'Twas The Night Before Quidditch

So, this is a poem that my friend and I made to celebrate Harry Potter and Christmas at the same time!  It was based on the poem 'Twas The Night Before Christmas.

'Twas the night before Quidditch, when all through Hogwarts,

Not a wizard was stirring, not even Harry Potter;

The flying brooms were stacked on the field with care,

In hopes that Gryffindor would win the game there;

The young wizards were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Snitches danced in their heads;

And Hagrid in his hut, and I in my tower,

Had just settled down for a nap that lasted an hour,

When out on the grounds there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the common room I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and drew in a huge gasp.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of midday to dark wizards below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

The Dark Lord, my greatest fear,

With a circle of Deatheaters, so sly and scary,

I knew in a moment that this night wouldn't be merry.

More rapid than eagles his Deatheaters they came,

And he hollered, and shouted, and called them by name;

Now! Lucius, now!  Bellatrix, now!  Greyback and Crabbe

On!  Severus, on! Pettigrew, on!  Karkaroff and Draco!

To the top of the tower!  To the top of the wall!

Now blast away!  Blast away!  Blast away all!

As dry leaves that before the wand battle fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, wands to the sky,

So up to the castle his followers they flew,

With their sticks full of magic, and dark revenge too.

And then, to my terror, I heard on the roof

The sound of Deatheaters trying to break through.

As I drew out my wand, and was turning around,

Down through the ceiling, Voldemort came with no sound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,

And his cloak was so dark it was the colour of soot;

A Dark Mark was showing on his arm,

And he looked like a snake, about to do harm.

His eyes - how they flashed!  His skin as grey as stone!

And in his hand was his wand, the colour of bone!

His thin little mouth set hard and cold,

Knowing the terrors this night would behold;

And the light, it gleamed off his teeth,

As he gave me a wicked grin that gave me grief;

For I knew that any breath could be the end,

That by the time dawn glowed, I could well be dead.

But in a blur and a flash, there he stood,

Harry raised his hand, ready to cast what he could,

With a cackle and a twist, away the lord went,

And I knew that I had no more to dread;

Harry spoke not a word, but went back to bed,

And I stood in the common room, glad not to be dead.

And from outside, Voldemort  gave me a glare,

Before disapparating to who-knows-where;

I sprang back to my feet, and went to my room,

Trying to ignore the danger that loomed.

And as I lay down, I said to myself,

"What a mess to be cleaned by that poor, little house-elf!"

I made it to be in Hermione's point of view, but you can really say it's anyone, like Ron or Neville.

Snow!

I love the snow, and probably will for the rest of my life.  It's so pretty and sparkly, especially when it hasn't been tread on, when it's in those waves.  Because it's the first official day of winter, I've written a poem about snowflakes, because I want to be an author, and this seems like a good time to write something publicly.

Chasing, laughing, fading, 

riding over the horizon,

Chilling the air, already frosty from the time of the year.

Falling to the ground in clumps of soft ice,

where they then meet to be one,

Cushion of sparkling diamonds.

Please give me feedback on any poems that I post on my blog!  I love to hear about what I'm doing well, and what I should work on!

Poems

I really want to be an author when I grow up, so I need to practice some writing now.  Every now and then, especially around certain holidays, I'll write some poems that maybe someone will give me feedback on; I love to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.  For my first time writing a poem publicly on my blog, I'll do three short poems, one stanza each.

Under the sea of glimmering darkness,

Of diamonds, of crystals, 

Of stars in the night sky.

There on the clifftop I stood, waiting for the spark of dawn,

So I could find a new hope.

I'm not quite sure how I came up with this one.  Maybe I was thinking of the night stars.  Maybe I wasn't.  It was just a time when I sat down to write, and this is what I came up with.

Looking up at the pencil,
scratching across my surface,

Like a perfect massage.
Ready for any type of novel;
Fantasy, sci-fi, romance, anything.
It makes me feel important,
As I am in the writing process.

For whether the story is typed and printed,
Or written upon me;

It doesn't matter.
I am still used,
Because I am the paper.

This poem is about writing.  I wrote it a while ago at a writing course that I took in in the summer.  We were told to write a poem about writing, and I decided to do it in the place of the paper.  I kind of had to put myself in the view of the paper (and, yes, I know that it is inanimate), and think about how it would feel about being written on.

Like a cherry glistening under the dew,

The flower begins to bloom,

Like a bird chirping it's first call of the morning,

It lets itself be seen and heard,

Like the rustling of a bush, as an animal searches for food,

It shifts in the wind.  

And in the last glow of daylight, it shows to the world,

That anything can blossom, in even the last hours of a day.

This is about a small flower, maybe a poppy, or a poinsettia, or some other type, that begins to bloom, and that even in the last hours of the sunlight, it can still grow.  It was weird, because when I was writing it, I was thinking about Christmas and poinsettias, but reading it now, it seems more like a springtime poem.  I guess it could be either.

Hope you liked the poems!