Tolkien's Poetry

Busy, busy, busy! I wish I had an interesting excuse for my busyness, but all I got is homework. At least my classes are interesting. One of them is Mythology of J.R.R. Tolkien. Did you know that he was a poet before he wrote Lord of the Rings? He considered himself a poet, not a novelist. Sorry, I don't know why I've been going on a poetry rampage these last two weeks. But it's important! Tokien thought so, and he was a great poet.

So, here is one of his more funny poems that is not found in any of his novels:

Cat by J.R.R. Tolkien

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps upon his meat
where woods loom in gloom —
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet
he does not forget.

A Piece of Beauty

I'm going to try to write more poetry because first of all, it's beautiful, and secondly, as a writer, it looks good if you have had poetry published in magazines or contests. I'm trying to build my skills in this area, for I'm far from being a poet. Thus, here is a poem for your enjoyment. (Please read it with mercy; it's a rough draft and as I said, I'm not a poet!)

 

Clinging

 

     The wind pulls and tugs,

attempting to change my mind,

the salty sea slaps my face

as if I am a naughty child.

Thunder roars with disapproval

and lightning reveals my foolishness.

 

With trembling fingers

and trembling hopes

I cling to the beaten rock.

 

The dream-beautiful Mer swirling in the waves

sing of Forgetting,

of careless days playing in the azure waters,

of making friends with the sea.

 

With trembling fingers

and trembling hopes

I cling to the beaten rock.

 

The dry men in the luxurious boat

yell of Reason,

 of warm days eating belly-filling food on soft beaches,

of making friends with the land.

 

With trembling fingers

and trembling hopes

I cling to the mighty rock,

the giant that has outlasted

the tempations of Time and Weather,

and helps me do the same.

 

 

Now that I am re-reading this, it doesn't sound so beautiful after all! Oh well, you have to start somewhere. What do you think of poetry? You should try writing a poem, it's fun and doesn't have to be about anything profound. I dare you to write a tiny, at least 4 stanza-long poem this week. (And no, it doesn't have to rhyme.) The prize is getting to say you did it, and that are more artistically inclined than you once were. And if you write it, please post it so we can all recieve a piece of beauty.