Thanks for the comments, John, I'll work on it.

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People, give this a read.

Túrin Turambar & Niënor Níniel by Mandy M. P. Tu

A Túrin, Túrin Turambar turún’ ambartanen!
Thus the shadow has fallen upon you, Turambar,
You looked into the eye of the dragon, Turambar:
You cannot turn away now;
You must face the peril, no matter how.
You let drop the love of Gwindor, Gwindor Elven-prince!
I know you cannot be blamed for the love that Finduilas since
Felt for you.
Desired you.
Now you must tread the mountain paths,
And later face the enormous wrath
Of Glaurung, the Dragon Glaurung –
But defeat him, and it will be sung.

Lalaith, Lalaith, lovely laughter,
Golden-haired, fair, and flowing as water,
Your sister, your sister, Urwen Lalaith;
Who seemed as an elven-maid –
But life was short-lived for her:
Urwen, Urwen Lalaith!
Now she is but a wraith
In your innermost heart.
There she will never part.
You will find her shadow in your future.
Your destiny surrounds your love for her.

Finduilas, Finduilas, elven-princess of Nargothrond!
Fair-haired, as your sister, her respect you won!
You would sit with her at evenings, and mornings:
And you would speak of your feelings –
The Mormegil, you, the Mormegil: The Black Sword.
Finduilas, she, Finduilas, daughter of the elven-lord.
She fell, she fell, oh she fell!
Under it, under it, under your spell.
She pitied you, she loved you, she desired you.
But she knew that she might never have you.
And now her shadow is upon you, upon you, Turambar.
Just as your sister’s, Turambar.

Niënor, Niënor, mourning daughter of Morwen!
Níniel, the maid of tears, mothered by Eledhwen!
She passed the mountains, she passed the fields,
She came to Menegroth, where Melian yielded –
To Morwen’s, to Morwen’s request, and let her search far
For her lost son, for her lost son, Turambar.
Níniel, Níniel, your sister, followed:
Passing like a wraith, passing like a shadow.
She came to Glaurung, who took her too,
Under his spell, as he did you.
She ran through rain, stripped of clothes,
She passed through mountains and came to the woods.
She stopped at Haudh-en-Elleth, Mound of the Elf-maid,
And there she slept, tired, forgotten and unmade.

Turambar, Turambar, thence you came,
And thence you saw her, never the same
It was again, for you both fell:
Again, again, under each other’s spell.
Brandir was furious, he despised you:
But he kept his wrath, and so he flew
Strange advice to Níniel, to Níniel,
And she listened, unknowing of the fell.
Then you asked her, Turambar, you asked for her hand.
She hesitated, for Brandir took her stand.
You were disappointed, but you stayed.
And the coming spring you asked again.
This time she accepted, oh the happiness!
But Brandir now loved you less.

Then Níniel conceived, and then the news
Of the dragon’s coming to Brethil flew.
Turambar, Turambar, you would go.
Though your Níniel was against it so.
You knew it your destiny to take it thus,
And face the dragon – face him you must.
So you set out, with Hunthor and Dorlas,
To where the Dragon rested.
You and Hunthor braved the falls,
But Dorlas did not, despite your calls.
Then Hunthor by a rock was taken,
And his body now lies forsaken.
And thus you walked there, Turambar,
And you met him, Turambar.
You hewed him, you cut him;
He gave you a wound in the dim.
You fell aground, and thus did he.
And that was how that end came to be.

Níniel, Níniel, your beloved wife,
Wished to follow you, forsaking life.
Thus Brandir found her, and told her,
That he would lead her, and away take her.
She perceived differently, she wished to go
To you, Turambar, to you alone.
But Brandir by paths hidden led her,
To the eaves of Brethil, though twas not the way she preferred.
Thus she stopped, and spurned all counsel,
And ran and ran and ran, even if ‘twere for fell.
She reached you, Turambar, she reached you.
She stayed by you, and bandaged you.
The dragon woke, and told her sooth.
She was amazed and shocked by the truth.
She had loved her brother, and brother as husband.
By you and only you, she would stand.
But evil thought came to her, and she thought
You dead. And so she sought
The waters, the waters of Teiglin!
And threw, she threw herself in.
And Níniel, fair Niënor Níniel, was no more.
And she will ne’er again answer your call.

Then you awoke, you were not dead.
But you were confused, not yet sad;
You met the villagers, you met Brandir.
You fought him, you slew him in your fiery anger.
The truth above you loomed.
Níniel was doomed.
Mablung, your friend, the elf, came and found you.
And back to Menegroth he welcomed you.
But nay! ‘Twas too late to turn back now, and forever.
Spurning his counsel, you ran to Teiglin’s rocky borders.
There, you beseeched your sword: its voice rang.
Faithful Gurthang, vengeful Gurthang, fiery Gurthang
Slew you swiftly, oh so swifty!
Farewell, Túrin, son of Húrin!
Farewell, Neithan, Agarwaen, Thurin!
Farewell, Mormegil, farewell, son of Morwen!
Farewell, Turambar, never forgotten.

TÚRIN TURAMBAR DAGNIR GLAURUNGA
NIËNOR NÍNIEL

A Túrin Turambar turún’ ambartanen!
Master of Doom by Doom mastered!

Húrin came, after years of torture in Morgoth’s evil lair,
He came to your grave, and saw a maiden fair,
With hair black as night, and eyes so blue and melancholy,
And a face that tugged strongly at a memory.
Eledhwen! Morwen Eledhwen! Mother of Túrin and Niënor,
The Elf-sheen, now garbed in rags, empty and poor.
She has lost all that she once had, her life, her children,
Her honour, her hopes, her husband.
Where are they now? She asked him.
And Húrin wept, and did not answer.
And there she fell into darkness, into the waiting abyss.
And Húrin wandered away, never knowing bliss.
For the tale of Túrin Turambar and Niënor has ended;
The longest of all the tales of Beleriand.
(Inspired by JRR Tolkien’s The Children of Húrin)

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That's excellent Star! JRR would be proud of your epic poem!

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... the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it, and the winds of the round sky troubled it no more...

New poem. Look it.


The Storyteller (Ode to JRR Tolkien)
By Mandy M. P. Tu

I was passing by his place one day,
‘Hey, you,’ I heard him say.
‘Why don’t you come in? I’ve a story to tell.
‘You may like it not; you may like it well.’

Hesitantly I passed through his gate,
My conscience and my desire in heated debate;
But with curiosity burning inside me,
I went in, and closed the door behind me.

‘Sit,’ he said, and gestured to a chair.
I went to ‘t, and seated myself there.
‘What is your tale?’ I asked, ignorant of my folly.
For he chuckled, and said: ‘Tis more than a story.’

As he began, I found myself absorbed,
The walls, the ceiling; everything dissolved.
I was in the tale he was telling,
With mellifluous melodies, and war-cries yelling.

He spoke of dwarves, mortals and elven kings,
He told of the Deceiver who gave out magic rings.
He told me of the power that destiny held,
And the enemies whom the trees felled.

He sang of a love that was long forbidden,
He sang of wise men that had been wizened.
He spoke of the God who created it all,
Who fashioned right and wrong, rise and fall.

When he was done, I could not move.
He smiled and said, ‘Well, this is proof.’
My eyes were wide; I could not blink
His answer to my reaction was one mere wink.

‘Now, off with you, off you go.
‘Your mother will be worried so.’
He shoved me off the cushioned chair,
And out again, I found myself in the air.

I cannot forget, I cannot remember,
I only know that I felt a tremor,
Of sadness, of happiness, and of great wonder
How a story such as that could have been woven by a man who sat yonder.

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I agree to Beth about your poem, Star. It is indeed moving and beautifully woven together, just like those stories you talk about in the poem! Very entertaining indeed.

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Tolkien maniac collection! - Amazon (a list that I made for people much interested in Tolkien works and studies)

Thanks, everyone.

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