Banazir the Jedi Hobbit proves his worth
for more of same see the Red Songboonk of the VestPoetry of Banazir the Great tiny
A Wingèd Balrog Foresees His Trask
I know that I shall meet my end, Somewhere upon the tower above; Him that I fight I could not rend, His flesh seems made of sterner stuff; My ancient haunt was Moria's stair My kine were Moria's myriad orcs, No doom could bring them more despair Nor fate redeem Great Melkor's works. Nor Lord, nor Captain bade me fight, Nor puny Men, nor tasty Elves, Like the Great Worms, we beings of might Will rise to wrath where Dwerrows delve; Aspire not to lasting fame Will I, in mortal combat locked, Majestic, slippered living flame Brought low by lowly hobbit's rock! (Apologies and thnaks to William Butler Yeats)
The Lay of Cholesterol
Goblets they blagged there for themselves, With chips of gold. And from the shelves With onion rings came wondrous things Like plastic ears, to play at elves... (Mike Scott Rohan) He ordered a box of salty fries, Of Whoppers, soft drinks, and of apple pies, Greasy and deep-fried, so fattening, But sudden the patrons there battening Saw instead a great vision quite addling Of diets, sustainable weight control, Fitting through doors of their hobbit holes, And arteries unclogged, good health and physique (if only the path to the gym they might seek), Of Healthy Choice and of Slim-Fast snacks Instead of pacemakers and heart attacks Backwards and forwards swayed their minds Reeling, foundering, as ever the tines Of dinner forks rang, and still they fought, And with all their desperate strength they sought From Burger King to fly in haste Rising from benches they all tossed their waste Depositing them in receptacles But from the counter great tentacles Of fragrance wafted forth to kill The urge to flight, and drain their will. Then their mouths watered; drooling, drizzling For flame-broiled patties softly sizzling On white bread buns, twixt onions and lettuce, Ripened tomatoes and red fancy ketchup, Thus with all thought of leaving dispelled, The captives for more sandwiches yell, Their kids play. They hardly see. Their leather belts loosen a notch or three. Their dinners sit in stomachs like lead, While doctors shake their knowing heads. Beef patties flip, the fires burn- And so we fall before the throne.
HOWL (with apologies to Allen Ginsburg)
In honor of Morwen, who called upon the Dundeead of TEUNC to howl at the full moon this night. For Carcharoth I I saw the best wolves of my generation destroyed by Huan, slavering hysterical bleeding, dragging themselves through the Elves' forest in pain to put the holy fire out, Aukoheaded wargsters burning for the ancient darkling connection to the power of Angband in the machin- ery of night, who ravenous and rage-filled and lycanthropes and fey paced the bridges in the supernatural darkness of Tol-in-Gauroth floating across the ghostly tower contemplating death, who bared their souls to Sauron there on the Isle and saw Morgothian balrogs running with whips of fire illuminated, who passed through the great pathless void with feral red eyes hallucinating Valinor and kinslaying tragedy amid the /fear/ of Elves, who were expelled from the company of Manwe for nothing but lifting a back leg at the roots of the Two Trees, arfarfarwhraring biting tearing gnawing rending Men and prisoners and Elvenkings who really bite and shocks of Silmarils and jails and wars, ah, Carch, while you're running mad I'm running mad, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time like the ones who crossed through the icy strait obsessed with a desperate need to be reconciled what's the use of the silma the tengwar that wanker & the palantiri, and then reincarnate in the distant Halls of Mandos at the feet of Feanturi and blew the suffering of Beleriand's princes' lust for blood into an aure entuluva auta i lome hope-against-hope cry that shivered the orcs down to their last snaga with the absolute heart of the Mound of Slain butchered out of their own bodies down to rot a thousand years. II What spirit of shadow and obsidian tricked both Men and Elves and captured the Nine and even their nations? Sauron! Cruelty! Might! Subterfuge! Power and immortality seeming! Dunedain screaming on the altars! Lords sobbing on nine ships! Old men weeping on their thrones! Sauron! Sauron! Necromancer Sauron! Sauron the lidless! Mental Sauron! Sauron the guileful cheater of Men! Sauron the Great, unsurpassable Maia! Sauron the fair-seeming, foul-scheming, bringer of The Downfall! Sauron whose Gifts are as Doom! Sauron the Lord of The Rings! Sauron who damned the Lord of the West! Sauron whose mind is pure machinery! Sauron whose blood is a band of gold! Sauron whose fingers are nine armies! Sauron whose Mouth is an amnesiac sorcerer! Sauron whose ear is a circle of black! They broke their backs lifting Sauron to Barad-Dur! Foundations, furnaces, gates, towers! Rearing the tower of Barad-Dur which exists and is everywhere about us! Visions! Omens! Hallucinations! Mirrors! Elven-Queens! Gone down the rushing Falls of Rauros! Cold fisshes laughing in the river! They saw it all! The choking! The Precious! They swam into Time! To solitude! Thief, Baggins, we hates it forever! III Tar-Elessar! I'm with you in Gondor where you're taller than I am I'm with you in Gondor where you must feel very lucky I'm with you in Gondor where you still see the shade of Isildur I'm with you in Gondor where you laugh at this invisible humor I'm with you in Gondor where you accuse your stewards of insanity and rewrite history just a tad I'm with you in Gondor where we wake up invigorated out of the coma by our own souls' Black Breath roaring over the roof they've come to tell us Sauron is fallen the House of Healing illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O pantless warriors run outside O starry spangled shock of mercy the long, long war is done O Eowyn forget your death wish now, we're free I'm with you in Gondor in my dreams you walk dripping from a trek along the beach in Beleriand in tears to the gates of my City in the Western night -FINI-
Ode on a Wingèd Rog
03 Dec 2002 Thou yet unquenchèd native of Udûn, Torrid vassal of Morgoth and Gothmog, Ancient historian, who saw the Sun and Moon Cast their first rays upon primordial bog What flame-fring'd cloak doth haunt about thy shape Of Valar and of Aukar, or of both, Before the unplumbed pit of Khazad-Dûm? What orcs part before thee? What goblins loth, Whispering "ghash" and scurrying to escape? What an ill fortune turns on Vaire's loom! Visible wings are dread, but by firelight Are dreadful; therefore, spread forth thy limbs stark; Not for the Istar-eye; but mortals' sight, Revealing their forms tangible - and hark! Balrog, across this span, thou canst not come Behold a servant of the Secret Fire! Go back, for never, never shalt thou cross; Retreat into the darkness thou camest from; Thou canst not pass, though thy rude mane be toss'd, Or thong'd whip crack'd, or sword wielded with ire! Ah, happy, happy Elves! that never try To soar, nor e'er chased fiery Arien In envious antic oe'r the vaulted sky; Who ever sing, instead, on Lúthien; Whom they have lost! Yet better to have liv'd A season brief with wings turned to the stars Than ever earthbound, tho' for ever young; Like wings to fold one precious darkling gift That mortals fear, so oft thy master mars Its pomp and virtue with his forkèd tongue. What are those reckless warriors running toward? To what vain struggle, O foolhardy Men, Charge thou like half-starved halflings to the board, Heedless even of foe beyond thy ken? If little wit excuses not thy deed, Mayhap thy desperate valor can amend, And win benefit of my rising doubt; But Aragorn, if Company thou wilt lead, To the Ringbearer's safety foremost tend Rather than driving Uruk-Hai to rout! O Boromir! Thy trial attends; beware The glint of gold and Eye and steel alike, Legolas, Gimli: friendship wilt thou swear; But have a care where contests should alight As Turambar forgot: when foes have died! Though discord soon this Fellowship may break, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other duels... Now, former Nine, this counsel thou must take: "Shadows are wings, wings shadow, -- that is why Ye need to fly in haste, so FLY, YOU FOOLS!" (Much teuncing and borking at the shrine of John Keats)