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Poetry of The Jedi Hobbit

Here are some poetic parodies I have produced over the last couple of years.
Opinions are welcome!

You can find the first three on Tamf's archive, Confessions of a Jedi Hobbit.
Tamf kindly formatted everything and added some themed images.


The Lay of Cholesterol
Mon 03 Dec 2001
Derived from: "The Lay of Leithan" (1925, published in The Lays of Beleriand, 1985), John Ronald Reuel Tolkien (1892-1973)
(inspired by Mike Scott Rohan, Mon 03 Dec 2001)

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
Sat 23 Mar 2002
Derived from: "Howl" (1956), Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997)

In honor of mrowe, 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
machinery 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-




A Wingèd Balrog Foresees His Trask
Thu 18 Apr 2002
Derived from: "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death" (1919), William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

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!



Ode on A Wingèd Rog
Tue 03 Dec 2002
Derived from: "Ode on A Grecian Urn" (1819), John Keats (1795-1821)


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!"



I'm now taking requests, everyone...
Shakespeare? Plath? Li Bai? Li Qing Zhao? narvi?

--
Banazîr

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
deire
Jan. 16th, 2004 11:46 pm (UTC)
William Carlos Williams.
banazir
Jan. 17th, 2004 12:47 am (UTC)
William Carlos Williams
The ldaz hath sporken!
Yew gont it, Miss.

--
Banazir
(will need to think aboat it fro a while)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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