The Poetry Marathon

Prompt #12

The great red dragon from the north
gold it smelled, wealth that was felt
dwarves of Lonely Mountain
sought their riches, and they fled
desolation of great beast
nestled deep within
then one day, there came a knock
King came back, Thrain’s son reclaim
hobbit feet swiftly within
sneaking, quietly, seeking
Arkenstone hid
his breath unfurled, wants to know
does Bilbo want to steal
Friend or foe?
fire released, licking stones
beating back, hairy toed hero
friends escape
out through mountainside, serpent erupts
Laketown, undefended
one man races up
Bard the Bowman
black arrow through and through

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #11

Across the rolling hills, our Middle-Earth,
through the misty mountaintops, the lowly swamps;
the dancing and the music shires.
Quiet the darkening skies from reaches far,
black riders approach, the ring they seek.
Four little hobbits, on a journey far
through the Woody End, to Rivendell.
Saved by the elves, the group now nine,
far they travel, temptations great;
the party has split
the two cross the lands to the fiery hill.
The tower with the eye, seeking, looking, searching
rises above them all.
Another on a field drawing her sword, plunges it deep.
The seven below, now, lament their loss,
the ring is gone, the precious, the power.

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt  #10

in battle blood was drawn
orcs and dwarves
valiant fighting; swords and clubs
swinging,
bringing death
those blows of red
stark
quiet
forlorn faces, crimson laced

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #9

In the dark winter
Shelob wraps her little prey
Lurking deep, her cave

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #8

she will forgive
her temptations of these
her thoughts of wild
her dreams and–
dreams of power wandering
in the forest, the throes of cries
images of confusions
in the pools of
the waters; a
power that subsides, wasted
what is old, now her youth

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.
Forgive these wild and wandering cries
Confusion of a wasted youth

Prompt #7

Through and through and through they go
walking in the Elven wood
winding twisting cobbled paths
broken trees and fallen rocks.

Stepping forward, back,
upside down, confusion wreaks
Where are they?
Who are they?

The Elven magics of the Mirkwood
cast them in their doubts
intricate webs are woven
forever intertwined

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #6

In the midnight clearing
There sat an orc, sullenly sneering
His head rested upon his hand
As his gaze laid upon the rotted strand

His friends did die that night
What was set upon them was a blight
The mad wizard’s creations made from death
Carried on till their very last breath

Across the fields strewn with gore
With a sigh, his eyes he tore
When the shadow fell behind him
With a squeal, it was grim

His eyes, they closed at last
With a breath, he had passed
The poor orc lie quiet and still
Upon the nighttime war-torn hill

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #5

My round green door, it’s perfect brass knocker
The musty floorboards beneath my feet;
Creaking under the weight
It’s been a long time since I’ve been back to Bag-End
My perfect little hole, my home
The road, you see, is unending
It was not long after Bilbo left that I found myself
I found myself at the edge of the Shire
Pack in my hand, my pockets stuffed with Lembas bread
I was not a very important hobbit
Not like Biblo Baggins of Bag-End
I wanted my own adventure
And there I stood
I’d miss the warm fires, the pints and the dancing
I’d miss all the the tales and singing
I could not bear to miss it all
On my heel I’d turn
I’d wait for Biblo’s tales, his adventures
For he’d return and I wouldn’t have to miss anything at all.

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #4

Thorin, son of Thrain, the King Under the Mountain
He’s fled the Lonely Mountain
Sitting before Gandalf, he ponders the Durin’s Day
The decision must be made, Thorin Oakenshield

For now, it’s Rivendell and the elves
This journey, it’s dangerous they say, perilous
The elves left Thrain, left Thorin, left the dwarves Smaug
The decision must be made, Thorin Oakenshield

The riches, they lie deep in the Lonely Mountain
The little Laketown sits beneath the shadow
The great dragon and his horde, so much wealth
The decision must be made, Thorin Oakenshield

Through the stone door they go, deep into the halls of gold
Thorin’s sword at Bilbo’s chest, pushing back
The arkenstone, birthright of the greedy dwarves
The decision must be made, Thorin Oakenshield

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #3

The white wizard walks
Magic, power unrelenting
Echuir, the stirring

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)