JK Rowling Quote

"It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more." -JK Rowling, book 6?
This is the quote I was talking about today while we were talking about ghosts and what they symbolize.

The Escaped Convict

Along with the others was a Handyman
He could fix anything be it a fridge or a fan
And would work quickly, didn't stay to long
Had many jobs, for his hands were strong
Was a scruffy man, appearance unkempt
Always alert, for he barely slept
Never made eye contact, always looking down
He could not smile, constantly wearing a frown
And upon his cheek, he bore a scar
A token he'd won from a fight in a bar
His expression, demeanor, all was mean
Eyes, cold and hurt from bad things he'd seen
The man had a secret he could never share,
For the consequences he could not bare.
The Handyman had recently left county jail
And his leaving was not due to parole or bail
No one knew the man had actually made an escape
After 4 years inside for a crime worse than rape
Accused and convicted of killing three
Yet there was no one as innocent as he
Was locked away from a crime he didn't do,
So he felt it was time to bid the jail an adieu
He had been on his own for half of a year
And yet every day was still filled with fear
That someone might look at him and see
He resembled that wanted man from TV.
Soon he realized he had to find a new place,
Where no one would ever recognize his face
So to Foxwoods he went with a goal in mind:
To leave his troubles and past life behind.

Con Artist

There was a Con Artist, odd as ever.
He was as genuine as he was clever.
A middle aged man, maybe thirty-nine.
With bulging eyes and receeding hairline.
He was missing a few teeth here and there.
Most likely from his lack of healthcare.
Around his neck he wore a stethoscope,
As today he was a doctor and horoscope
Reader tomorrow. His tee shirt was white,
Just as plain as him, and not very bright.
He wore a pair of tattered old jeans,
Ripped from that one time when he was in his teens.
His Reeboks were old, and quite worn out.
All in all, he was not very stout.
This man was hopelessly lost in this age.
His childhood was lived as if in the stone age.
He had longed for open land and a meadow,
But was stuck in a small and cramped ghetto.
His guardian’s influence was not good,
And he was given no money for school should
He decide to do something with his life.
Although he knew his life was not grand,
He knew of those people that could barely stand.
Be it from lack of food or other thing,
Some were as skinny as a puppet string.
And it pained his heart to see such folk,
That he would give and give until he was broke.
Then he would drink, even if it meant stealing,
And begin his con, much like the Duke and King.
If casinos were a place to lose your money,
He would make it happen on his spree.
This man’s character may be hard to conjure,
He is kind, though his effect made me unsure.

Doctor

A doctor there was, degree and all,
His complexion was clean and structure tall.
He was a talented man that is sure,
His soul could heal any one with the right cure.
A tainted white coat lay over his shoulders,
With glasses so thick they look like boulders.
The hair on his face is kept trimmed neat,
His eyes are like no other can beat.
The tone of his skin was a pale white,
And his face lacked the bright inner light.
There was one thing missing from this charming man,
It must be on his limbs, the lack of tan.
From his fingers there was on thing missing,
And his lips had longed from some kissing.
His wife and family left him years ago,
The divorce gave his ego a real blow.
His house for twelve now only serves one,
And it’s used for show of the prizes he’s won.
He works so hard, all day and night,
Any woman that would stay would have such fright.
His only dream was a job and family,
The thought of being alone has left him so grimly.
A charming man whom anyone would adore,
He never allows himself to be a bore.
All he wants is to find him self a lady,
So he no longer has to act so shady.
Someone who he can share all his talent,
A woman strong, willing, and gallant.
He hopes his journey will bring him good,
For it’s his last chance to be understood.

Female Actor

There was a female actor, and as a child,
She was constantly seen as very wild.
This trait of hers has never left her;
It trapped her, and threw away the key in a blur.
It all began when she was a teenager
She thought she knew her life’s major.
So she moved to the famous West Coast
To pursue a life wanted by most.
Now she finds herself telling you all,
About her life, and how it continues to fall.
She’s made it big here in Hollywood
She acts in movies, like she thought she would.
The fame has had its ups and downs
By far, the downs come by the tons.
She is at the top of the acting ladder,
Her wealth grows, yet she grows sadder.
She dresses herself the most fashionable,
Skirts and jewelry accompany her travel.
Nobody knows, or believes, however
That her clothes are cheap, expensive never.
Why spend her earnings on selfish things
When she can help charities spread their wings.
When people see her in the tabloids,
The things they see are factoids.
She is portrayed as a selfish, rich, stupid woman,
But these lies have been inaccurately woven.
When will the public see her as she is, really?
She wants the truth to come out of the alley.
The Sunday tabloids say she partied all night,
Really, she prayed to be seen in a new truthful light.

An Indian Gal

Sorry, I had to change my character in the last minute.

There was an Indian, gal of sixteen years
She likes to laugh and chat with her peers
She came from India about five years ago
She loved to cheer, “Go Team Go”
She goes to the casinos with her friends,
To have some fun on the week-ends.
Her parents didn’t let her go on dates
Even though they are just her mates.
She always dreamed of a profession,
That would never give her a concussion.
Her past made it very clear
That she should be a computer engineer.
She often wore an Indian dress to parties
And she loved to eat the Paani Poories
Traveling was her favorite thing
She traveled around the world singing.
She would rather read a book in her free time
Than watch a person act like a mime
She often talked on the phone
Her friends told her that no one could be her clone
Her shoes were beautiful, high and new
She wore accessories, but very few
She had long black hair, with pretty curls
And topped the outfit off with some pearls.
Clearly you could tell that she is a high school student
Had the wisdom of genius, and became the class president
This time she went to the casino with a reason.
She saw a guy and immediately turned crimson
The guy was tall, handsome and just as old as her
Every girl fell for him. And yes, he’s a soccer player.

P.S.- This character is NOT me! :-D

The Goth Girl

This girl was dressed in black from head to toe
Not your average teen, it’s important to know
Seemed to be dark, and had many thoughts
Inside her, though, there was a battle she fought
She had a daily struggle between good and bad
Trying not to let others see she was too happy, or too sad
Black she had on was just for others to see
That persona was not really who she wanted to be
At first she was on the trip as something to do
But underneath she needed to go, find what was true
She’d been lost for quite some time now
But wanted to find her place before her final bow
Dark make-up worn could no longer hide her scars
So she would make this journey, no matter how far
She did not travel with much to her name
No family, friends, important possessions came
Mentally, she carried more with her though
Along her life she had met many friends and foes
This trip might leave all of that in the past
She wanted to run away, now and fast
This was her chance, once and for all
Though she feared the faster she ran, the harder she’d fall
The clothes, make-up and how she acted
Were not really her, just feelings compacted
Society had not pegged her the right way
And now, she wanted to finally have her say
She would still wear her clothes, and do what she pleased
Just with a different mind set; not afraid to be teased
This girl would try hard to get where she wanted to go.
If she would in the end was what she did not know.

The Ballerina

Ballerina

A ballerina there was, the purest of them all,
Her hair was a golden brown; slender and tall,
Any man would fall in love with her beauty and grace,
Her skin was as white as lace.
When her fancy footwork was put to the test, her component would always end up a mess.
This ballerina had a sister with not such a generous face,
She wanted to compete in a sisterly race.
To Foxwoods they went, though I rather not vent,
But tell this fair maidens story instead.
It’s interesting I promise, it won’t put you to bed
Money was rare and neither of them liked to share,
The elegant woman spent it without a care.
Always prancing on the stage without a doubt,
Until something, greater caught her attention, causing a drought.
She heard of machines that would give her wealth,
But sitting on those plump cushions all day was not good for her health,
One evening, unlike any other,
With great excitement, she speed dialed her sister, her brother, and her mother.
And upon jumping for joy off of the cushioned seat,
For the first time in her life did not land on her pointy feet,
Instead, she took quite a fall,
Without delay in that one moment ended all.
She could not even recall what had happened,
Off she went, her leg looked awfully flattened.
The ballerina was quite horrified by what she saw,
She yelped, “This should be against the law!”
To the courthouse she went, demanding for a settlement.
She asked for 5 hundred grand, which the judge could stand,
In without a penny, out with a whole life of security.
This ballerina was no longer poor,
She had more then she ever had before.

Janitor (rich i might add)

So i guess we post ours here...

There was a janitor on his way
To Foxwoods on this very day.
Jeans, shirt and jacket he comfortably wore;
Though in actuality he appeared quite sore.
The stories that he told to the group
Consisted of mush, slush, slosh, and goop.
As repulsive as they were to everyone
Some believed them to be quite silly and fun.
This occupation, though humorous it seemed
Was no laughing matter, the man deemed;
‘A bore and at times tedious’,
The man’s tone was aggressively serious.
And when asked of subjects of little concern
A wise philosophical comment flew in return.
I sincerely thought in all of my knowledge
That janitors need not go to college.
His voice was groggy and raspy so to speak
And his shiny bald head was smooth and sleek
So I strongly assumed that the man was old,
For his physical features were depressing and cold.
He traveled not with companion or wife,
Seemingly the only women in his life
Were paid as was well expected;
And a janitor’s income should be inspected
For no ordinary man has in his hold
A sports car bearing a paint job so bold.
Foxwoods then is a perfect destination for this
Creature of melancholic wealthiness.
In life people go and people come,
Though the latter isn’t always true for some.

The Engineer

There was an Engineer that came

Of some he was considered a shame

He was a brilliant man in math

For so he chose his path

He derived sin(x+y) when he was three

So an engineer he was destined to be

He got a degree at MIT

He was what was called the bourgeoisie

Not rich, not poor, but middle class

His high school class he did surpass

In knowledge, but not in skills

Of wooing women of Beverly Hills

And so he married, and she too

Was inept in matters few.

He was a chap who had a plan

He was a revolutionary man

He planned to make a wind generator

That could make electricity more

Than other systems proposed

A tethered kite which was posed

Three miles in the air

Of such matters he took great care

And so he had a vision to set

A record for the books, I bet

To be first to harvest electricity

From such heights, O how witty

He was coming along in typical attire

Button shirt, tie and eyes like fire,

He was intrigued by moving parts

And hoped to win at playing Hearts

The tale of the "Aging man who detests his wife and is bitter"

Hello. My name is Connor. I lack inspiration. I cannot rhyme. Here is my poem.

All are base are belong to us.

The Aging man who detests his wife and is bitter

The wise man, who escaped his wretched home
No hair protruded from beyond his dome
Nor thin waistline, the town citizens said
Nor gifted vision; not youthful – not dead
He wore black dress pants with a button down shirt
He had little clothing, color, as lively as dirt
Fifty-Two years had he walked this earth
And twelve years prior, the beast known for girth
Snagged this man from within his youthful pride
Took him to her lair, where surely, he cried
On that day she ended his free flowing life
And forced him to take her as his new wife
Once a year he traveled to the afar
Mohegan Sun, where doors remain ajar
Much relief he had, of this he was sure
To leave the clutches of a wife not pure
Whose teeth shone green like withered eel
And skin; cold, clammy, and rigid like steel
Her hair was matted; the gums of a whale
And the hairs on her back formed a great tail
Perhaps the only worse; then her appearance
Her ice cold tongue and her heart of a wench
But for one day a year, he left his home
And took pilgrimage to the Mohegan’s dome
His heart was set on the glory of kin
Of friendship, of foodship, of ale and gin
And yet something more, he would not reveal
A plan, a pact, a great secret to steal
For twelve days the aging-grumbling-Saxon
Took cover in numbers, his saving bastion

The Musician

This is Matt Sokol as always.

I guess we were supposed to post our character poems here, even though nobody seems to have.. So, here's mine.

Matt Sokol

The Musician

A musician had also come along,
though in public he rarely played a song.
He practiced for hours each day in his home
but never outside was his talent shown.
He never went out, except for the night
for he was quite blind, and did not need light.
And said he enjoyed the peaceful calm state
of the outdoors at night, then so sedate.
This is not to say that he had no friends,
but in large crowds he would rarely attend.
He dressed in all black, so he would not clash
as he could not see if colors would match.
The clothes that he wore, however, were nice
all of high quality, despite the price.
Along with the clothes, he had bought a cane
to find a clear path in unknown terrain.
His source of money for these was unknown
he had no job, but never needed loans.
His left hand held the cane, but in the right
was his guitar case, never leaving sight.
I remind you, in public, he never
played, so why carry the case forever?
To Foxwoods he went not for social plight
but to play the slots, which he did with delight.
Though other games he was unable to play,
The sound as coins fell made the slots okay.
He had come before, this was not the first
pilgrimage he had made to quench his thirst
for low-stakes wages that gave him a thrill.
He always lost money but returned still.