Welcome to the part of the Bramblebury Gazette where artists are given
the opportunity to present themselves and their works of art. We cater
for printable art only, so please don't send in any wooden or stone-hewn
sculptures! Sketches of these sculptures can be printed, of course. We
hereby present some poetry to you, song lyrics, paintings and short
stories. The teachings of Master Simbo Rumblebelly about how to make your own poetry can be found in the Art of Poetry - the classes If you want to contribute to the Art's Corner, please send your submission via Quick Post.  |
Art's Corner
Poem - The Green Dragon is my Home
By Pycella Woodberry It’s Friday evening again And I am here with my friends I leave my worries behind Nothing will weigh on my mind Dressed in garments so green I’m at my favourite inn Here I do not feel alone The Green Dragon’s my home We dance, play tunes and sing Maybe spill our drinks The rumours spread all around Tall tales from the wide world There’s gentle strums by a lad Faint grumbles from the back This is where I belong The Green Dragon’s my home There’s the sticky old rug Watery beer in yer mug Yet it feels so good to be here Valuing food and cheer Tonight, let’s forget all else Tonight, let’s be all friends Tonight I sing you my song For Green Dragon is my home For Green Dragon is my home Green trees light up the sky Soon it is time for goodbyes But never for a long while So there’s no reason to cry We will meet here again At our beloved old inn Where we can sing our song The Green Dragon is our home The Green Dragon is our home The Green Dragon is our home The Green Dragon is our home ((OOC: This tune is best sung to the melody of I’ll Find my Way Home by Jon and Vangelis. Master Vangelis passed away just recently, so that gave me the idea to use this song for my lyrics.)) |
Poem - Plough Magic
By Aerinbard Fallohide I hear the whispered crush of soil as through it cuts the plough. The earthy scent of richness lifts like a red rag to my brow. “Step gee!” I cry and my pony turns as round the row we go. It's honest work, though tiring, as many good hobbits know. With gimlet eye my pony digs. Her shoulders the collar presses. With generous heart she gives her all and never a furrow misses. But when the ground is fallow hard, and my neighbour his pony lends, two equine hearts till twice the land and then half as much again! For this is the bounty of plough and team that only the wise have kenned. A burden shared is *more* than halved And this is the magic of friends. Some information about the author: Master Aerinbard works as an archivist up at the Great Smials. His family made a fortune in farming, but he is more of the scholarly kind. Meanwhile he has been emerging from his sanctuary of books to mingle among his fellow-hobbits in the Shire. He dedicates this poem to all of them. |
Poem - The Hero of Greenfields
By Grufforic Furrow Sometime ago, in fields of green, I made my mark on history, a feat not yet seen. Green-skinned villains, evil pure, They charge at our home, in our fields they roam, But thanks to my actions, the Shire will endure. I met them on the Fields outnumbered, us few. But through my bravery and valiance, hope grew. I inspired those smaller to follow my lead, At the end of my day all will know our deed. Our charge was swift, the orcs had to die! My gaze fixated, on their foul green king, His judgement was swift, as his head flew sky-high, It landed in a rabbit-hole, a legendary swing! They cheered and praised him, for his epic deed. But no one remembered to praise me, his steed. A statue, a holiday, all to celebrate the old Took, But nothing to remember me, not even a book! So please next time you visit the golf course, Think of the true hero, the stallion, the horse. Master Grufforic wrote this poem for and performed it first time on Bullroarer Took Day 2021 |
Poem - My Red-spotted Trout
By Davlo Diggle On a sunny late spring afternoon I sat fishing at my favourite place When along came a hobbit lass With a pole and a pretty face
“What you catchin’?” she asked Sneaking a peek in my basket “Just some nice trout,” I replied As she took her pole and cast it
No sooner than it hit the water Her bobber went out of sight And she caught a big ol’ trout and yelled “Now that’s what I call a bite!”
She looked at me all proud and said “You must be doing something wrong For I caught this huge fish here None you have are this long!”
So I grabbed a fish and simply claimed “But I have lots and you have few And if you glance at my big trout The fish looks just like you”
“It’s a Red-spotted Trout you see This is what makes it special The red colour matches your hair And the spots look like your freckle”
“It does not!” she cried, “You’re being silly” And it’s simply not the case!” It was then that I grabbed that fish And slapped it gently across her face
“YOU WIPE THAT SLIME OFF ME RIGHT NOW!” I knew her patience was wearing thin I quickly grabbed my hankerchief And wiped off her cheek, nose and chin
“You’re a brave lad,” she said, and pushed me down Grabbing a handful of flowers and grass “This outta teach you real good For teasing a hobbit lass!”
She sat on my belly, grass in hand And rubbed it through my hair When all of a sudden a smile came on her face And I had never seen anything so fair
“I have to go home now, be here tomorrow.” Then she gave me a good-bye kiss As she ran off, I thought another day Could never be as good as this
We fished together every chance we had And danced in fields of flowers We would look into each other’s eyes And minutes lasted as hours
A year has passed and now’s the day When this tale should come to a close For we plan to meet at our fishing place This morning I shall propose!
The morning has passed, and noon and night My heart started to fill with sorrow And as I walked myself back home I thought, “She’ll be there tomorrow”
An early morning knock awakened me A hobbit should know better! And as I opened up the door ‘Twas the quickpost with an urgent letter
A hastily made note addressed by her father I ripped it open and read “I’m sorry I cannot come in person lad The family is full of dread”
“Yesterday on the Brandywine Bridge My daughter stopped to look around She slipped and fell, she banged her head I’m afraid our love has drowned”
“The water swept her away To where we do not know I, myself, shall never rest Until I find where she did go”
Her father's words stuck in my mind My heart it felt the same To have everything you love just ripped away My soul’s now without flame
So now I fish the Brandywine Throwing my line about Hoping I can catch again My beautiful Red-spotted TroutThis poem won third prize at the Summer Poetry Contest earlier this year (2020) Congratulations, Master Davlo! That was well deserved! |
Rumor - about a Pie Pan Ademic
By Acorne Oakley and Agago Longleaf Acorne: I don't have a story fer ya folks t'day ... but I do have a Public Health Announcement! Have any of ya folks herd tell there be an awful virus goin' around our Shire? I wants ta TRY ta explain what be happenin ... as much as I understand anyway Some travelin' folks say it be worse than them murder turtles down in Gondor... but I've never been that far from the Shire. Carlo Blagrove said this all be cause of some bad beer... Altho I have herd folks callin it a pie pan-demic And Mayor Whitfoot said it were so bad he was going to have to shut down the borders of Michel Delving! ...Ya can see how well that went if ya look around the crowd here. Them bounders will let anybody through the boundary if ya slip em a pie... and it don't even have ta be as good as my gammer's pies, neither! So Assistant Fallohide told everybodee they was ta stay 6 feet... or 2 meters... away from other folks. But I'm not sure if he meant hobbit feet or eluf feet. I've got very small feet... small enough I could reach out and hug ya from six feets away! But I know some elufs... and they've got very big feet. Six feet away would probably take them almost to Brockenboring! So I decided ta focus on stayin 2 meters away... but I hadn't never herd of a meter afore, so I went to the smartest hobbit I know, my gammer. She was cookin supper and I asked her "Gammer, how much is a meter?" She told me "Sure, dear, I'll make the pies meatier!" And those pies were mighty delicious, let me tell you... yummy! So I'm still not sure what Mister Fallohide meant... but I do know the cure fer ANY bad stuff.. Be dancin ta good music in a party wit yer friends ... like the OAKS Agago: Dear Editor at Bramblebury,
Miss Acorne give us a warnin' at Night of the Muses bout somethin
called a Pie Pan Ademic. Everone should take this message ta heart and
watch out fer that mean ole Pie Pan ademic. I took time ta wander bout
the Shire (with care and no pie pans) and talk ta some of the bounders an bar keeps. It seems tis truth to the tale that we outta stay home as much as possible. And keep our pie pans clean
by frequent washin. Some heard that it wuz bad beer, but others laffed
at the bad beer theory-specially the bar keeps. I would say that
it seems best ta not take yer pie pans outside yer house, and bad as it
might sound, don't make any pies and send ta yer neighbors. If'n you
must do so, put em on a board then send em and leave yer pie pans at yer
house. I guess it is always possible ta get new pie pans from yer
local tinker, if'n they are open fer
buziness. They might be closed cause they don't want that mean ole pie
pan ademic ta get ta all their pie pans either. We done decided ta make lotsa noise and see if that scares away that mean ole pie pan ademic. We play loud music and bang on the cowbellhopin' to spare our pie pans frum the misery. What does that Pie pan ademic look like? Not real sure. Seems no one has got a good look at it yet. All of a sudden their pie pans are rusty an pies don't bake evenly on em. It might be like fairy folke, and be invisible and really quiet. That be my guess. So don't count on seein' it, ner hearin' it. Just stay ta yer house and keep yer pie pans clean. A concerned Shire citizen, Agago Longleaf |
Story - The Last Day in the Life of Horace Bunce
By Acorne Oakley T'day I'm gonna tell all of you what might just be.... The Last Day in the Life of Horace Bunce An arrow wisked past his head... He grabbed a handful of mane and swung onto the back of the tall one 's horse... this was not his faithful pony, Mirabella but then all animals followed his requests for he was the first hobbit to become a Lore-master. No time to dwell on his past achievements at present... Horace had to get the message thru to the Rangers... Goblins had come back into the Shire! He thought briefly of going to the Bounders but wondered if any of them would be awake ..... or sober No Horace decided he had to make it to the Rangers and let them know they were needed in the north of the Shire.. as soon as they could get there In its panic the horse stumbled into a rabbit hole in the tall grass, but Horace leaned close and whispered words of encouragement into its ear then the horse leaped forward and sped off into the night. Good thing! The night grew darker as Horace raced thru the fields taking every shortcut he knew to bring the Rangers back quickly From out of the darkness , Horace saw the glint of a blade One of the goblins had almost caught up with him! He urged the horse onward...... when suddenly he slipped from the saddle and drew his mighty sword "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" he roared Horace slashed out at the goblin and knocked him off the frightened horse he had stolen then raised his sword again.....and... rolled over off his bed and looked up to see the familar roof of his family's barn and..... there before his eyes was... not the warm eyes of Ol' Lilac ..his favorite cow.... BUT.... A REAL LIVING BREATHING GOBLIN! As the goblin came closer it cackled.... Its eyes glowed an eerie red... every step closer it took to Horace seemed like a threat to the young hobbit 's life then Horace's mum called out... "Horace! Come on in for first supper!" His head turned in the direction of his mum's voice... but so did the goblin's! As the goblin sprinted toward their cozy burrow .. something clicked inside of Horace and he raced after the goblin " Mum! GOBLIN!" he shouted. His mum came to the door expecting this was more of Horace's imagination and saw a goblin runnin toward her with a dagger drawn She screamed and fell back inside their burrow ... just as the goblin came in behind her Horace came right behind him with his 'mighty sword' actually a solid branch from one of the nearby Shire oaks which came down on the goblin's head before he could get close to Horace's mum The goblin turned glaring at Horace and charged back toward him but Horace's mum had jumped to her feet & grabbed the frying pan from the stove She sent it crashing down on the goblin's head ... and he fell bleeding to the floor A friendly bounder recruit heard the commotion and ran into the burrow and leaped on the goblin who was now in no shape to resist... so the bounder took him off half-conscious and bleeding to the office of the Watch and locked him up Horace and his mum hugged and praised each other for how brave they both were so... this was not the last day of Horace after all --the end-- |
Story - Another day in the life of Horace Bunce
By Acorne Oakley Tonight I have another tale of the cousin of Second Shirriff Bodo Bunce.. y'all remember Horace Bunce, dont you? This tale be about...... another day in the life of Horace Bunce! Horace was careful not to make a sound.. As quiet as could be, he followed the row of bushes to where he could overhear the goblins. "WE will teach them orcs a thing or two... when we invade the Shire tomorrow!" the slightly taller....but still as ugly... one answered, "who cares about them orcs? I'm looking forward to having hobbit slaves to do my cooking.. Especially that one who lives on the edge of our lost lands in the north of the Shire.. Aaaahh the sweet smell of burned turnips coming from her burrow... cant wait! " "Go on out and kill us a bear for supper while I start a fire!" the shorter one picked up his bow and left grumbling Soon he came back with only a small coney the taller goblin smirked and said, "kind of a small bear you got there" The shorter one dropped the coney near the fire and shot an angry glance sideways He just knew that he hadnt heard the last of the complaining about his poor hunting skills After they finished the meal... which didnt take them long since it was a mighty puny coney The shorter one pulled out a bottle of ale ... which he said he had stolen from a ranger... and called for a toast to taking over the Shire on the morrow they both laughed heartily and gulped down the ale which they passed between them "What was that !?!" "sounds like drumming coming out of them bushes!" They both turned to the bush where Horace was hiding He knew all too well ...that were no drum... Just his heart beating wildly And it just got louder when the two goblins got up and started in his direction.... It seemed like they were both gonna jump thru the bush on him ...all at once! Horace closed his eyes and felt something heavy fall on top of him... He woke with a start to hear his mum shouting, " Horace! Are you sleeping behind that haystack again!?!" Relieved Horace laughed out loud realizing that not two goblins at all... but the haystack had just fallen over on him __to be continued__ |
Story - A day in the life of Horace Bunce
By Acorne Oakley Hiya! I've come back with some news All of you folks probably know Bodo Bunce.. He be the Second Shirriff here in Michel Delving Ya know him cause he probably recruited most of ya ta be bounders.. but this news is not about him.... this is about his cousin ...Horace Bunce Here is... A Day in the Life of Horace Bunce As the smoke cleared, Horace Bunce stood all alone surrounded by dead and bleeding goblin corpses He whistled for his pony and swung himself astride in a flash His faithful pony , Mirabella, zigzaged across the meadow with arrows zinging through the air on either side Horace swore that the goblin king would not escape him this time! The moon shone through the clouds of this damp gloaming as Horace drew his mighty sword and ... gave a terrible roar which sent a nearby rabbit scampering down into his hole of a home. "HORACE! what is all this screaming about?", called his mum who was down by the fence in front of their burrow. Suddenly Horace woke up and looked around at the peaceful meadow... there was their ol' milk cow grazing peacefully just a few feet from where he had fallen asleep. He shook himself awake... and looked to see a real rabbit just leaping into a hole right in the middle of some clover Scattered among the clover were many tiny lumps which looked like raisins... but he knew better than to eat anything that came out of the back of a scared rabbit " Horace, go and gather some carrots for the stew I be making," his mum called out. Horace stood up & dusted himself off, picked up the mighty sword which actually looked more like a well-whittled stick, and headed off to the wild carrot patch down by the watering-hole. When Horace got close, he saw the familiar green tops sticking up out of the ground. He began running across the meadow grabbing the tops and revealing their long orange roots which he stuffed into his pockets. By the time he got close to the watering-hole his pockets were overflowing with the sweet orange goodness. Horace almost turned back to take the carrots back for the stew when.... What was that in the water? Some kind of strange creature was bent over drinking from the water A large rosy-white animal with long legs... who suddenly noticed the small hobbit lad and raised its head revealing a very long neck! Horace, being a brave lad, went closer.. and the tall bird said, " Leave me alone! I taste terrible!" Horace was amazed cause he had never seen any bird talk before this. "Did you talk?" The bird's broad bill parted and he replied, "Of course, I dont want to be eaten" Horace let out a whoop and ran back to get his mum and show her this strange bird "Mum! Mum! you must come right away and see! I found a bird that can talk!" "Oh Horace! another daydream? did you remember the carrots?" "Yes here they are, " Horace said as he turned his pockets inside out letting the carrots fall out on the floor. "Come with me, Mum This is truly a talking bird!" Not quite convinced, his mum followed him back to the watering-hole... and there was the peaceful meadow with the old watering hole... But no sign of a bird... definitely not a talking one! Horace's mum looked at her son's face.. Ready to scold him again Horace had such a look of disappointment that she changed her mind. Instead she put her arms around him and hugged him "Horace I believe you saw a bird... even if it's gone now" "Now let us go back and I'll finish that stew you like" Horace smiled cause it feels so good ta have someone believe ya .... even if they dont see it with their own eyes This story was told by Miss Acorne at the Night of the Muses on August 28th. If you want to hear more, then visit the Night of the Muses on Sept 4th and hear the story "Another Day in the Life of Horace Bunce". |
Song - Jewel Lake
By Pete Proudfoot (aka Onionfarmer Pete)  west of Old Sandson’s farm, where a small stream runs north to the Bogs, growing on the shore is an ancient oak tree: a place I call Jewel Lake. Between the leaves, where two big branches meet two swallows return every Spring Shelter they find in the ancient oak tree Here, down by Jewel Lake. Come close to me now Hold me tight in your arms Let’s rest a while, beneath the oak tree Here, down by Jewel Lake. Some six years ago, I first saw them here feeling at home instantly. Together they built a nest every year here, down by Jewel Lake. They come again when the Winter is done I call them Milly and Bill Bill, he is brave and black as the night Milly as sweet as can be. Come close to me now Hold me tight in your arms Let’s rest a while, beneath the oak tree Here, down by Jewel Lake. In the last days of April this year, I set eyes on him one last time A lonely bird, perched on his branch Here, down by Jewel lake Quietly he sat.. heartbroken he was.. watching and waiting all day until one day when he left as well never to come back again. Tourne, tourne dans mes bras. Tien moi serré encore. Reste avec moi en bas ce chêne vert Au bord du Lac Bijou. Let’s rest a while, beneath the oak tree Here, down by Jewel Lake. Some information about the author: Pete Proudfoot, better known as Onionfarmer Pete, translated this song as the original title is "Lac Bijou". It was composed by Zachary Richard. It is played at almost every concert by the Evendim Hillbillies. They have once performed it near the Sirannon stream ((=on the server of that name)) with it's original lyrics. |
Poem Harnkegger Games 2018: Of love and trickery
By Lina Willowwood Of love and trickery Lotho was a feeble lad, his arms as thin as splinters Rumours spread about a jolly party in the Shire There beneath the party tree, he had a drink of porter Sneaking near the bustling crowd, he reached inside his backpack No-one could explain the utter chaos that descended Late at night the party hosts were sifting through the carnage  |
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