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He lifts the needle
from the old 5th Dimension record

(a person can only listen
to One Less Bell to Answer
so many times)

crawls into their bed
closes his eyes

and for the first time in many many nights,
he allows himself to dream.
We've been planning this for months, years even.
Nothing can stand in our way now, nothing.
The Protestant King will surely fall,
after we blow Parliament up the wall.

Today is the day that they will remember us.
We shall fight! We shall prevail!
History will be made tonight.
No stone will go unturned as we overthrow the King.

I sit here, keeping guard over the barrels.
Waiting for the signal to ignite.
It's a menial task - sitting and waiting. Caw! Caw!
There's the signal! Time to ignite!

Sizzle! Crack! Pop!
There go the barrels! Setting ablaze the room.
Parliament and the King will fall!
Down tumbles the building! Burning up the sky!

We have fought! We have prevailed!
The Catholics will be in power once again!
We have made them remember us forever!
Remember, remember the 5th of November.


"Remember, remember, the fifth of November

Gunpowder treason and plot

We see no reason Why Gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot ...."
asija Apr 2015
New York City is where
I most like to be.
It’s as noisy as a
Room full of bees.

When I’m there ,
I walk like a bunny.
Fast and quick hurrying
In the streets

People talking and
Horns blasting and
The smell of gas
Filling the air.

Oh New York City
You are the best city.
You are even better
Than Italy!
Similie and metaphor poem!
Tryst May 2014
Such joy a day can bring to hearts of men,
The trees bedecked, in finest autumn hue;
A throng of merriment upon the heath,
The glistened lilac, wrought in morning dew.

The drummer boys, a-beating on their drums,
Old peddlers pushing carts, piled high with wares;
Beggars, worn and haggard, as their clothes,
And women, in their finest, catching stares.

The roaring cheers as horse parades go by,
Delivering up the bounty of the feast;
The VIPs a-riding in fine style,
Their open carriage, drawn behind the beast.

As one by one, they climb above the crowd,
Their speeches cheered, with jeers and playful boos;
Then swiftly swinging, onwards with their tour,
The crowds go jostling, chasing better views.

The butcher greets the VIPs with glee,
And demonstrates his mastery of meat;
With sharpened knives, a-gleaming in the sun,
His chopping rhythym keeps a steady beat.

As shadows lengthen, slowly crowds disperse,
With pondrous looks, a day to e'er remember;
And every year, its carnival once more,
Lest we forget, the fifth day of November.
Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament.  They were sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered.  In theory, this meant you were hung until dead, your body was dragged through the streets tied behind a horse, and then your body was hacked to pieces and scattered, so your soul could never rest.  Of course, there are always loopholes in the law.  They were instead, hung (momentarily), just enough to feel the noose tighten.  They were dragged (on a carriage) behind a horse, and thus were delivered in relatively good health to the quartering block.  Guy Fawkes was fortunate; so weak from torture, his neck broke during the hanging, killing him instantly.  His companions weren't so lucky.

— The End —