"quidditch" poems
Isang mensahe na ipinapahatid ni "Ariii Potter" sa kanyang alaga na si "Hedwig" the Snowy Owl.
Sa naghihimultong pagmamahal ko sayo.
Mahal.. oo, mahal nga ang tawag ko sayo
Nagbunga kasi ang pagkagusto ko sayo,
Nagbunga ng isang pagmaMahal
Yung feeling na "gusto kita"
Naging "mahal na kita" real quick
Inakala ko talaga sa diagon alley ka lang gumagala
Eh bat ka na sorted dito sa puso ko
Bakit nga ba..
Patawad sa mga katagang sinabi ko, ay mali. hindi ko lang pala sinabi.
Ipinagsigawan ko pa. Ang corny no?
Pero...
Pagbigyan mo sana ako na ihatid ang mga salitang gustong ipabatid ng puso ko
Idadaan ko lang muna sa isang tula.
--
Umpisa.
Sa kung paano mo ako nginitian
At tinanong kung "potterhead kaba?"
Hindi ko alam kung ginamitan mo ako ng "petrificus totalus"
Dahil sa tuwing tinatawag mo akong ng"Ariii" na fre-freeze ang aking hypothalamus
Na halos masabog-sabog na tong pagmamahal na ihahantulad ko sa isang bulkan
Hindi ko man lang namalayan na umabot ito ng isang buwan
Pati na ang nakatagong pag-ibig dito sa aking damdamin
Ay sadyang naging malalim
Na kahit gumamit man ako ng salitang "alohomora"
Para mabuksan ang pintuan ng puso **** nakasara
Kahit maging seeker man ako sa quidditch
At ikaw ang magiging "snitch"
Hindi parin kita maka-catch
Sapagkat ang tayong dalawa ay imposibleng maging match
O makipaglaban man ako sa Wizard's Chess
Para makamtan ang iyong sorcerer's heart
Ay hindi parin sapat
Alam mo kung bakit?
Dahil hindi ako karapat-dapat
At ang karapat-dapat
Ay ang ika'y pakawalan
Dahil alam ko naman sa kahuli-hulihan
Ako parin ang masasaktan
Kaya salamat,
Salamat sa pansamantalang kilig
Sa tuwing ika'y nakatitig.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
The gusts of wind rustle through his dark hair as he rides his broomstick
In the search of the golden snitch – In the search of the ferrety golden snitch.
And in his mind whizzes past an image – at lightning speed, very swiftly,
As his expert eyes go after the small shiny metallic ball.
The Nimbus 2000 he once owned has now been replaced with another
In the attempt to make him quicker – In the attempt to make him quicker.
His eyes look like his mother Lily’s – His father James was a Seeker,
This is an analogy of a natural case of heredity in Harry.
The old broomstick Nimbus 2000 he owned was broken into pieces
In his third year at the school of magic – In his third year at Hogwarts.
Dementors attacked him – in the Quidditch pitch during a match,
And he fell several feet below from air before Dumbledore saved him.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
Snitch-catcher.
Cauldron-stirrer.
Wand-waver.
Quidditch-player.
Stone-retriever.
Riddle-killer.
Buckbeak-rider.
Triwizard-enterer.
Phoenix-member.
Snape-hater.
Voldemort-fighter.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
Dear Ronald Bilius Weasley
No matter what others say
I will always be your fan
You are such a marvellous character
Not perhaps, a perfect one
But a character with flaws
So real, and so beautiful
That we can totally relate to it
In your first year at Hogwarts
You played a game of chess
In such a magnificent manner
That even the Russians of the Muggle world
Could not have done any better
In your second year at Hogwarts
You faced your greatest fears
With a courage and nerve
That Godric Gryffindor would have been proud of
For the sake of your best mates
In your third year at Hogwarts
You almost ruined a friendship
For the sake of a rat and a broomstick
But you made amends for it
By standing up to a notorious murderer
That too with a broken leg
Again, for the sake of your best mate
In your fourth year at Hogwarts
Again, there was a misunderstanding
That threatened to derail a strong friendship
But you were there for Harry
When it truly mattered
There was also some ugly ****** jealousy
As your teenage hormones took centrestage
But at least you got an inkling
That you and Hermione
Were made for each other
In your fifth year at Hogwarts
There was a lot you had to put up with
The constant bullying of the Slytherins
Especially during Quidditch matches
The temper tantrums of your best friend
And finally, the evil Dolores Jane Umbridge
Initially, due to your nerves and insecurities
Your Quidditch performances went from bad to worse
But then, you finally showed us
The stuff you were made of
Saving goals left, right and centre
And to cap it all
You bravely fought a dozen Death Eaters
Yet again, for the sake of your best friend
Finally, we come to the war
Due to your never-ending insecurities
And anxiety for your family
Worsened by a dreadful locket
That contained a part of Voldemort's soul
You briefly deserted your best mates
But returned when it mattered the most
Even saving Harry's life in the process
And then, as you destroyed that darned locket
You finally conquered your fears
And transitioned successfully to manhood
Finally, during the Battle of Hogwarts
You showed us your sensitive side
A side that we had never seen before
As you displayed your concern for the house-elves
Precipitating your first kiss with Hermione
Later on, you lost your dear brother
But continued to soldier on bravely
Even standing up to Voldemort himself
Hence, dear Ronald Bilius Weasley
No matter what others say
I will always be your fan
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
I am from a place unknown.
I am from a place no one should go.
I am from him, I am from her.
I am from the dirt underneath the Earth.
I am from ink and paper.
I am from the thoughts they think.
I am from the golden snitch
to the Quidditch pitch.
I am from gumbo shrimp,
To pumpkin pie.
I am from the stars in the night sky.
I am from craziness and noise.
Yet I still manage to have poise.
I am from the things that make me, me.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
When I was seven, my best friend and I used to dress up and have tea parties. We wore the torn, hand-me-down dresses from my cousins like they were gowns straight out of a princess’s wardrobe, and we were beautiful. We would prance around my room with purple plastic teacups, and there was no better place to dine than the blue **** carpet from Goodwill.
When I was seven I wanted to be a dancer. Not just a ballerina, no. I wanted to do everything. I watched with rapt attention as my cousin’s modern class tumbled to the floor of the stage, and as I stared at their neon colored tank tops and black jazz pants, it seemed that my world made sense. It seemed that as long as I was there on stage, dancing with the same skill and emotion and passion, I would be beautiful.
For my eighth birthday, my friend gave me the sixth Harry Potter book. My favorite character was Hermione. At recess, we would tie the sleeves of our red uniform sweaters around our necks and run around the blacktop pretending to play Quidditch. I thought Harry was smart and cunning and funny, but Hermione. Hermione was full of enthusiasm and rules and always made friends even if they were only in her head. She was top of her class with hair that everyone noticed and her brain was bigger than her group of friends at lunch and that was okay because she was like me. I never thought Hermione was beautiful. She didn’t need to be. Her bushy hair was full of intelligence and her buck teeth were strong enough to bite off the tongues of her oppressors and her dull, brown eyes weren’t dull at all because even the Whomping Willow began as a patch of dirt.
Hermione wasn’t beautiful like a garden. Her fiery eyes were dancing with flames that could wipe out an entire forest without even breaking a sweat. I have never wanted to be beautiful like a garden or the sunlight on the Fourth of July. As I tumble onstage in a blue dress with a tear in the front, my feet are ***** and my palms are sweaty and not one girl has brushed her hair. Footsteps pound the floor like a mighty pride of lions and hearts race as the bass drops and I am not a garden. Don’t you dare call me beautiful.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
There was a time when I was sane
when I used to walk among daffodils.
When they used to open up and sing
their unadorned song from hill to hill.
There was a time when I was sane
when the trees used to sway
and the leaves used to rustle
just to lay their flowers in my way.
When I was sane,the eagles
from their eyries,used to fly high
and block the sun with their wings.
Just so it wouldn't be in my eyes.
The clouds would come at my call.
And the rain would fall only for me.
The diamond drops would break
and bedeck the ground at my feet.
Looking at the night sky,
at the star studded lanes,
I would see the moon smile at me
and know that I was sane.
I used to create new worlds
with living words from my pen.
Full of marvels they used to be.
But that was all then...
Wrapt I was in fantasy
while the world moved on.
It has moved away from me
while,impassive,I looked on.
People said I was not sane,
told me that where I lived
there were no daffodils;
No promise in how I lived.
Now that I'm cured,I see
that I'd been but a fool
who believed Horton really lived
in the Jungle of Nool.
No magic rings in reality.
No wonderland or wicked witches.
No Elves nor dragons.
Not even Quidditch and snitches.
Now cured,I see reason.
The flowers never did sing.
Nor did any eagle fly for me.
Reason came but relief did not bring.
All those words I created,
All those worlds I cherished,
All too soon yea all too soon
All have but perished.
Now I see people toiling away
in richness,poverty and ignorance.
I see children bent with age;
In their eyes,everything but innocence.
Reluctantly now moves my pen
as I try to make new worlds.
Stringing letters together it desponds.
As lacking life,they are but words.
Everything used to be wonderful
when I knew I was sane.
Now that I've seen reality,
I know I must be insane.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
I can't dream if it's from this closet
Every thing I want to do just sounds so god **** pompous
I talk about what I want to do and everybody thinks I've lost it
I'm on the radar, but I'm the darkest blip
Walking the plank on purpose, S.S. **** you, I'm off this ship
I feel like I've finally got it, and of course then I've lost it
I write a masterpiece, "hey where's the follow up?"
Like me and my girl jinxin the future with a prenup
'Oh you know we just trying to be safe,' right ***** let's marry up this **** then
You can take it all just split them assets
Get me bent with no price or rent
See I ain't tryna get around just tryna win this
Can't seem to get to the top when I'm the only one in the bracket
Try to be a team player, but my teams full of *******
I'm Harry Potter ***** imma smash that *** like quidditch
I gonna hit that pinata, till the cash flow get me riches
I talk ***** but I miss the way you talk
British, you a fit birdy, girl
I eat my grits, but I ain't really eating till after we're flirty, girl
Take you to the back room, pour some wine and then some feelings, watch some mad men and tell you bout my last girl
I said I like the way you talk to me but I think I just like how I can talk to you
You're an outlet, and I'm plugging, your sticking around, but you should know I'm just thuggin
And maybe I just say the ***** things I say to mask my potential under promiscuity cause I got a real problem promising myself I'll solve my problems too
(I'd never admit it though)
See that's just something me and my crew do
I guess it masks all the little ***** blues 'fake cries'
During this poem I think I grew three inches for you
In my heart
See it's so easy to gravitate to you like your the sun and I'm Mercury, I'm too close and you're burning me alive, but I can't pull myself apart, girl it'll never work
We can't stop Miley, that's melancholy for sure (but keep the twerk)
You make me feel like Frank Sinatra, and I can't even sing
So **** confident, you let me discover myself, I'm deep, I can feel, I'm Mike Tyson, Kung Pao chicken, I bring it all to the ring
All these little kids on the streets learning how to *** from me 'like fricken'
The thought of you got me sick to the stomach, it's sticking
..
Too bad you're just a god **** fling
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
If love was a game it’ll be quidditch
You’ll be the seeker and I’ll be the snitch.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
*Bumblebee 'quidditch'
Dragonfly tag
Mockingbird rags
Crow glee and mirth , winged seeds racing to the golden-
earth
Spearmint , honeysuckle bouquet on a picture -
perfect April day* ...
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
This poem will celebrate Ronald Bilius Weasley
Harry Potter's best friend and fiercest ally
Smart, funny and mischievous
Not to mention, highly courageous
Sacrificed himself in a wizarding chess game
At the age of merely eleven
Have you seen that happen often?
Of course, haters may not give a dime
But he also faced an army of murderous giant spiders
Merely a year later
Not for nothing, was he placed in Gryffindor!
In his third year, Ron stood on a broken leg
And defended his best mate
Against a convicted mass murderer
Yet, he receives a ton of hate
For his supposed jealousy a year after
Which, in reality, was more of a misunderstanding
How does that make him a negative character?
Don't best friends have occasional misunderstandings
That too in their teens?
Even I, at the age of thirty four, am no stranger to misunderstandings
For a fourteen year old Ron, can you imagine how it must have been?
In his fifth year, Ron showed his nerve and daring yet again
Fighting a horde of Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic
A year later, it was time for some Quidditch magic
As he proved the doubting Thomases wrong in style
Saving goal after goal
And now do we come to the most important part
The second wizarding war played its part
In shaping Ron's journey from teenage to adulthood
Yes, abandoning his friends was certainly not good
But he was carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul
Which increased his insecurities and anxieties to the highest possible level
And once he left the tent
The chances of returning soon became one in a million
Thanks to a run-in with a few of Voldemort's hired minions
As well as the protective charms placed around the tent
However, when Ron ultimately returned
He saved Harry's life
And destroyed the aforementioned piece of soul
Which had reduced his confidence levels to almost nil
In the process, Ron faced his worst fears
Managed to overcome them without even shedding tears
And transitioned from boy to man
As if to show us, "Yes you can!!"
Later, bravely did Ron fight in the Battle of Hogwarts
Even after losing his dear brother so tragically
And stand up to Voldemort himself
Thus showing immense strength of character
Yes, he may have his fair share of haters
However, for me that does not matter
Because Ronald Bilius Weasley will always be my favourite Harry Potter character
Truly, like him can there be no other!!
Mar 29, 2024
Mar 29, 2024 at 12:06 PM UTC
You added another item to your list
Of things to hold back the voices
Something to occupy your mind
While you drown out nasty noises
It’s sporting to watch in a sick way
Like waiting for a dam to burst
Will you take up quidditch next or
Reach for a bottle to slake your thirst
I’m sorry but your battle is being lost
And I have a nasty habit of truth telling
One day you’ll run out of hobbies
Because your mind won’t quit rebelling
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 9:25 PM UTC
I want to sleep
The kind of want that burns in your chest
Reaching for something that isn’t there
Being shut out over and over again
I can’t turn it off
The thoughts are being thrown around my head
Like a snitch in a quidditch match
Mythical, impossible
And yet there it is buzzing
Bouncing off the sides of my head
Waiting to be caught
I count back from ten like usual
Doesn’t work
I play deep sleep sounds on Alexa
Brains still on
Make it shut off!!!!
Make the feelings of helplessness disappear
To sleep is to dream
To dream is to escape
Just one night of escape is all I ask
I shut my eyes and my dreams begin to dance
Finally
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC