#nottolkien

[tolkienmatters]

If enforcing gender norms requires a constant state of surveillance and censorship then they probably aren't as biological or innate as you think they are

- Gillian Branstetter

#not tolkien #nottolkien #sorry but Ive had a few harps #crazy idea let people live how they want and exist without your opinion harming them #i know this is a tolkien blog but its on tumblr so it is relevant

[ttrtru]

WE LOVE YOU TUMBLR <3

#comic #ttrtruart #nottolkien #goodbye to freedom of speech one step at a time

[misswhalie]

Have some Riku windbreaker fashion?

#kingdom hearts #riku #windbreaker #fashion #my art #nottolkien #kingdomhearts #kingdom hearts ddd #ddd #kh2 #kh #paopu fruit #paopu

[nixiegenesis]

Already thinking about what to do with this. A warm-up before I work on a commission. #fluidart #fluidartist #texasartist #mckinneyartist #femaleartist #myart #notfandom #nottolkien

#myart #mckinneyartist #fluidart #notfandom #fluidartist #texasartist #nottolkien #femaleartist

[sirielle]

Wild elf 2007

Prints at @redbubble​: http://www.redbubble.com/people/sirielle/

#dnd #redhair #catpupils #digitalpainting #elf #cateye #dungeonsanddragons #fantasyart #fantasy #redhaired #redhairedmale #ginger #digital #portrait #nottolkien #wildelf #sirielle #man

[tolkienmatters]

I am Ireland: I am older than the Hag of Beara. Great my glory: I who bore brave Cú Chulainn. Great my shame: My own children that sold their mother. Great my pain: My irreconcilable enemies who harass me continually. Great my sorrow: That crowd, in whom I placed my trust, died. I am Ireland: I am lonelier than the Hag of Beara.

- I am Ireland by Patrick Pearse.

#not tolkien #nottolkien #poem #poetry #patrick pearse #i am ireland #Mise Éire #translation #rest in piss elizabeth you leech #ireland #irish #ding dong the witch is dead

[tolkienmatters]

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,       Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake,       And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,       So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full,       And the harvest’s done. I see a lily on thy brow,       With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose       Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads,       Full beautiful—a faery’s child, Her hair was long, her foot was light,       And her eyes were wild. I made a garland for her head,       And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love,       And made sweet moan I set her on my pacing steed,       And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing       A faery’s song. She found me roots of relish sweet,       And honey wild, and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said—       ‘I love thee true’. She took me to her Elfin grot,       And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes       With kisses four. And there she lullèd me asleep,       And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamt       On the cold hill side. I saw pale kings and princes too,       Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci       Thee hath in thrall!’ I saw their starved lips in the gloam,       With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here,       On the cold hill’s side. And this is why I sojourn here,       Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake,       And no birds sing.

- La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad by John Keats

#not tolkien #nottolkien #poem #poetry #john keats #happy halloween #if u saw me drunk stream last night no you didnt #La Belle Dame sans Merci #ballad

[tolkienmatters]

The boy stood on the burning deck   Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck   Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,   As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood,   A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on–he would not go   Without his Father's word; That father, faint in death below,   His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud–'say, Father, say   If yet my task is done?' He knew not that the chieftain lay   Unconscious of his son.

'Speak, father!' once again he cried,   'If I may yet be gone!' And but the booming shots replied,   And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,   And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death   In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,   'My father! must I stay?' While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,   The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,   They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child,   Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound–    The boy–oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around   With fragments strewed the sea!–

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,   That well had borne their part– But the noblest thing which perished there   Was that young faithful heart.

Casabianca by Felicia Dorothea Hemans

#not tolkien #nottolkien #poem #casabianca

[tolkienmatters]

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,  

Then look for me by moonlight,

        Watch for me by moonlight,

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

- Excerpt from The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes.

#not tolkien #nottolkien #the highwayman #alfred noyes #highwayman

[tolkienmatters]

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert… . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

- Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

#nottolkien #not tolkien #poem #poetry #ozymandias #percy bysshe shelley

[tolkienmatters]

And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,   When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,   A highwayman comes riding—        Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard. He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.   He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there   But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,        Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

- The ending stanzas of The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes.

#not tolkien #nottolkien #alfred noyes #the highwayman

[tolkienmatters]

The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws the living still, But never any more the dead. The verses in it say and say: ‘The ones who living come today To read the stones and go away Tomorrow dead will come to stay.’ So sure of death the marbles rhyme, Yet can’t help marking all the time How no one dead will seem to come. What is it men are shrinking from? It would be easy to be clever And tell the stones: Men hate to die And have stopped dying now forever. I think they would believe the lie.

- In a Disused Graveyard by Robert Frost

#nottolkien #poem #robert frost #in a disused graveyard

[tolkienmatters]

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death   Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said. Into the valley of Death   Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade!” Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier knew   Someone had blundered.   Theirs not to make reply,   Theirs not to reason why,   Theirs but to do and die.   Into the valley of Death   Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them   Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of hell   Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while   All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery-smoke Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre stroke   Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not   Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them   Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell. They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them,   Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made!   All the world wondered. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade,   Noble six hundred!

- The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Tennyson.

#nottolkien #not tolkien #not lord because fuck him #poem #poetry

[tolkienmatters]

But, if one little casement parted wide,

The gust of His approach would clash it to.

Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.

Across the margent of the world I fled,

And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,

Smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars;

Fretted to dulcet jars

And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon.

I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;

With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over

From this tremendous Lover—

Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!

 - excerpt from The Hound of Heaven by Francis Thomspon.

#nottolkien #not tolkien #houn dof heaven

[tolkienmatters]

Patient, old man, let me take one of your hills

That one, tethered into a huge bouquet by its twisting, turning hedgerows

Let me offer it to God, in thanksgiving

For that there was and always shall be

This is England in the spring of '44

And warriors gaze eastward as warriors have before

- Untitled by Stephen Colbert's uncle Eddie Colbert

#nottolkien #not tolkien #poem #poetry #a lovely poem #https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fqXDV2h_3s&ab_channel=MostlyWater #and formatted as I see/heard

[tolkienmatters]

In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, “Is it good, friend?” “It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it “Because it is bitter, “And because it is my heart.”

- In the Desert by Stephen Crane.

#not tolkien #nottolkien #poem #stephen crane #in the desert