Contributions in the years of decline...

[Andorinha]

The Realization of Losses Accumulated through Time

I falter in the snow,
and turn my raw neck
to near the knotting point,
trying ever to see
where I have already been,
letting my dumb, mechanical feet
carry me to those places
I've no real desire to ever see again,
leaving behind the only points of connection
that really counted
just to leap into
the dubious motions
dictated by one line.

I'm built all backward,
I'd swear to any fellow traveller
I just might chance to meet --
me head's stuck somewhere yonder
still trying to figure it all out.

The further I get through this Fairie,
the less further I want to go,
and all I'd really ask is just the courtesy
of being left here all alone.

I'll have to run hard backwards,
just to get to where I was,
and then hope I still recognize that soft
and subtle point of perfect balance,
where I'd wish to finally stay --
just outside of Bree, on the marshes,
where they start to form,
and the Iron cloud of the draining midges
dance like black bars across the Sun...


But, I drift away from Middle-earth,
forgetting for great blocks of time
that I have ever been here.
And the machineries of a drabber life
push all the Faerie Consequences
into the blanking-steams
that rise dead-grey
above the supposed wonder of the dawn.

I'll never quite return, will I?

[Fangorn]

Yes, Andorhina, there is a Santa Claus.

The realm of faerie is real.
It is our machinations of fear that are not.
The fear of being left alone as the boughs of the Old Forest bend ominously toward us. The leer of the southron, peering at us through the hedgerow, or of our OWN Grima sneaking up behind us with a dagger for our back.

Yes, Andorhina, there is a Santa Claus.

The bells on the reigns of Glorfindel's horse Asfaloth, still rings clear on a dark grey day and spurs us forward.
Arwens sweet Elvish voice sends nurishment through our weary limbs and we fancy visions of the Last Homely Realm.
Little Rosie sits on Sam's lap with giggles and smiles, in a warm comfy hole at Bag End.

Yes, Andorhina, there is a Santa Claus.
He is Father Christmas, and his name is John Ronald Ruel Tolkien.

Fang

[Andorinha]

Ah, I had quite forgotten posting this, LOL!

Well, Fang, I'll take your word for it, that there is a Santa Claus, because I have, from time to time, returned after all.

Thanks!

[Andorinha]

Poem 4

Today, at 9:08 of the morning
when there should be
five doves at the fountain
and a brown-red scatter
of fat finches beneath the window,
nothing moves on the patio,
nothing but a heavy air,
thick with the clinging drops
of an almost fog -- a mist?

What cataclysmic eventuality
has overtaken the Sun today?
This twilight started at dawn,
-- I'll wager --
though I was not up to confirm that notion,
and taken simply by its texture
it shall endure past the Noon.

My hopes for a long walk
into the golden scatters
of a sunshine-morning,
into the drifting-dreaming coils
of a self-indulging revery
must be postponed
-- until the sweeping isobars
can clean away the glooms.

A seamless sort of day then,
shadows woven from its hem
to the very edge of its collar
-- night blending into night
for 24 solid hours...

What good thing
was ever accomplished
in the twilight of the Noon?
Should I go back to bed?

[Andorinha]

POEM 17


Indications of a Cosmic Slump

Today we woke up
thinking it would be
much the same as yesterday.

The same doves on the roof;
the bang Fred always makes
(next door)
each time he slams
the garbage lid (hard)
upon the bent rim of its barrel;
the dull rumble of
a passing jet
making the same old run
down to San Diego.

But the coffee
I sthingyed* into my cup
refused to melt
into the milky water.
It rotated there,
a small continent,
dark-brown -- loamy,
crumbling slightly at the edges
where the "all-dissolving" surf
still tried to devour
the strangely perdurative stuff.

At half past eight
I had to give it up,
and turn trembling,
(coffeeless)
to face the rest of a day
that was potentially
slipping into madness,
disarranged,
freighted with wildness.

If coffee won't melt,
what else has been jarred awry?
Has the Great Unravelling begun?

____________
* sigh - "s p o o n e d"

[Stormrider]

Andorinha: Why not just go into the main part of the poem and space the word "s p o o n e d" there? Actually, the censored word is "p o o n" whatever that is!

[Andorinha]

Sigh, kind of grown accustomed to seeing s-p-o-o-n mystically transfigured into "sthingy" -- would probably miss it, another alteration in a universe already changing faster than I can comprehend...

[Stormrider]

I went back to the censored words in the administration area and was able to delete "member" and "poon" from the list. It actually allowed me to delete them. I went back after the screen refreshed and they were gone. Let's see what happens when I post this comment.

[Stormrider]

yeah! it woiked!

member

spoon

[Andorinha]

Kool! I wasn't sure you could edit the censor! Well, spoon and remember will still have a special place in my memories... Good bye Little Sthingy! LOL! Thanks Stormrider!

[Stormrider]

I couldn't edit it when they first created the sensorship words. We had a member photobucket album set up for our members to post their art or other Tolkien pictures they wanted to share. The url had the word "member" in it so the pictures weren't posting! I found the new sensorship area in the admin section and tried to delete the word "member" from the sensored words but it would not allow me to do that. I guess there was enough flack from the hords of proboards users to be allowed to unsensor some words and now I can! yeah!