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A snake doesn't just throw shade
We thrive in the shadows
Stalking our prey,
Think you've got what it takes
We'll swallow you whole.

I dare the kittens birdys & roadkill
To make a mistake
You really think your house spits
poison Better than a snake?

Our Partsel tongue is "forked for her pleasure"
Each time we seal a letter
witches get wetter

other houses cringe at our fame
cold blooded killers

don't buy it? Just wait.
Our Snakeoil salesman
Will Have you beggin' for change

You dare to stand against a python?
You don't even know code

I can't pull punches
if I don't have hands, Bro.

Like medusas hair dresser
Expect-to petrify
Better call Cobra
Get insurance for your life.
What's the matter
Gonna cry?
Because We can't.
Ask science.

I dare you to challenge
My Reptilian brethren

We're Unhinging our jaw
getting fed like it's league of legends.
Geraldine Taylor Jun 2017
As potential grew, a desire to write, disclosed to few

Imagination immerse, but yet to thirst for knowledge, accrued ambition address

All aboard the express, thoughts of Harry, a plot to marry

From fanciful flights to greater heights

Capturing such visualisation, twas the formation

Characterisation, of wings to soar, with metaphor

From Dumbledore, yet taking shape

Professor Snape, assume the plot, lest thoughts forgot

A forest to roam, a philosophical stone

Such creative flair of which to share

Joining of the dotted line, artistic mind

Transporting train, journeyed acclaim

Of whom to impede, the will to succeed

The ability to write, the capacity to teach, the desire to reach

An impetus for change, a literary role, a priority

Of which to seek with tenacity

Beyond horizons, beyond confines, stand undefined

Awe-inspire, great readership, a due reply

To simplify, a noble shift, outstanding writer in the midst

Dynamic plot from pen to page, persistence through to published stage

A realised dream, challenge overcome

A victory won definably, stocked supplies to library

Broomstick flight phenomenon, a mystical tale was to become

Would generate, the bus of Knight, to render right

A rebuilt life, a legacy made

From chosen craft to final draft, a world of creativity

The right to type, to innovate, an intriguing wait

A shining star that would liberate



Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
The celebrity poem entitled 'J. K. Rowling' is auto-biographical in nature, which celebrates the inspiring journey of the accomplished author. Her innate ability and ambition to write was originally known only to those closest to her. The journey from a humble station to 'Hogwarts Express' was no simple feat. The commitment and dedication to hold onto the initial vision of Harry Potter, along with his varied adventures was crucial.

Even when outward circumstances and temporary trials of life appeared to go against the grain of the vision, one had to embrace the potential that would later be realized. Within the formality of daily life, she had initially undertook alternative career paths, including teaching English students in Portugal. Yet in the midst of her accrued experience, the foundations of her career as an author were taking shape. As time evolved, the relevant opportunities began to unfold, with the Harry Potter series now being translated into film, as well as an intriguing world of fantasy.
MARK RIORDAN May 2017
DON'T WEAR YOUR HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE
THE QUEEN ADVISES THE YOUNG ROYALS
THERE ARE DEFINITELY TWO GENERATIONS
THAT FACE ALL THERE TOILS


ONE IS STRONG AND STOUT
AND HAS A GENERATION OF STRENGTH
THE OTHER GENERATION ARE YOUNG
AND EXPLAIN THEM IN LENGTH


BUT ONE THING IS FOR SURE THE
ROYAL FAMILY ARE TRULY LOVED
WEATHER IT'S THE QUEEN OR THE YOUNG ROYALS
THEY ARE BLESSED FROM ABOVE
THE QUEEN HAS ADVISED THE YOUNG ROYALS NOT TO WEAR THEIR HEARTS ON THERE SLEEVES. BUT THEY ARE TELLING IT LIKE IT IS MAYBE THAT IS REFRESHING INDEED.
Àŧùl Apr 2017
As a lot of injustice is what I get,
What I should better get is lost.
I should get lost under this cover,
This glorious cover of anonymity.
Let nobody read my thoughts,
For leglimency I've occlumency.
My HP Poem #1516
©Atul Kaushal
MARK RIORDAN Mar 2017
AFTER 20 YEARS DIANA'S STORY
NOW WILL BE TOLD
HERE ON AUSTRALIAN TELEVISION HER
LIFE AND LOVES WILL UNFOLD


I HOPE THEY REPORT THE
TRUE PRINCESS THAT SHE WAS
HER LEGACY AND DEDICATION
WILL LIVE ON BECAUSE


SHE WAS A PRINCESS THAT
LIVED LIFE FROM HER HEART
AND HER LEGACY AND DYNASTY
IN HER CHILDREN WILL NEVER PART
ON AUSTRALIAN TELEVISION A REVEAL ALL STORY ON PRINCESS DIANA. LEAVE HER ALONE AND LET HER LEGACY BE HER TWO SONS WHO SHE WOULD BE VERY PROUD OF TODAY.
Àŧùl Feb 2017
As the ghost, Moaning Myrtle hints
Kiss me underwater and I will yield
And I will give you your next clues
Right when you take me underwater
A poem leading you to merpeople.
Harry Potter theme poem.
My HP Poem #1438
©Atul Kaushal
Claire Dec 2016
Beneath the innocence of a child
Is the yearning desire to rebel,
Not against his or her youth,
But against the universal rules of normality,
Whether it be unleashed within a cupboard below a staircase
Or while sitting in the next room over,
Listening to the sound of what magic could be.  
Perhaps if I keep reading,
This fantasy will live on
In a reality that is, instead,
My own.

As a child’s adolescence blooms,
The morbidity behind what it is to
Repeatedly fall victim to fiction  
Is surreal.
Something that non-readers cannot comprehend
Is that the fantasy does live on in a way that is unfair,
For it simply resides in our ever-seeking minds
In which that same desire to rebel, too, lives on;
As I have already come as close as I ever will
To filling that void.
A final project for my Harry Potter Phenomenon course.
Pearson Bolt Nov 2016
streams of salt and H2O leak
down reddened cheeks and condense
in a golden beard. a war-torn nation,
half-a-world-away, crystallizes clear as dayspring
in an insomniac's screaming and fragile psyche
at half-past-three in the morning.
what strength must a seven-year-old posses
to persevere amidst the perversity of cluster bombs?
munitions bought and paid for with the taxes
we fork over to the United States. will her blood one day
stain our hands with crimson? will her mother's?
a girl who just wanted to read, to escape
the tragedy that inundates our surroundings,
to a magical realm of pure imagination.
where we can summon spectral stags
to save us from the misery of humanity
and learn to disarm those who would harm  
us with the charm, Expelliarmus!
the bastion where i found the first seeds that grew
into a rebellion opens its doors to you, Bana.
there's a crater where your house used to be,
rubble strewn in Aleppo, Syria. but know that Hogwarts
will always be there to welcome you home.
As I lay awake, tossing and turning, I picked up my phone and began scrolling through my Twitter feed. Then I saw J.K. Rowling RT this:

https://twitter.com/alabedbana/status/803689599444914176

The account belongs to a mother and daughter in Aleppo. The mother tweets out her daughter's thoughts and commentary on the war. These words came pouring out as quickly as the tears.
alessandra l Aug 2016
my hands used to shake as a child
they were spears to be impaled upon
and my teeth,
knives;
i remember feeling lonely
and then you came along
so i shed my skin each month
and waited by the tree
we spent our childhood in
there i realize that more than a decade has passed
and i am still waiting for someone who will never come;
i am alone again
-a.l.
GABRIELLE Aug 2016
A boy with a scar
Saved by his angel
A boy who lived
And has been well known
Waving his wand
Making magic on his own
Ask me how much I love him
I'll answer you, "nine and three quarters"
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