The Poetry Marathon

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)

Prompt #2

From the Vales of Anduin
A good life I’ve lived
From the night beyond the White Shores
My song whispers across the seas;
One fateful day
So very long ago
I happened across a most curious thing
My precious
How it gleamed!
How it glittered!
How could I let anyone see?
To the caves under the Misty Mountains
My name
My name
Smeagol was once upon a time
My precious
The weight of my precious in my hands
On my finger
It was stolen from me you see, by a little hobbit thief
Those nights were madness
Tormented, I searched, I fought, I hid
One day
One day I saw it again;
My precious
How my heart, it swelled and I wanted nothing more
I had to follow them, go with them, show them the way
In the right moment, I took my chance
My precious
My precious was mine
Never again would we part.

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Prompt #1

Through the Middle-Earth, wreathed in flicking flame
The whispers of an age lost, carried by the hollow winds
The echoes that slept in the darkness below
Deep in the great halls of Khazad-dûm, the dwarves would dig
Deeper and deeper, they’d go; their greed, it knew no end
The nameless creature rose forth with a bellowing roar
Their weapons dropped, the waters stilled
Under the Misty Mountains they fled and died
Triumphant, the Balrog of Morgoth returned to darkness
Those deep mines of Moria, lay quiet for a time
The orcs, they settled in, the Balrog now their God
Through a battle lost, the named beast stayed
One fateful day, the doors to Khazad-dûm was opened
The howling wail of despair echoed through
The Chamber of Marazul, a tomb for the kings of old
The creature woke, it’s fiery visage looming tall and fast
The wizard and the Balrog fell through the black-chasm to the waters below
From the Endless Stair to the peak of Celebdil
Their battle raged on
The wizard stood above the beast, his chest heaving and arms raised
The time of the nameless creature drew to and end
The Balrog of Morgoth, its flames gone, and its last dying breath
The centuries of the dwarves lament

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)