poetry

It's time for an adventure now
So when I rise from bed
I hope to make this normal day
Adventurous instead

Rather than going left today
Perhaps I'll take a right?
And follow where the road may lead
I'll wander 'til it's night

If any fences, gates or walls
Should rise in front of me
I'll hurdle them with such a bound
And see what I can see!

Everything into the Dark

Speak of me, and I shall appear
Remnant of the past
Ghost lingering through regret
Voicing concern, trod not the path of my choosing
For given time, you would face me
And thus, face the furnance

Vicissitudes of Fate

Choices will I face today
Decisions soon will come my way
Thinking, should I, all the while
So should I frown, or should I smile?

Should I snooze, or should I rise
And wipe the sleep from weary eyes?
Should I put on something smart
Or clothes than soon will fall apart?

Should I pour a cup of tea
And sweeten it, one lump or three?
Should I stay sat in my chair
Or should I take the morning air

A minstrel sat by an apple tree
And played out softly melodies
Whilst busy hobbits passed him by
With scarce a glance from out their eyes
Too quick to note his smart green suit
Or hear the tunes flow from his lute
Or listen to his telling words
The only audience, the birds

There is an Inn in Michel Delving
With creaky floor and crooked shelving
Although they serve the sweetest ale
Which hobbits drink a lot
The sign outside says Bird and Baby
And hobbits like to go daily
To listen to a merry tale
Or get their hair a-cut

Hullo, hullo and how do you do?
Some little words I'll give to you
To say to those you stop and greet
The folk each day you chance to meet
These words are all you need each day
And they should see you through
Just give a smile and gladly say
I'm pleased to meet you!

I wrote a silly poem
To read it out to you
I hope it brings a smile
For silly poems do

It's only got six verses
Each one has four short lines
So if I read it quickly
It shouldn't take much time

I wrote it out last evening
Whilst lying on my bed
I grabbed a quill and paper
And wrote what's in my head.

No roof for me
I make my bed
With starry skies
Above my head
And all these stars
That fill the sky
Watch over me
With sparkling eyes

And as I walk
So late at night
I'm guided by
The silver light
And most of all
The Star of North
Is always there
To chart my course

Why is the warrior wayward and weary? Why rides he south, bear children and wife?

Why ferries farmer and flaxen-haired kin? Why bear they sword and bear knife?

With ore and stone, the mountains bring up from the deeps. The hard veins of the earth make clubs look hallow.

By forge and anvil, we craft for thy king, for thy lord and for thy neighbour. From the vast plains of Rohan to the Lonely Mountain's Peak, no work surpasses those of old. Mithril, though lovely you gloom and reflect the light as a mirror where ever you roam.