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.





Song - Jewel Lake

posted Oct 30, 2018, 8:20 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush   [ updated Oct 30, 2018, 8:27 AM ]

By Pete Proudfoot (aka Onionfarmer Pete) 

A pond fed by a linn,
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

posted Oct 14, 2018, 8:51 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush

By Lina Willowwood 

Of love and trickery 

Lotho was a feeble lad, his arms as thin as splinters 
Not exactly handsome, with a laugh that made yer wince 
Everybody knew that Lotho had his eyes on Rosie 
‘I will dance with her, and I will be her prince’ 

Rumours spread about a jolly party in the Shire
Courses three and drinks for free, and dancing all night long
Lotho waited night and day to get his invitation
When no letter came, he went to join the throng

There beneath the party tree, he had a drink of porter
Straight ahead the lass he’d wed, if only she’d agree
Other lads they swarmed around and kept her ever busy
‘Time fer tricks and pranks’, he rubbed his hands with glee

Sneaking near the bustling crowd, he reached inside his backpack
Grinning wide and looking snide, he filled his lungs with air
Squeezing hard he blew into his father’s ancient bagpipes
‘This will make them run, and leave the maiden fair’

No-one could explain the utter chaos that descended
Laddies yelped with cries of help, they ran toward the hills
Tables turned and ale-kegs burned, and Rosie lost her manners
Lotho heard her scream, a howl that gave him chills

Late at night the party hosts were sifting through the carnage
Weeping shrill and looking ill, Lotho clutched a rag
‘Never let a hobbit lassie catch yer playing bagpipes’
‘She will break the pipes, and make yer eat the bag’


Poem Harnkegger Games 2018: Hama stood

posted Oct 2, 2018, 11:57 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush   [ updated Oct 2, 2018, 12:06 PM ]

By Braag, Son of Balin  

Hama Stood 

In darkest days, The Rohirrim were mired  
    With Grima, Isengard conspired  
A glamour cast on Thengel-Son
    Had led the Mark to brink of ruin, before waxing doom of Orodruin
With Dotage, heavy on our sire
    Until Hama let Mithrandir’s staff, cleanse his lord with secret fire 

Still with noble Theodred lost
    Amid cruel Orthanc’s unleashed host
And the Westfold feeling Dunland’s wrath
    From Edoras we fled in haste, to Helm’s Deep’s stony cold embrace
There to brace with beam and post
    And hunker down to hide in crystal caves what mattered most

And as the rain drew dark that night
    While evil enveloped the vale with blight
And terror that the onslaught wrought
    Spread thru parapets and towers, bought with lives, the precious hours
Creeping dawn’s reluctant light
    Found the Hornburg’s battered gates besieged in desperate plight

It was in that darkest hour that Hama stood
    Amidst the crumbled blocks and splintered wood
Alone he faced the snarling hordes
    And guarded as the final ward, the only door ‘tween death… and his Lord
Hama stood where none other would
     And no Uruk could move him, though death was understood

At the last, impossibly he’d borne
    The vital moments stealing to the morn
A door warden he was
    And still remained, with thoughts of Leofred and Eorl he’d been sustained
But E’en as he fell, he heard Helm Hammerhand’s horn
    Rohan had survived, though ever forlorn
        And forevermore with Simbelmyne his grave was adorned

Hama, son of Leoforth
    Door-Ward of uncommon worth
Of whose courage, the minstrels sing
    With blood slicked back pressed ‘gainst the door, he did retreat not
        One…
            Step…
                More.
    Rising from his lowly birth,
        Sacrificed, he bore the price, for Mark and King
            and Middle Earth

Braag Son of Balin,  8/15/18

Poem Harnkegger Games 2018: A Pipeweed Poem

posted Oct 2, 2018, 11:48 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush   [ updated Nov 1, 2018, 4:46 AM ]

By Agago Longleaf 

A Pipeweed Poem 

Tall and stately green 
Best sight I ever seen 
Swaying in the breeze 
Pretty as you please 

Rooted firmly in the ground
Planted neatly in their mounds
Growing up toward the sky
As the summer months go by

Nothing smells as sweet
In the late summer heat
As the frothy bloom above
Something most us Hobbits love

Hail to farmers that grow pipeweed
Of summer leaf that comes from the land
Stonecrop Leaf just ain't that grand
But Summer Green Weed
I have to say
Is the pick of the day

Some pipeweed was named after folks
Some in honor some as a joke
First Hobbit in the Shire to be a pipeweed grower
Was a fellow by the name of Tobold Hornblower

Some pipeweed was named for what he done
Hornblower and Old Toby were the ones
Sweet Lobelia as it is known
Most distasteful of all that's grown

Some pipeweed just bad as can be
That be Southlinch that come from Bree
Mighty good pipeweed that all desire
Comes from Southfarthling here in the Shire

Long Bottom Leaf and Southern Star
Eagles Nest be best by far
Some pipeweed it is said
Can bring you back from the dead

A pipeweed whose praises I will sing
Was said to be a favorite of an ancient king
Listen folks it ain't no joke
Some glow with an eerie fire when its smoked

According to hobbits we confess
Wizards Fire is the best of the best
So pardon me while I pause to ponder
It's PIPEWEED time
So away I will wander

Some info about the artist: Miss Agago is a member of the Purple Parlor Pipeweed Band and not only a gifted musician and musical arranger, but also an accomplished poet.

From Bywater to Bag End, A Journey

posted May 4, 2018, 4:44 PM by Peppy Bristlebrush

By Brambleblurr  


" Happy anniversary ladies and gentle-hobbits !  

Before i introduce myself, i'd like to thank amid everyone present, most esteemed Lina for her genuine hard effort, dedication and passion to have brought week by week a joy and patronage to the GDF these past 10 years, a round of applause please.  

To tell you who I am I'd have to start with my first day in Bywater...  

The sun was shining, the grass plenty green , and yes... All bringing us back to 10 years ago, personally wasn't there, surely some of you would like to go back in those times... "Go back?" i thought. "No good at all! Go sideways ? Impossible ! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!"  

Indeed, in very deed, i'm here today after many weeks of absence, my sincere apologies, not to spin dramatic, or humorous, nor insightful devotions, albeit through song and tale we partake in all of those !

You see, i'm here to remind each and one of you, in hindsight, what Green Dragon Friday means, or used to mean for us inhabitants, how this lovely social gathering helped many of us overcome fear, discouragement, and despair through steadfastness, courage and hope.

"Every year like clockwork for nigh on fiddy years now" the All-Four farthing Brewing-Moot competition has lasted, said good ole' Carlo Balgrove from the Bird and Baby inn, and many years Barmy's special breath ale has won prizes, think i got the smell of a best in show, a cheers to that !

This year i hear old Gerd wants to enter some of Rootknot's special reserve in the judging, handful of powdered gypsum takes the bitter edge off brews. But don't let him know t'was me telling !

Ah, the memories of Bywater, say how many of you chased Belco Brockhouse's old Sally ?

Honestly, always running off, eating like a horse and scared o' her own shadow.
Weren't he so fond o' her, would've made sausage out of her years ago!
Yes, can't blame you, had a chat our esteemed Thain, Paladin few days ago, like most hobbits, the Old Took had an affection for his vittles, especially spiced boar-ribs. I admit, I have a fondness for them meself.

Ah, 'nuff talk about delicacies ! Mind tends to wander easy... Ah yes back to the Hobbiton.

'Spose some of you are familiar with Longo Burrow, on the way to Hobbiton surely you must hear every morn' without exception 'Afore... my pipe-weed is known throughout the Shire, and a bit beyond...',
yes Longo we've heard it a hundred times over ! As much as i'm annoyed, can't blame one leaf of his, simply splendid !

Near crossing the bridge and Shirrff Robin Smallburrow's words not mine, 'i think it's important to strengthen the bonds of friendship.' right he is, 's why 'ere gathered here today. Handyhobbit Dudo Chubb would know best, he must've received a house of hammers by now !

I can just hear dear Holly Hornblower in her sweet voice 'I'm up to my ears in people wanting my pies. Now i'm not complaining -- it's good that' , oh bless her, good soul, and even better pies !

'Cross the bridge and up the Hill, my ears prickle from the gossip, such a contrast really, if you care to stop by ol' Gaffer Gamgee's farm you'll either end up working all day or being offered apple curd !

And of course the Bag End, truly more impressive even than the Great Smials ! Friendly inhabitants Baggins, well used to be anyways, now that crow...*ahem* i mean dear Lobelia resides there, can't blame you avoding...

All in good fun, hope i didn't wander too far from the Green Dragon, but you know what they say, “Short cuts make delays, but inns make longer ones.”

An old wiseman used to say "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."
And i'm very privileged to have had you listen to a traveling hobbit's memories of home , all i c an say is that It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing, so I 'courage you, let's be less Sackville and more Baggins, less Proudfoot and more Took...Less sorry and more merry !

Sorry, that Took a while.

I'll just be Pippin' out now then, hehe... "

Ed.: This speech was delivered by Master Brambleblurr at the occasion of "10 years Green Dragon Friday", on May 4, 2018 (the warmup-party)

Poem - A hole in one

posted Mar 20, 2018, 11:24 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush   [ updated Mar 20, 2018, 11:30 AM ]

By Ponso Pondhopper  

A hole in one  

We are but plain and simple folk,  
And ‘Hobbits’ be our name;  
We have a most congenial look,  
And shun heroics and fame.  

But when our home is under threat,
And enemies approach;
Force with force will ay be met,
Before our lands you touch.

We are a calm and paisible folk,
Fond of ales and food;
Our lives are happy: oft we joke;
We’re almost never rude.

Yet push a spear into our face,
And you will raise our ire.
We will not shrink from fight or chase;
And so meet fire with fire.

We are not proud or boastful, we,
For heroics and such stuff’;
Of drink and vittles, you can see,
We always have enough.

But threaten us with force and war,
And we shall take our stand;
We’ll rally to the cause; no more
Will invaders take our lands.

And so it was in times gone by;
When by invasion met,
We looked the Goblins in the eye,
Uncowered by the threat.

Long we fought upon these fields,
With pitchfork, bow and arrow;
The Goblins armed with spears and shields
Would scare you to the marrow.

But we stood firm and never flinched,
Sure of our position;
As the orcish forces forward inched,
We stood in opposition.

Oh! Bandobras, Oh Bandobras,
To you our freedom’s owed;
For when the day was almost lost,
Your strength and courage showed. 

Fearing naught, you waded in,
And faced Golfinbul here;
You shouted o’er the battle’s din,
‘Hobbits, to my rear!’

The Hobbit ranks fell back behind,
And their positions took.
When Bandobras stomped on the ground,
The whole of the Greenfields shook.

The goblins sneered, Golfimbul mocked,
As Bandobras stood tall;
The orcish troops toward you flocked,
But you ignored them all.

Then, ‘Charge!’ you yelled and all ran forth
Toward the Goblin-horde;
At the head of the Goblins, to the north,
Golfimbul raised his sword.

But Bandobras, you showed your might;
Your club swung over your head,
Felling orc-foes, left and right,
Leaving them dying or dead.

The cowardly orc-chief tried to run;
But he would not keep his head.
A mighty swipe of your club: It was done!
Golfimbul lay there dead!

The Goblins turned tail and tried to escape,
But the Hobbit bows stopped their flight;
And Golfimbul’s head, sundered from nape,
Flew upwards and out of sight.

A hundred yards from where its owner lay dead,
Was a burrow under a hill;
And t’was there in the hole they found his head,
The first ‘hole in one’, if you will!

This poem was made for, and first read by it's author on, Bullroarer Took Day 2018

Poem - The Took Who Married a Fairy

posted Feb 19, 2018, 8:30 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush

By Pycella Woodberry 


Roses are red, violets are blue,  
And this is a story that might not be true  
It’s about a Took who, once in his life,  
Loved a fairy and took her as his dear wife.  

When he was little, his ma told about fairies
Who baked the most wonderful pastries
And whenever the lad had his birthday
He found a tasty pie at their doorway
“That’s a gift from a fairy”, his ma explained
Even though they were pies she had baked

The lad grew older, believing his ma’s lies
And became a true lover of fairy-made pies
“When I come of age, I will marry a fairy”
“Together, we will run a magical bakery”
One day, he had a walking stick in his hands
And started to search for the fairy lass lands

Up on a hill, a hobbit lady was napping
Having a picnic, with a pie in a wrapping
But when she slept, a bear came over
It was hungry and had a bad honey hangover
It roared and the hobbit lady woke up
She screamed and climbed up to the tree top
The bear ate the pie, and left for bear business
But up in the tree, there was a lady in distress
A pie inspired by this poem
Then the lad came by, still after his fairies
And he heard the cries from behind the leaves
“Is it you, pie fairy, up in the tree?” said he.
“I’m what you will, now help me get free!” said she.
The lad climbed up and helped the lass down safely
And when they were there, he bent his knee.
And the rest is rumours and hobbit history.

Until his dying day, he thought the lass was a fairy
And no wonder, for her pies were quite lovely
Believe what you will, it might not be true
But love is a real thing, even for a Took.

This poem was first presented at the Tuckburough Historical Field Trip on February 18, 2018.

Some info about the artist: Miss Pycella is not only a gifted storyteller and poet, but she is also a baker of pies and runs a shop in Songburrow that is well worth a visit! Miss Pycella often recites poems or stories of her own hand at the Green Dragon on Fridays, where she also sometimes acts as the host of the evening.

Poem - King and Queen

posted May 7, 2017, 2:15 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush   [ updated May 7, 2017, 2:16 AM ]

By Simbolo Rumblebelly  

What would the night be without the stars? 
That we may admire from afar 
And what would the day be without the sun? 
That it may shine on everyone 

And could you have a bird without a song?
That it sings sweetly all day long
And what would a river be without a fish?
Or a wishing well without a wish?

So what would a lad be without a lass?
To keep him on the rightful path
And what would a lass be without a lad?
He may be silly, but makes her glad

Be it a lad and a lass, or Queen and King
There's happiness in pairs of things...
For many things are bound together
And two as one can stay forever


Some info about the author:
Master Simbolo is the brother of another fine poet: Simbo. Talent runs in the family there!
He made this poem for the occasion of the coronation of Queen Dassa and King Potty on May 6 2017 and first performed it there.

Poem - the Silly Dragon

posted Sep 14, 2016, 4:17 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush

By Pycella Woodberry  


The Silly Dragon  

Once there was a land far from here  
And there, many dragons dwelt  
They spat fire and ruled the skies  
Hoarded treasures and enjoyed their lives  

One dragon was a special one  
He disliked fire and having coin  
He sniffed blooms and tended plants
He liked to get dirt on his hands

The other dragons kept mocking him
They thought real dragons should be grim
"Real dragons don't care for gardening"
"They should be mean and frightening!"

The mocking made that dragon sad
One day, he took his garden hat
He walked straight down into a pond
Where he could tend weeds with love

One day, the dragons had a silly fight
About a treasure, there's no doubt
The fight turned the world into a fiery pit
And all the dragons went extinct
Except for one...

The silly dragon wondered what was going on
So it crept out from his peaceful pond
To see how the world had burnt to ashes
The air was heavy with all the sadness

But the silly dragon didn't get upset
It smiled and into the pond it went
It drank all the water it could take
And then it came up with haste
It rose up and flew quite high
And poured water down from the sky
It spread seeds on the ground so bare
And they grew into fields so fair
The dragon planted blooms and greens
Turnips, corn and apple trees
There was no place left bare nor plain
The world became alive again.

Where is that silly dragon now?
Into the pond he did go
There he blows some water bubbles
And enjoys eating tasty mussels
To him, it never mattered really
That he was born so silly.

 
About the Author:
Miss Pycella is a talented poet, storyteller and playwright. She often recites her work on Green Dragon Fridays. With this poem, she entered the poetry competition of the Harnkegger Games 2016 and won the silvery prize.
Miss Pycella runs a pie-shop and was elected Shire May Queen in 2016

Poem - A hill never climbed

posted May 7, 2016, 2:31 AM by Peppy Bristlebrush

By Ponso Pondhopper  

The other day I took a stroll, 
With no particular aim in mind. 
To pass some time, my only goal; 
Perhaps to see what I could find. 

Towards the Smials I set my feet;
Followed the crag, beneath the trees.
The sun shone brightly, what a treat!
And on my face a cooling breeze.

At copses' end, I took a right,
And climbed the path with boulders strewn;
Till Tuckborough hove into sight.
I stopped to rest; 'twas nearly noon.

My seat a stone, both wide and flat;
On a branch above, a blackbird trilled,
As in a reverie I sat;
Its endless song my spirits filled.

I thought of all the times I'd been
Sat on this stone, beneath this tree.
Of all the Shire sights I had seen,
And wondered if there was more to see.

And standing up, I spied a hill;
A lonely tree upon its crown.
I had the afternoon to kill,
So from my rock I scrambled down.

I said goodbye to the warbling bird;
Strode off once more across the sward.
The blackbird's song still plainly heard;
It's daring notes that thrilled and soared.

To my left, Great Willow, feet in mire;
To my right, a clump of silver birch.
I climbed the rise, onward and higher,
Determined in my dogged search.

And topping the ridge I saw the mound;
Encircled by a ring of stone.
Around its foot, a cart track wound,
And on its top, a tree, alone.

I scrambled down and crossed the lane;
And now the hill looked tall and bare.
My attempts to climb it were in vain;
No easy footholds anywhere!

But where's there's a will', my Dad would say,
'There's also a way, it can't be denied';
Determined was I to find the way,
And thought to try the other side.

I circled the base along the cliff;
The ground rose steeply by its side.
My legs grew tired, my back was stiff,
As I searched for the path as yet untried.

And then at last I found the way;
A grassy slope that smoothed the rise.
I scrambled up there straight away,
And what a view to meet my eyes!

Beneath my feet, the Farthing Stone,
Bywater beyond and Hobbiton Bridge;
The Party Tree, bedecked, alone,
And further on, The Hill's green ridge.

Here was a sight I'd never seen,
Bindbole wood in midday haze;
The distant Box Hills, blue and green.
More glorious view ne'er met my gaze!

So here I sat an hour, enthralled,
Watching the Water far below;
As through its vale it wound and sprawled.
I really didn't want to go.

But time, it's said, will never wait
For Hobbit, man or dwarf and elf;
The sun was dipping; it was late,
I woke from my daydream, shook myself.

I took a final look around,
And with a heavy heart, descended.
I followed the path that turned and wound;
Another exploration ended.

Odd that until this day I'd never
Climbed this hill, nor seen this sight;
Worth every ounce of my endeavour.
Inspiring view, a rare delight.

I headed home with sprightly gait;
The setting sun, low, in my eyes.
I didn't mind that it was late,
Not after winning such a prize!

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