I have a collection of poems written in tribute to JRR Tolkien over the 50+ years I have considered myself a Middle-earth expat. This one was written for a challenge on a Tolkien-related site
Galadriel,
I greet thee,
a moment stealing
from my Mannish guise,
to speak as one-to-one
to one as old as I
and also wise…
Here I sit, alone
in the darkness of the night
by cracking embers wan,
beneath Varda’s stars so bright,
pale, beside the power I could wield
of Anor’s sacred Flame
and my own native might…
I pause a while from labor
being Steward over lands
so fierce debated, and so long–
Belonging not am I, but only lent
for the time required
according to the Song
and by the Singers sent…
I do not age, and yet,
lifetimes after lifetimes of these Men,
years of sitting by the fire, alone,
older, older do I feel I grow…
I wonder, when will ever I be done?
Is there ever victory to win?
Is Evil ever finally slain and gone?
And will Men take their place
and rule this world
yet be remembering the grace
of those who came before?
And will they gentle be,
and truly echoing the Song,
care for every kind in every land?
In daylight, My Good Lady Fair,
I’ll not think upon these things
nor worry overmuch about
what time and fortune brings.
I’ll don the mask the Singers for me set
and wearing it, again, myself
I will myself forget…
Just the Wizard I will be again
to the Free Folk dwelling here in Middle-earth;
midwifing the dominion of Men…
lighting up the Hobbit’s joy and mirth…
aiding Dwarf lords bent on vengeance sweet…
foiling Evil’s every dark design…
tracking every road with my old feet…
And with the Elves I’ll rest
from time to time, when need permits,
glad of allies fair and ever fast…
The old Wizard I remain,
who sometimes sits
and thinks of you,
with gratitude,
for knowing what I am, and who…
And for granting me a certain latitude
2005
LOOSELY SPEAKING... 