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
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 Bobo 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  |
Poem Harnkegger Games 2018: Hama stood
By Braag, Son of Balin Hama Stood  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
By Agago Longleaf A Pipeweed Poem  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
By Brambleblurr I'll just be Pippin' out now then, hehe... "" 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.  |
Poem - A hole in one
By Ponso Pondhopper  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
By Pycella Woodberry  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 fairiesAnd 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
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
By Pycella Woodberry About the Author: The Silly Dragon Once there was a land far from here  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. 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. |
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