My Poem “Bonfire Nights”

I remember the nights
of the fifth of November…
I remember the times
standing around, feeling the heat,
and basking in the glow of a bonfire…
I remember being a child
and being completely hypnotised
by the flickering of the flames
and by the sound of the cracking
of the furnace that burned before my eyes…
I remember watching the giant behemoth
that brought light to the darkness
and warmed the heart of my family and I…
I remember being a child and reciting to myself
the rhyme “remember, remember, the fifth of November”,
and having my imagination filled with images
of “gunpowder, treason, and plot”,
and watching Guy Fawkes being burned in effigy…
it has been too long since I stood
and looked into the flames of a fire,
but I still remember and I will never forget
all those bonfire nights that were filled
with sights, sounds, smells,
memories and dreams that will forever
fuel the inspiration and the fire
of my occasional child-like wants and desires.

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My Poem ‘Coat of Arms’

It’s a cold day in early November –
the pavements are clear,
but the sky is white;
it is so cold
that everybody who is out and about
is wrapped up well
and trying to keep warm
in sanctuaries inside;
I am bracing myself
to return to the freezing temperatures
of the outside world,
on the other side of the window
of the coffee shop where I am sitting –
however, what comforts me,
and what I know will warm me
as I brave the cold,
is the same thing and the same feeling
that I get after the love of my life
and I have kissed –
and I know that when it is time
for me to leave where I am now
and venture home,
I know that the love that I share
with my soulmate and my best friend
who lives far away
will surround me and keep me enveloped
like an electric blanket
when I put on my “Melissa” leather jacket.

People seem to be moving quicker;
time seems to be going faster;
people are purchasing more
than they normally world
at every cash-register;
it is frigid outside at the moment,
but I know that this
is only but the start of winter.

People are booking
their summer holidays already;
the world is settling in
to a brand new season;
people are hoping
that when Christmas arrives
they will be ready;
as is necessary,
every thing that is happening
is happening for a reason.

Illuminations and decorations
are being hung in preparation
of being switched on
and enjoyed to their full-effect;
birds are leaving their nests
and flying south to warmer climates;
I am thinking about the future
and about the happy
and the wonderful times
that I will share
with that special someone in my life
that have not happened yet;
the future itself
is being illuminated right in front of me,
and I am ready to race towards it,
while not once thinking
to ever want to take off
my own coat of arms
that is my “Melissa” jacket.

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My Poem ‘Gunpowder’

There is a full-moon shining;
there are a million stars above my head twinkling;
there is the unmistakable smell of distant fires;
there is another indistinguishable aroma,
taste, sensation, in the air,
that invigorates me-
races the blood in my veins,
enlarges my heart, expands my lungs-
and that is what everyone, everywhere,
on this night, here,
which was to be Guy Fawkes’ modus operandi
a long time ago, on a similar night,
on the fifth of November:
the powder that helps propel a bullet,
that which is contained and which explodes
within a firework-
the one and only, gunpowder.

The black sky is coloured with every colour;
flashes and bangs, light and sound,
enthrall, surprise, awe-inspire, constantly
with little-to-no pause, in rapid-frequency.
Adults look up, children grin with excitement-
everyone wants to be outside, even in the cold,
so that they can feel the rush of being awestruck,
and so that they can remember, experience,
and know what is important.

A brilliant expression of celebration;
a phenomenal invention that has changed the world,
more than anything anyone may be able to mention;
a visceral spectacle that you can see and hear
that does not come much louder-
the explosive mixture at the other end of a fuse
that sends rockets into the sky,
and hearts and imaginations souring into the great unknown;
a magical dust that should always be handled with care;
that is in the air at this time of the year,
before, and beyond, the time of the midnight hour-
the defining chemistry, and DNA of a firework:
gunpowder.

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Remember remember the 5th of November