Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Tolkien Reading Day...

In a hole in the ground by John Cockshaw ©

Tolkien Reading Day is observed on the same day each year: March 25, the day which saw the
destruction of the Ring. Since the inception of Reading Day in 2003, the Tolkien Society has
put forth a new theme for each successive year. For 2016, the theme is "life, death and

The choice of such a theme may or may not be coincidental to March 25, 2016 being Good
Friday, certainly a day closely associated with....life....death.....immortality.

In observance of the day, with all its multiplicity of nuanced meanings, I hope you will enjoy an
offering of a trine of poems, which, because of length, will be posted over the next three days.
Suite: Road


I am Master Under-the-Hill.



Child of the Kindly West.

merely a heart too long


1389, S.R.

My quill scratches
bold and round
upon the parchment's face:


Like unto my youth,
a year of Great Adventure.

A year of Treasure-finding.

A year of Home-coming.


In the quiet heat of half-past summer,
I depart,

Halimath moon, large in the sky,
stars and the unseen ribbons
of little rivers marking my course.

Nigh a week upon the Road ~
Sun fierce and unforgiving in Her

black-winged birds silent in cloudless blue,
the companionable river winking its brass-gold
eye amongst heat-bent rushes.


Ah, the day of the Sea.

How seeming-right for journey's-end.


A hundred yellow-fat candles dance in the windows before me.

A hundred arms offer a harvest-hardened embrace.


one not-yet-grown lad,
face serious against the tumult-tide of talk,
eyes mysterious as the unquiet Sea itself.

Here is my portion of treasure,
all elbows and temper,

all books and stars and map-roads of no ending.

All.....my blood,
though it took me these long years to know it.

In the almost-noon next day, we set out.

Not for this lad (not yet!)

the almost-endlessness of the Road
betwixt home and


A Prince of Elvish blood never sat a horse so prettily.

Still, there are two days gone before the winking green of The Water
bathes our feet....

two days of silence beneath the Sun,
two days of words split like spun-smoke silver beneath the netted stars.

And then we are Home, indeed,
the brass-bind of the door opening and closing,

the sweet-earth tinge of the roof-tree scenting the air of the smial.

Soon, we shall celebrate our birthday together,
soon, tramp each goodly Road there might be,
speaking of everything.......

speaking of nothing,
the Sun and Moon and Stars

witness to our Walking Song.

My Lad.


© March 2016 Janet Nelson-Alvarez

Summer reverie in the Shire by John Cockshaw ©

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