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Makayla Jane Feb 18
He smelled of a bonfire;
Burnt wood and charcoal ashes
With a hint of a dewy forest musk

Why must it be him?
Where have you gone?
Feel free to share revision ideas :)
He was as bright as the sparks
dancing above the flames,
He burnt amidst the darkness,
Singeing those who were caught
In a trance,
He was mesmerising and magical,
Exciting and ephemeral.

I daren’t breathe, or,
I could ***** out his light.
Leia Spencer Feb 6
How are there people
Who only light one candle
To find warmth?
-Honey, in this house I need a bonfire
I have 18 candles in my room
Paul Butters Oct 2018
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.

Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.

What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.

And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.

It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.

Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.

But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.

Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.

Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.

Paul Butters

© PB 27\10\2018.

Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Stephen Chapman indeed requested this...
Alienpoet Oct 2018
Rain falling on the decomposing leaves
cold autumn air breathed in warm lungs
the wind blows muttering ghost stories
into our ears.

Pumpkins carved into wickedly twisted smiles
as we dress up for Halloween discos and parties with style
gathering sweets as we go
while the full moon glows.

Bonfires built as we wait for the 5th of November
when fireworks will explode and sparkle in the night sky
we remember the gun powder plot
as we toast marshmallows on the bonfire.
the glowing of the
hot embers from
what was left of the
bonfire reminded
me that maybe
some good can come
out of this darkness.
A solemn inferno is crafted, and not shortly after
My bones are chapped, my blood shaking, my organs cracking;
Have I got it wrong? I laugh.
I follow the path of the pointed droppings from the trees
The crunch at my feet, how cliché! I hesitate.
The chill slips away in the night, and the fire
Wraps around our hands – like gloves – a perfect fit.
Life is too grim to live without a flame
I never want to face a season without this.
I have seen the moon dance and decline;
Seen it
Finish its routine.
I applaud.

Start again.
Again, again, again,

Huddled around my ball of light, bonding;
Oversharing. I cry.
When I was still able to count my age on my fingers,
This sun could never come undone;
I never imagined her ******* her soul for me,
slowly, like a neatly wrapped present on Christmas morning;
I never imagined learning how to burn my memories.

I can finally let you go.

Your kisses never showed me this admiration
But I wish you well. I sigh.
I will see you again, in the candlelight –
Only an imitation of the evenings
where the fireflies would tuck me into bed
and the stars would tell me a story.
Goodnight, good riddance. I lie.
Nyx Apr 2018
Staring into the fire
As the flames crackle and pop
The elegant dance of light
That seems unable to stop

Unleash your deepest secrets
As you sit around the flames
For those who shall surround you
Will soon forget your name

Alcohol and spirits
Fill your body and mind
Though around the bonfire
You will feel yourself unwind

The people here will listen
Strangely they will care
And for some odd reason
Everybody else will share

A peculiar bonding moment
With strangers you just met
What is it about this fire
That makes nobody seem like a threat

No faces to be matched
With the words that they pour out
No contact info exchanged
For this moment will be blacked out

So come sit around the bonfire
And begin to pour out your soul
Because for this fragile moment
Your story can finally be told
What is about bonfire that makes people have such deep talks and feel so calm?
KM Hanslik Mar 2018

You first notice yourself settling,
sinking, like an old house
when the birds begin to fly and the robins build nests in your doorways;
You first notice the pale light
with your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them,
the sun will disappear.

She first watches you
lying, limbs sprawled, in the creekbed
your clothing muddy and your frame
all sunken in, like the old house.

She first loves you in the sunlight
her skin shimmering golden above you
and you first hear her name
when she whispers to you

that she comes from the wreckage of street-lamps and ashtrays
how the only lover she’s ever taken felt like
the scrape of ****** knees against sidewalk,
apprehension laying heavy in her stomach
and the nausea that comes from starvation.

She tells you that she
could never call the city home, never love it as she wanted
because every night her mother would scream at your father
something about a bottle and "you filthy lying *******",
and every evening she went to sleep, and her ears bled
from the screech of taxi tires on the corner.

She wants a love that feels like
bonfires devouring kindling, spitting ashes up
into the sky, ablaze
with starlight and smoke –
mud oozing up between your toes as you run
and run
and run
from all the places that never felt like home.

She wants a love to consume all other loves,
a twisting, clawing, breathing thing
her heartbeats furiously pounding out a rhythm to escape
that place, and its stench, a rhythm
that implores the blurry lines of sunset to smother the land,
ethereal, burning
(burning you with it)

And so she first holds you
as the crumbling of her world brings a smile to her lips,
and you wonder as she sinks in her teeth
how many others there will be, after you,
and knowing that she
will be the first to ruin you
(And not caring if she does.)
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