Proceedings of the Angband Poets' Society by

An Ode to Melkor, on his return from imprisonment.

Thank fuck our Morgoth’s come on back!
We’re making him a lovely plaque!
He whose terror knows no equal—
Save Mairon, his fright’ning sequel.

So many years we spent in fear,
Ne’er knowing how much worse was near.
The spreadsheets! Gantt charts! Metrics, how—
Restructuring, he said. Right now.

He started at the very top,
And once he did, he would not stop.
Performance reviews: yearly, now.
‘Fore things like crunch time, we must bow.

So when our Master we did spy,
“Deliverance!” rang out the cry.
We thought that this would be the cue,
For in with the old, and OUT WITH THE NEW!

But though we celebrate today,
Our joy’s short-lived, I’m sad to say.
For Graagh spied Melkor in the mist,
Greeting Mairon…
                …with a passionate kiss. ?

-Bhalzak, Captain of Angband's 432nd Regiment

Fëanor was an elven-smith,
Such jewels did he make forthwith,
And yet he forgot,
To insure the lot,
His old wealth is now just a myth.

-Grugh, Lieutenant-Commander of Angband's 77nd Legion

*

Yes, I’ve heard of the one they call Gothmog,
A true leader, the greatest of Balrogs,
But he ran afoul,
Of Mairon the dour,
Now his room is infested with bullfrogs.

-Sigluzh, a cook

*

Do you hear what they say about Mairon?
That he says all conclusions are foregone?
Then he found quantum physics,
Uncertainty it inflicts,
Now his sanity, sadly, is bygone.

-Grishnagh, Soldier, 45th Battalion

*

Say… there were a few poets from Angband,
Who thought they’d be witty with longhand,
It’s too bad their limericks
Were such dreadful gimmicks—

                                       Eh, fuck it.

Grishnagh will clean toilets as reprimand.

-Mairon, Lieutenant of Angband

Dear readers,

Judging by the unprecedented volume of mail we received about this one poem when it was originally printed in last month’s edition of the Angband Poets’ Society magazine, this one is definitely going to become an unexpected (possibly cult) classic. Furthermore, as you may have surmised, the responses were as diverse as they were numerous. It seems that this topic is even more controversial than that of whether maces are superior to swords — which, as you all know, is still known to start the occasional brawl in the lunchroom. While we will not delve into the deeper philosophical issues now being hotly discussed in Angband’s canteens, we do wish to clarify a few matters for our readership.

1) Yes, we know that it’s not exactly difficult to figure out who the “anonymous” author is. We’re still respecting their request to be listed as anonymous. Quit asking.

2) Judging by the comments some of you have made questioning our anonymous author’s credentials, some of you are nonetheless unable to figure out who they are. We assure you naysayers that the author’s credentials are impeccable. Indeed, we would be astounded if any of the naysayers have a kill count even close to that of our author. We frankly think you’re lucky that they’re a patient and tolerant Orc, because if they decided to answer any of the insults you’ve levied at them… well. Let’s just say the cleaning crew might have trouble getting all the bits of you out of the grout.

3) No, the author is not Balcmeg. No, we’re not going to comment on the rumors that he’s been sending courting gifts to some Laiquendi lad down in Ossiriand who nearly killed him in the First Battle. First of all, this is a poetry magazine, not a gossip rag. Second… at the risk of sounding like Lord Mairon, do you not have anything better to talk about? Or anything resembling a sense of… good taste?

4) No, we are not going to publish your blistering and lengthy retort in this magazine. Again, we publish poetry. If you want your rant published, send it in verse.

5) Ogzikh from the kitchens has asked us to notify our readership that the architectural oddity which allowed the author to listen in on conversations occurring in Melkor’s bedchamber has already been repaired, and that all of you need to stop trying to gather in the kitchens to eavesdrop. Consider yourselves notified.

6) Apparently a few of you kids weren’t aware that we started out as elves, and have expressed incredulity. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s true. Yes, we know that Shuglat was one of the first Orcs, and that he insists he was never an elf. He’s delusional.

Kind regards,
The Editorial Team of the Angband Poets’ Society Magazine

On the flight of the Noldor from Valinor.

Say, have you heard what Morgoth swore?
Revolution’s come to Valinor!
I heard him say it! Loud and clear!
Though he whisper’d it in Mairon’s ear,
Down in the kitchens there’s a spot
Where if you stand beside the pot
Of stew that’s meant for Melkor’s chamber,
Anyone can hear the murmur
Of conference held beside his bed.
(…Other things too. That’s what I said.)

(Yes, I know. A secret? Hardly.
The very concept — rather funny.
Still, be cautious if you choose to hear.
The things you hear, you can’t unhear.
No other warnings shall I give.
Just heed them if you wish to live
Not knowing things BEST LEFT UNKNOWN—
Like how to get Mairon to… moan.)

(…And incidentally, my Lord,
Please do not put me to the sword
For speaking what’s already known—
It wasn’t me who found that stone.
I know you read this publication,
An though I speak above my station,
Your true concern is architecture!
You shouldn’t just give me a lecture.)

So… anyhow. Let’s move along.
To news that is a newer song,
Than our great Master’s love affair.
(Yes, affair. Just one. Don’t stare.)

Ed. Note — It is really cute, though.

I heard him say to his lieutenant,
That in Aman they’ve raised the pennant
Of REBELLION! Yes! I tell you true,
The Noldor have declar’d they’re through
With the Valar, and all their works.
At last, they’ve seen the lies that lurk
Within the hearts of those who say
That none can find a better way
Than obedience in heart and mind
To them alone. (It’s true, you’ll find
The things we say might sound the same,
But there’s a difference. Our acclaim
Comes not from claiming all is good
When it’s clearly not. I mean, who would?
Save the Valar, who like to claim
That suff’ring serves the greater name
Of Ilúvatar. Just… really?
Can any take that seriously?
To me, sounds more like muttering
That his design’s still buffering—
And I’ll leave it there. This was not
Meant as philosophical rot,
But instead, as celebration
Of the Noldor’s newest station.)

My friends, forgive me — I digress.
It happens sometimes to the best.
The news is this: The Noldor flew
To Alqualondë, where they slew
The foolish ones, who sought to keep
Them trapp’d within their prison bleak.
Thus stain’d with blood, they sought the ships
Sat moor’d within the harbor-slips,
And took their prize so rightly won,
Sailing forth in glorious crimson,
To Beleriand’s hither shore.
It’s sadly true, they come for war—
A property dispute with our boss,
Three jewels that they rightly lost,
As justly as they won the sails
Which bear them now past Arda’s veils.

However!

In another place, another time,
Could they have been our brothers in crime?
“Such foolishness,” you all might say—
Imagine now a diff’rent day.
If fate had not set us at odds,
They might have stood amongst our squads,
As friends — shut up, Ghazhrak. I know you.
You’re entitled to your stubborn view,
Though I name you fool. Search your heart.
Know you not how we all did start?
Do you not know from whence we came?
We were elves once! It is no shame
To pray our brothers’ diff’rent breed
Be swiftly brought, and soon be freed
Of all their chains, upon the altar
Of our dearest, gracious Master;
Or hope that soon they’ll see themselves
What freedom lies in darkest Hell,
And join us of their own will, equals.
(Let the Valar see THOSE sequels!)

And if you think that I am blind,
That sentiment still clouds my mind,
Recall the Noldor’s righteous deeds:
Their bloodstain’d hands, their awful creed,
That they progress’d on stolen ships
With threats of Doom amid the skips—
Nor threats alone! Their Doom is come.
They’re damned as we are. It is done.
For tears unnumber’d they shall shed,
No home to come to, now they’ve fled,
From Valinor they now are lost—
And still they saw it worth the cost.

So in the raging war to come,
The battles lost and battles won,
When on the field we meet our foe,
And raise our sword for his deathblow…
My brothers — let him die in glory.
His could have been another story.
An when the light then leaves his eyes,
Hope that he’s found a better prize:
That in the Void he’ll wake and see
Enfolding dark, our Melkor’s mercy.
An though his cause should die in vain,
Do not begrudge him all his pain—
But remember, when you see his face,
He’s lost as you from Eru’s grace.

—An anonymous Orc of Melkor's legions.

Ed. Note — The Lieutenant of Angband says he has no comment and can neither confirm nor deny the rumors of a romance between himself and Melkor. (But for the record, it’s pretty obvious.) He also released the following statement regarding the discussion surrounding this poem:

“Leadership of Angband welcomes people of any race or background who are willing to swear unconditional, unquestioning, and undying loyalty to Lord Melkor. We would stand entirely in support of any Noldor who sought to swear fealty thus, and will continue to encourage them to do so as our negotiations with them progress.”