-pillared halls of stone
A king he was on carven throne
Beneath cold Caradhras.
Fanuidhol and Celebdil
Dwarves also delved for pale mithril
Down through the mountains' roots until
They dug too deep, alas.
They roused from sleep in brimstone bed
A nameless terror, wroth and red;
They wakened Durin's Bane and fled
From Silvertine and Cloudyhead,
From Redhorn's snowy pass.
Yet in far lands, the dwarves still sang
Of Khazad-Dum, Kheled-Zaram,
Of great halls where their hammers rang
Beneath cold Caradhras.
So Balin, Fundin's son, came forth
With friends and kinsmen from the North
Rekindling as by right of birth
That ancient realm beneath the earth
With lamps of crystal glass.
A few years prospered, but the cold
And silent dark returned of old;
No further word came from the bold
Of what had come to pass.
Through hidden doors in Hollin land
The wizard Tharkun came unplanned,
Gondolin's sword swift in his hand
And Anor's fire at his command;
Cried he, "You shall not pass!"
The Balrog's shadow spread out wide
Like wings unfurled from side to side
Upon the narrow bridge astride
The depths of Caradhras.
The wizard smote the bridge; they fell
Long time through darkness, deep as hell,
And still by sword and flame and spell
They fought. High on Zirak-zigil
As white as silver glass,
Ascending through the Endless Stair
To Durin's Tower, still the pair
Fought fiercely in the icy air
Beside cold Caradhras.
The Balrog fell, the Tower crashed
Upon the mountainside in ash;
At last was quenched his fiery lash.
But Gandalf's body too was smashed
Like shards of silver glass.
And yet by Valar's grace reborn
he rose again like silver morn;
Away by eagles he was borne
From cruel Caradhras.
When at last Isildur's Bane
Fell too into its mountain's flame,
Barad-Dur crumbled. The end came
To Sauron and to Mordor's reign.
Away from Caradhras,
Away from Middle-Earth the sail
Of the last elf-ship glimmered pale.
And so too ends the wizard's tale:
Namarie at last.
Fit the second: Nimrodel Lee.
It was many and many an Age ago
After Gil-galad fell
That an Elf-maid lived in Lothlorien
By the name of Nimrodel.
She was fair of face and fleet of foot,
Her voice was a silver bell.
But lost she was in the White Mountains;
Where she is now, none can tell.
At Edhellond, Amroth's grey ship stayed,
Waiting for Nimrodel;
A wind blew out of the North by night
As if some evil spell
Would drive his ship far out to sea
Without his Nimrodel.
He cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far across the swell,
Far away from his Nimrodel.
But his love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who lived to tell:
From helm to sea they saw Amroth leap
To return to Nimrodel;
His strong limbs flashed forth through the sea
As deep as a funeral knell.
Those havens are called now for that Elf-king,
And still the waters of Lorien sing
The songs of Nimrodel--
But nothing is known of Amroth's fate
Nor that of Nimrodel,
The beautiful Nimrodel.
And now for something completely different:
Axes don't faze them,
Torches gutter;
Ice won't glaze them,
Chainsaws stutter.
Bullets just pock them,
Anvils cause stains;
Nothing can stop them.
Might as well eat brains.
Addendum: the zombie jamboree continues.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
Out of the Valley of Death
Lurched the Six Hundred.
"Sharpen your stakes, my lass!
Aim for their hearts!" he said.
Out of the Valley of Death
Lurched the Six Hundred.
"Stake them straight through the heart!"
Was the brave girl dismayed?
Not though the Slayer knew
Someone had blundered;
Hers not to make reply,
Hers not to reason why,
Hers but to do or die.
Out of the Valley of Death
Lurched the Six Hundred.
Zombies to right of her,
Zombies to left of her,
Zombies in front of her
Ate brains and chundered;
Clutched at with rotting hands,
Boldly she took a stand
Against Six Hundred.
Brandished her stakes mid-air,
Kicking ass here and there
Wondering the hell where
Her Watcher studied;
Didn't that stupid git
Know that a zombie kit
Needed more chainsaws?
Still she fought on, unbit
By rotting jaws;
Zombie crud in her hair,
Bruised but unbloodied.
Zombies to right of her,
Zombies to left of her,
Zombies behind her:
"Bugger this for a lark!"
Rain flashed and thundered
O'er the desert park.
She ran back for an axe;
Chopped zombie heads with whacks--
No more live brains as snacks
For the Six Hundred.
Zombie confetti stained
The sand; good thing it rained
Into the Valley of Death.
"Looks like gazpacho."
The Slayer caught her breath
And fired her Watcher.