The Limericks of Leithian and Other Fun Stuff

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

The Limericks of Leithian
“Release from Bondage”
(AKA Return to Doggerel)

There once was a man known as Beren.
And no doubt to whom I’m referrin’
A brave mortal man;
A perilous plan;
A theme that is always recurrin’

And there’s that Tinúviel gal--
She did just whatever she shall.
She danced in the glade.
She sat in the shade--
And Beren…well he was her pal.

Now, Thingol, he got quite upset
As many a father might get;
But being the king
Is no easy thing;
A fact that some rather forget.

He tried to be true to his law.
He did not perceive any flaw--
The oath that he took!
The young lover’s look!
“Back off! I’m that young lady’s paw!”

Yet Melian Maia was wise
She looked deep in young Beren’s eyes,
And saw in his soul
A different role;
"He seems to be 'One of the Guys!'"

There once was a hound known as Huan.
We all wondered what he was doin’
The doggie could talk
And go for a walk
And some thought this would be his ruin.

The werewolves were all running wild:
“Forgive us. It’s our inner child!
We have all this hair!
We give folks a scare!
Would you rather us be meek and mild?”

It’s tough, and we all wonder why
That Felagund bloke had to die.
He challenged the power
Of the man in the tower--
You know--that big mean Sauron guy!

That Lúthien chick was a hoot!
She gave mean old Sauron the boot!
His courage went limp.
He cried like a wimp,
“Oh please! Let me go, and I’ll scoot!”

The Man and the Elf-chick--how sweet
To Angband they go “Trick or treat!”
The costumes they wore
Were not from the store--
That homemade touch made it complete!

They banged at Thangorodrim’s door
“Please, mister, we’re tired and sore!
Could we use the phone?
I swear we’re alone!”
Now, Morgoth, he hoped to hear more!

For, Morgoth, that pitiful dude,
Would eat little children for food,
And follow that up
With a bloodthirsty cup.
The vampires all thought that was rude!

(“What! None for us?!!?”)

Now, all of that foul Angband brood
Were vulgar and tasteless and crude,
But given the chance--
SEE LÚTHIEN DANCE!
They soon had a wonderful mood!

But, wonder of wonders, we find
That Morgoth is paying no mind!
He soon falls asleep!
The miserable creep!
Beren whispers “Let’s just rob him blind!”

“Oh Beren! You wonderful man!
I fully approve of your plan!
And while we are at it,
Let’s clean out his attic!
I bet this chump’s worth a few grand!”

They gathered the loot in a bag.
Then Lúthien started to nag:
“The Silmaril please!
I’m down on my knees!
And hurry! We don’t want to lag!”

They threw the loot over the wall.
Those lovers took off with their haul.
The tale’s been rewritten:
The lovers were smitten!
We really can’t blame them at all!

The Man and the Elf both did time
For doing this terrible crime.
She pled with the judge:
“Please don’t hold a grudge!”
…And other things far more sublime.

The judge was a softie at heart:
“Now, both of you kids may depart!
But you’re on parole,
You both need a goal.
At least, don’t go rob Quickie Mart!”

And thus we at last know the message.
And why the jest: “Release from Bondage”
Whatever you heard
You can’t trust a word.
The truth is this doggerel garbage.

----------------

BrianIs AtYou

[axordil]

[Jnyusa]

Sounds like the Saga of Billy Joe and Bobbi Sue.

(And perfectly credible that Morgoth would play the role of a Sheriff down in Texas.)

Jn

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Sounds like the Saga of Billy Joe and Bobbi Sue. Razz

(And perfectly credible that Morgoth would play the role of a Sheriff down in Texas.)

Jn

It's fine that you split this off.

I originally wrote it when I was involved in a very involved Sil discussion at electricpenguin.com following Debbi Ridpath Ohi's "Final Attempt" at reading LOTR. (Some of you may know Debbi from Urban Tapestry--the filk group that sang at the original Gathering--or from the web comic "Waiting for Frodo", on which I gave her some minor help--see here and here )

It was fairly common there to break up the "serious" talk with humorous asides (of which I have many more).

e.g.

The Eagle
(A Tolkienien re-rendering of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven)


Once upon a Middle-Earth dreary, Melkor pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While he plotted, rarely napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at his Angband door.
"'Tis some visitor," he muttered, "tapping at my Angband door-
-- Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly he remembered, a poor creature he dismembered,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly he wished the morrow;- vainly he had sought to borrow
From his books increase of sorrow- sorrow for his tortured Orcs-
And the rare and raging Ainu whom once Eru named Melkor-
-- Lost to Melkor - Valinor.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled him- filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my Angband door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my Angband door;-
-- This it is, and nothing more."

Presently, his fëa stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said he, "or Madam, truly to forgive you should implore;
For the fact is I was napping, and though gently you came rapping,
And though faintly you came tapping, tapping at my Angband door,
Though scarcely heard, I still shall hurt you "- here he opened wide the door;-
-- Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, leering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams immortals never dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Melkor!"
This was whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Melkor!"-
-- Could the voice be Fëanor?

Back into dark Angband turning, all his soul within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said he, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
-- Manwë’s wind and nothing more."

Open here he flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Eagle of the ancient days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of Lord of Vala, perched above his Angband door-
On a purloined bust of Varda just above the Angband door-
-- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling Melkor’s fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," he said, "art sure no craven,
Eerie Eagle Eru’s maven, wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Mandosian shore!"
-- Quoth the Eagle, "Thorondor."

Melkor marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living Vala being
Ever yet was blest with seeing Eagle just above his Angband door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his Angband door,
-- With such name as "Thorondor."

But the Eagle, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Melkor scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
-- Then the bird said, "Valinor."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said he, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some High Kingly master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
-- Of the 'Valar- Valinor'."

But the Eagle still beguiling all his fancy into smiling,
Straight he wheeled his tall throne seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, he betook himself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
-- Meant in croaking "Valinor."

Thus he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom's core;
This and more he sat divining, with his head, weighed down, reclining
By his Iron Crown’s new lining that the Sil’s light gloated o'er,
By his Iron Crown’s new lining with the Sil’s light gloating o'er,
-- Who shall press, ah, Valinor!

Then he thought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by tainted Balrog foul whose footfalls pounded on the burnished floor.
"Wretch," he cried, "Manwë hath lent thee- by the Ainur he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and kind nepenthe, from thy memories of Melkor!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Melkor!"
-- Quoth the Eagle, "Valinor."

"Prophet!" said he, "thing of Eru!- prophet still, if bird or Ainu!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Aman?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
-- Quoth the Eagle, "Valinor."

"Prophet!" said he, "thing of Eru- prophet still, if bird or Ainu!
By the Timeless Halls above us- by that Eru I abhor-
Tell this soul with sorrow harder if, within the distant Arda,
It shall clasp a fading part of whom the Ainur name Melkor-
Clasp a rare and raging spirit whom the Ainur name Melkor."
-- Quoth the Eagle, "Valinor."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," he shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back to Taniquetil and the West's Mandosian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
-- Quoth the Eagle, "Valinor."

And the Eagle, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the purloined bust of Varda just above his Angband door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of the High King in his dreaming,
And the Sil’s light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
Melkor’s soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
-- Shall ne’er be lifted- Valinor!


-------------

BrianIs AtYou

[Jnyusa]

It was fairly common there to break up the "serious" talk with humorous asides (of which I have many more).

Bring 'em on!

Jn

[Voronwë the Faithful]

I've added to the name of thread so that it can accommodate similar fun stuff.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Thanks, Jn, Voronowe.

Most of the stuff is quite silly, those some is "serious" in tone, but it pre-dates the period in which I started to write poetry more seriously, as with "Winter Dreams" in the thread on my sister.

I posted a fair number of these on TORC, where Erinhue and I were having a bit of a competition in a spam thread in Talk, (and simultaneously commiserating about his wife [before she had passed] and my sister, when she was going through chemo the first time.)

Here is another silly one.

------------

There once was an Elf-lord Glorfindel
Who wandered along Withywindle
He saw Bombadil
And just for a thrill
Pinched Goldberry lass at her spindle

------------

BrianIs AtYou

[kams]

oo, oo, oo MORE limericks!




now I've got word rhymes popping into my head.
hobbit, bobbit, lob it, rob it, snobbit, cob it, knob it...
Sauron, moron, bore on, wore on,...

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

oo, oo, oo MORE limericks!




now I've got word rhymes popping into my head.
hobbit, bobbit, lob it, rob it, snobbit, cob it, knob it...
Sauron, moron, bore on, wore on,...

There once was a Moria Orc
Who grew quite enamored of pork
His favorite bit:
A pig on a spit
And barbecue ribs on a fork.

But better than pork, through and through
Was something he called “Dwarven Stew”
He kept the best parts
Like livers and hearts
To snack on from Midnight to Two.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

To the tune of ‘This Land is Your Land’ by dust-bowl era folksinger Woody Guthrie

(jaunty, and everybody sing along!)

This Land Near Angband

My name is Tuor.
My father’s Huor.
He once was killed by
That big Dark Lord Guy.
From Elven Forests
To Círdan’s Havens,
This land will sink beneath the Sea.

I married Idril.
It’s quite a big thrill.
I angered Maeglin.
He will get even.
From great tall Mountains
To pits of Angband,
This land will sink beneath the Sea.

I met Voronwë
Down by the Great Sea.
I spoke with Ulmo
He told me to go.
From white Elf cities
To Dwarven Kingdoms
This land will sink beneath the Sea.

And when it’s all gone,
There’ll be a problem.
But I could care less,
It’s such a big mess.
From Bay of Balar
To Land of Valar
I sailed myself across the Sea.

I’m with the first-born.
No longer forlorn.
I’ve got a hot wife
And quite a long life.
You just can’t beat this
My life is pure bliss.
In Valinor across the Sea.

(fade)

---------------

BrianIs AtYou

[kams]

kams is smiling back at you <--smiling llama. (no, really.)


I wish I was feeling more clever.

He once was killed by
That big Dark Lord Guy.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

The following is a piece that is serious in tone, written from the point of view of Galadriel in Doriath, where Melian has cajoled the secret of the Noldor from her about which the Exiles had previously been silent.

It is written in imitation of the well-known lament:

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

under the assumption that this was a poetic form that Galadriel would have used with some regularity. The form is similar to a sonnet: 14 lines, through rendered in iambic heptameter rhyming couplets, rather than iambic pentameter with Petrarchen or Shakespearean rhyme schemes. The declaration in line 9 of the original ("O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;") works effectively as a turn or volta, which is required and expected in the sonnet form, and I have tried to emulate this in the following. I have even attempted to match the rhyme scheme, metrical variations (e.g. line 11) and phrasing:


I spoke of oaths, for oaths they swore, and stirred our hearts anew:
Of doom I sang, a doom was wrought, and not just for those few.
Before the Sun, before the Moon, they slew them by the sea,
And sadness came to Ilmarin, and sorrow came to be.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar they moan,
‘Why kin should fall on kin,’ they cry, together or alone.
There red the blood of Alqualondë flowed with dying tears,
That time and distance could not quell, though after many years.
O Noldor proud! Thy doom has come, the bare and lifeless day;
The pieces all fall into place, the truth will find its way.
O Noldor proud! Too long I have kept silent on this tragic lore
And in the Hidden Kingdom whispered naught of Aman's shore
But if of grief I now should speak, what grief shall come to me?
I speak enough to ease my soul, that no more grief should be.

BrianIs AtYou

[MithLuin]

This seemed the appropriate place to post this:

Balrogs are not demons!

Enjoy

(And if I were creative, I'd post something of my own, but alas! I'll just have to read your great stuff )

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

This seemed the appropriate place to post this:

Balrogs are not demons!

Enjoy

(And if I were creative, I'd post something of my own, but alas! I'll just have to read your great stuff )

The only appropriate response to that is the following:

ORC REEK HOTEL (with apologies to Elvis Presley)

Well, since my Balrog left me,
I found a new place to dwell.
It’s down at the end of Dwarrowdelf
At Orc Reek Hotel.

You make me so lonely, Balrog,
I get so lonely
I get so lonely I could die.

And though it’s always crowded
And filled with sense of gloom
Where broken-hearted delvers
Have died and met their doom

You make me so lonely, Balrog,
I get so lonely
I get so lonely I could die.

Well, Balin’s blood is flowin’
And the Goblin’s dressed in black
Well, they been so long from Lonely Mount
They ain’t never gonna get back

You make me so lonely, Balrog,
I get so lonely
I get so lonely I could die.

Hey now, if your Balrog leaves you,
And you got a tale to tell
Just take a walk down Dwarrowdelf
To Orc Reek Hotel.

BrianIs AtYou

[MithLuin]

Ah, I knew I could contribute something!

Butchered nonsense

Here are some Mad Libs from TORc....

By Pips4242, we have:

Lay down
Your sweet and weary knee
Night is skipping
You've come to warthog's end
Ski now
And dream of the ones who came before
They are clapping
From across the soft shore

Why do you weep?
What are these box clocks upon your face?
Soon you will glomp
All of your craziness will pass away
Well and truly glompified in my arms
You're only sleeping

What can you see
On the valley?
Why do the purpelly-blue gulls call?
Above the sea
A neon green moon rises
The elven ships have come to carry you home

And all will turn
To auburn glass
A llama on the water
All halflings pass

Ecstacy fades
Into the world of night
Through pineapples falling
Out of memory and time
Don't say: 'We have wiggled now to the end'
White shores are calling
You and I will rob again

And you'll be here in my arms
Just loving...

And all will turn
To auburn glass
A llama on the water
Elven ships pass
Into the West

I thought you all might appreciate 'a on the water'

Not to be outdone by this one by Lalaith-Elerrina:

• Where now the fell beast and the hot dog? Where is the piano that was sprinkling?
  
  Where is the helm and the police officer, and the beige hair flowing?
  
  Where is the hand on the horn, and the lime green fire glowing?
  
  Where is the computer and the soda can and the tall squash growing?
  
  They have passed like feather dusters on the concuspience, like a haruspex in the lycanthrope;
  
  The days have mooned frontways in the Northwest, behind the tiaras into shadow.
  
  Who shall snoop the tongue depressors of the evil tomatoes burning,
  
  Or flee the flowing Palantíri from the Sea wandering?

You may recall the description of the singing duel between Finrod Felagund and Sauron. This, of course, has nothing to do with that

• He evacuated a song of wizardry
  Of pillaging, vacuuming, of treachery,
  Revealing, uncovering, soaring.
  Then slimy Reginald Wallace III there swaying
  Sang in bald lion a song of staying,
  dying, battling against emoticon,
  Of calipers kept, strength like a tines,
  And trust orotund, freedom, escape;
  Of screaming and of shifting shape,
  Of snares eluded, skimpy traps,
  The prison yodeling, the potato that snaps.
  North-north-east and up slugged their song.
  Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
  The skipping swelled, Reginald Wallace III fought,
  And all the breath mints and Space Hopper he brought
  Of Belgium into his words.
  Softly in the frozen peas they heard the electric eels
  Singing afar in Yankee Stadium,
  The shuffling of the Sea beyond,
  Beyond the studious Cat in the Hat, on sand
  On sand of Sandy Claws in Tarn Aeluin.
  Then the frozen peas gathered; manhole cover growing
  In Nargothrond, the chartreuse brine flowing
  Beside the Sea, where the Gondorian committee slew
  The reference librarians and shrieking drew
  Their sapphire ships with their sapphire sails
  From shiny-happy havens. The encyclopedia wails,
  The pachyderm belches. The blue-footed boobies flee.
  The ice gronks in the toes of the Sea.
  The lava lamps fruity in the Horsehead Nebula mourn.
  Marshmallow peep rumbles, the spackles burn;
  And Reginald Wallace III swan-dives before the Olympics.

And finally, a non-Middle-Earth one

The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes and Tuima:

The wind was a DVD of beauty among the petty trees,
The umbrella was singing in the rain, tossed upon wraithlike seas,
The road was a picture of a hobbit over the gray light sabre,
And the blacksmith came stealing --
stealing -- stealing --
The blacksmith came stealing, up to the old computer lab.

He'd a detention on his forehead, a bunch of bananas at his eyebrow,
A coat of dysfunctional velvet, and a tutu of brown nudiebranch-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his leaps were up to the appendix!
And he tickled with a jeweled fiddlesticks,
His pistol butts a-fiddlesticks,
His laser-powered toilet plunger a-fiddlesticks, under the bi-refringent sky.

make it stop did 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds', but I seriously suspect the original was written in much the way a MadLib is anyway....how else do you come up with 'kaleidoscope eyes'?

[kams]

ORC REEK HOTEL (with apologies to Elvis Presley)


BrianIs AtYou

Orc Reek Hotel sounds like a place I should check into after I'm finished scooping llama-poop in the barn.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

...

Not to be outdone by this one by Lalaith-Elerrina:

• Where now the fell beast and the hot dog? Where is the piano that was sprinkling?
  
  Where is the helm and the police officer, and the beige hair flowing?
  
  Where is the hand on the horn, and the lime green fire glowing?
  
  Where is the computer and the soda can and the tall squash growing?
  
  They have passed like feather dusters on the concuspience, like a haruspex in the lycanthrope;
  
  The days have mooned frontways in the Northwest, behind the tiaras into shadow.
  
  Who shall snoop the tongue depressors of the evil tomatoes burning,
  
  Or flee the flowing Palantíri from the Sea wandering?

...

I wrote the following for erinhue, where he and I were going back and forth for a bit on TORC:

Where now the car and the racer? Where is the horn that was honking?
Where are the airbags and seat belt, and the checkered flags flowing?
Where is the hand on the shifter, and the redline glowing?
Where are the springs and the shocks, and the mileage growing?
They have passed like rain on the racetrack, like wind in the convertible;
The cars have gone down Route 80 West, they are barely perceptible;
Who shall gather the smoke of the oil pan burning,
Or behold the rolling tires from the Sea returning?

Orc Reek Hotel sounds like a place I should check into after I'm finished scooping llama-poop in the barn.

Just don't throw your back out with all that llama-poop scooping.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

The Poor Lad from Bree

There once was a poor lad from Bree
who sat by a sassafras tree.
He brewed his own ale
and put it on sale
but gave away samples for free.

This angered that Barliman guy
who baked up a fresh custard pie.
He gave it to Nob,
who gave it a lob,
and hit that poor lad in the eye.

A eager young lawyer stood by
and saw the assault with the pie.
He said to the lad:
“I think you’ve been had--
that weren’t no pie from the sky!”

The lad to the lawyer said, “Yes!
A ‘pie from the sky’ was my guess--
but since you say ‘No!
It came from below--
we must get that Nob to confess!”

The lawyer began then to spy
and spoke to that Barliman guy,
“I ask you of pie!
I want to know why!
Whoever’s behind this will fry!”

Fat Barliman stumbled and sputtered
and felt that his toast was quite buttered.
He broke down and said,
“It’s all on my head!”
The last cogent words that he uttered!

For Barliman fell to the floor,
knocked out by a blow from the door--
then Nob, he rushed in
and grinning a grin,
said, “Sorry! He can’t tell you more!”

So Nob and the poor lad from Bree,
who sat by the sassafras tree,
took over the inn
to Barly’s chagrin
and hand out their samples for free.

Now Barly, he sits in a cell:
his own little version of Hell.
He dreams of his pie,
of pie in the sky:
revenge for his lost clientele.

---------------

BrianIs AtYou

[Alatar]

Fabulous

[Old_Tom_Bombadil]

This seemed the appropriate place to post this:

Balrogs are not demons!

You know what's funny, I recognized that face as that of a Balrog by the Brothers Hildebrandt even before they pulled back to show the entire image.

Stephen Colbert is a HUGE Tolkien fan, by the way, even if his pronunciation is a bit shakey.