Ok, thanks to all who responded so pleasantly to other poems I've posted. This one much is less heavy and
important-sounding (I hope!). It is a response to Becky's (Hello to her, by the way) request of me that I
write a poem for the Christmas time of the Harry Potter books. Though she said I could wait until a more
pertinant time of year to write and post it (ie: Christmas!), I got it all out of my system in one go and
am posting it now regardless of the fact that it is May.
I've used the very familiar ' T'was the Night Before Christmas ' as a base sound structure
for it, and the first part of the first line obviously. just to set you up in Christmas
mood - And then throw you into the moods of some of Rowling's characters. I may possibly
put extra verses in for other characters than those here if I think of them. This is nothing
special, and it won't be too cheery either (I can't seem to veer any of my writing in that
direction). The ending I wanted to put in because I like the way real people can end up
caring about fictional people. (often so much more than they do for real people...)
OK - Pretty much all of the characters, settings etc depicted/mentioned/put-on-the-pedastals-of-my-mind - belong soley
to the suspense-merchant (roll on, book 5!) JK Rowling. I will wipe them off and put them back where I found them when I
am quite exhausted and can delight no more in their quasi-existence.
(I've no idea who owns 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' but it isn't me.)
(Christmas itself, or course, belongs to you, me, and the Sherrif of Nottingham.)
~
"T'was the night before Christmas, and in Hogwart's dark halls
Not a creature was stirring, but within the walls
Of the common and staff rooms, the dungeons and towers
We can see how our now well-known friends pass the hours
The few people left should be snug in their beds
With visions of broomsticks and sweets in their heads
But most lie awake, or they sit or they pace
For those who remain have some hard truths to face
The startling green eyes of our young Boy Who Lived
Seem to dull as he thinks of what he had to give.
And this tousle-haired boy, his glasses askew
Sits alone at a window, to sigh out at the view
And the girl who you'd think knew enough by now, quite
To give it a rest on this one merry night,
Is flicking her way, by a wand-supplied glow
Through that large History book, the one we all know.
A boy whose red hair seems to echo the fire
By which he sits to ponder on what he aspires
He thinks of his brothers, of all they have done
And of whats left to him, as the sixth of six sons
And way down below them, in the Slytherin dorm
Lies musing a downcast and solitary form.
This child of a sinner must decide what means doom,
This blonde boy needs to know what to prove and to whom.
Not so far from the young minds that are troubled so,
Prowls the sleek, dark and cold one, who broods on his woe
The Master of Potions knows quite well 'Tis the season
But for him, there's just memories of sins and of treason
Deep in thought, in his office, of the dangers he knows
Is the OTHER old man with a beard as white as snow.
His twinkling blue eyes hold the wisdom of years
And you'd never have guessed at what dark things he fears
A man who seems weary, dressed in shabby, torn robes
At the first sign of darkness, from his fireside he rose
Now he stands at the window, face bathed in soft light
Thanking Merlin that Christmas is no full-moon night
The tortured, thin man with sad eyes and dark hair
Hides for now from accusers, alone in his lair
In a form now familiar, four legs and a tail
This way any listeners hear no human wail
The head of the house streaked with gold and with red
Has yet to gather her thoughts and take them to bed
She watches her charges, some more than the rest
And worries what lies in the path of the best
All these souls and still others litter the castle
With the worry and wonder that comes part and parcel
With life in their world of uncertain times
When it's hard to distinguish between good deeds and good crimes
But their fortunes are changing, and we will soon know
What becomes of our hero, of his friends and his foes
We've nothing to give them, we've no way to help
But to wish them all well, whatever they're dealt
And now with our all wrapped up in this world
Ignoring our own strife, to see what is unfurled
To our fictional friends, both the wrong and the right
We say 'Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'
~
Ok, so now comes the part where you review. Go.
important-sounding (I hope!). It is a response to Becky's (Hello to her, by the way) request of me that I
write a poem for the Christmas time of the Harry Potter books. Though she said I could wait until a more
pertinant time of year to write and post it (ie: Christmas!), I got it all out of my system in one go and
am posting it now regardless of the fact that it is May.
I've used the very familiar ' T'was the Night Before Christmas ' as a base sound structure
for it, and the first part of the first line obviously. just to set you up in Christmas
mood - And then throw you into the moods of some of Rowling's characters. I may possibly
put extra verses in for other characters than those here if I think of them. This is nothing
special, and it won't be too cheery either (I can't seem to veer any of my writing in that
direction). The ending I wanted to put in because I like the way real people can end up
caring about fictional people. (often so much more than they do for real people...)
OK - Pretty much all of the characters, settings etc depicted/mentioned/put-on-the-pedastals-of-my-mind - belong soley
to the suspense-merchant (roll on, book 5!) JK Rowling. I will wipe them off and put them back where I found them when I
am quite exhausted and can delight no more in their quasi-existence.
(I've no idea who owns 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' but it isn't me.)
(Christmas itself, or course, belongs to you, me, and the Sherrif of Nottingham.)
~
"T'was the night before Christmas, and in Hogwart's dark halls
Not a creature was stirring, but within the walls
Of the common and staff rooms, the dungeons and towers
We can see how our now well-known friends pass the hours
The few people left should be snug in their beds
With visions of broomsticks and sweets in their heads
But most lie awake, or they sit or they pace
For those who remain have some hard truths to face
The startling green eyes of our young Boy Who Lived
Seem to dull as he thinks of what he had to give.
And this tousle-haired boy, his glasses askew
Sits alone at a window, to sigh out at the view
And the girl who you'd think knew enough by now, quite
To give it a rest on this one merry night,
Is flicking her way, by a wand-supplied glow
Through that large History book, the one we all know.
A boy whose red hair seems to echo the fire
By which he sits to ponder on what he aspires
He thinks of his brothers, of all they have done
And of whats left to him, as the sixth of six sons
And way down below them, in the Slytherin dorm
Lies musing a downcast and solitary form.
This child of a sinner must decide what means doom,
This blonde boy needs to know what to prove and to whom.
Not so far from the young minds that are troubled so,
Prowls the sleek, dark and cold one, who broods on his woe
The Master of Potions knows quite well 'Tis the season
But for him, there's just memories of sins and of treason
Deep in thought, in his office, of the dangers he knows
Is the OTHER old man with a beard as white as snow.
His twinkling blue eyes hold the wisdom of years
And you'd never have guessed at what dark things he fears
A man who seems weary, dressed in shabby, torn robes
At the first sign of darkness, from his fireside he rose
Now he stands at the window, face bathed in soft light
Thanking Merlin that Christmas is no full-moon night
The tortured, thin man with sad eyes and dark hair
Hides for now from accusers, alone in his lair
In a form now familiar, four legs and a tail
This way any listeners hear no human wail
The head of the house streaked with gold and with red
Has yet to gather her thoughts and take them to bed
She watches her charges, some more than the rest
And worries what lies in the path of the best
All these souls and still others litter the castle
With the worry and wonder that comes part and parcel
With life in their world of uncertain times
When it's hard to distinguish between good deeds and good crimes
But their fortunes are changing, and we will soon know
What becomes of our hero, of his friends and his foes
We've nothing to give them, we've no way to help
But to wish them all well, whatever they're dealt
And now with our all wrapped up in this world
Ignoring our own strife, to see what is unfurled
To our fictional friends, both the wrong and the right
We say 'Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'
~
Ok, so now comes the part where you review. Go.