"fawkes" poems
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.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
in the Guy Fawkes National park there is a harass of them
trotting through its blue hued wends
their days are numbered in the park
park authorities want end to their spirited lark
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
to sight the wild horses in full cantering step
is exhilarating and fills one's heart with miles of pep
their hooves thundering and pelting along
to the wind's strong liberating throng
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
down the steep ravines and o'er the hills they stride
without the reins of a man holding their ranging pride
the wild horses have need of open lands to caper and pace
they are a breed which must be allowed to freely race
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
Day and night vie for each other
now, but the darker is winning;
The moon mourns in her ruddy veil:
tonight, the garden's wet by tears.
Incredible, the attraction,
of carbon for carbon.
Even more, the attraction
of carbon for gold.
In the wild, they rarely bond.
But in man, inseparable.
Carbon and mammon: be not yoked,
says the jewel diamond of our race.
Who cares? The cross,
an adornment nice.
Mammon in mud? Silicon
too, says the IT guy.
Fullerenes in the sky: on this
Guy Fawkes night, sparks truly fly.
Carbon will **** for gold.
This the oldest maxim of old.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Barefooted teenager
Sliding D&G; watches
Into a bag filled with
Addidas shoes.
It's bonfire night in the cities
Of England. Come out, children,
To the heart of the city and
Bleed it dry.
Betray your hunger,
The greed that consumes you
And the indifference bred into
Your marrow.
Bred by despair and shiny
Baubles in window displays
And worn by all those
Stars in those glossy mags.
It's a consumer's world; it's about
Instant gratification, not hard work -
Even if work could be found.
But why work if you can steal?
Bonfire night. Like when we burn that
Guy. Fawkes? He tried to destroy Parliament
But teenage angst and thugs could do in a few nights
What his barrels of gunpowder couldn't.
Alcohol and **** to last a
Short lifetime. Shopkeepers in the way
Should know better; You can't fight
Irrationality. It has no conscience.
****** loot, burn like in those
Movies about war, Grand Theft Auto,
And a million other games. Just keep
Moving so you never have to actually think.
But just in case, let's blame someone else:
Let's blame race, the Met, politicians,
The schools, the economy, parents -
Society.
Burn, London. Burn, Birmingham,
Burn, Manchester, Burn Liverpool.
Burn, Gloucester. Burn, burn, burn,
But let tomorrow be just another day.
Bonfire night. Every night.
Till they put out the fires,
Tend the wounded and
Bury the dead.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
For Sam Cook and Michael Lee
While standing at Marshall and 140th
the lightning over the horizon begs me to come to it
it's like the flickering streetlights, seeming like silent firefights,
simply asking to be looked for.
When I still elementary,
I used to watch the sky as the bolts shocked the earth
and I'd count:
one
two
three
Until I heard the boom and crack of thunder
three miles away, at least, the fourth graders said each second was a mile
it could have been true, it could have not, yet still I watch the light.
The flickering of the fading streetlamp tells me that this moment is not going to last forever
that it will not be heavenly or touchable, but it is there
and it wants you to touch the light as it flickers like a strobe light
like kids playing with the tabs of flashlights
and like the first discovery of light switches
and I'm reaching out so far.
Trying to grab hold of a piece of simplicity,
of normal,
of what I can always find:
Mistakes and wounds
and trying to hold on
Because lately, it seems like the only places we want to flicker are in the clubs.
Standing on a planet where illness and difference are cause enough to torch cities.
We like to light the fires and we like to watch them burn,
but we could care less about what their burning
and it seems like the dark ages came and stayed,
But like tributes to Guy Fawkes say:
*A man can be killed and forgotten,
but four hundred years later an idea can still change the world*
So I think as I stand at that intersection
watching the streetlights and the night's light bulbs flicker on and off like the light in my head
I can feel my fingertips prickle and I seize that moment to reach for the lamppost and final destination
those kids are flipping tabs faster and faster
my hair is at attention
and I can feel the race.
For a second,
everything slows down.
The streetlight stops flickering as my fingertips come upon it
and the lightning illuminates the sky
I can feel the breeze push my hair to this minutes path
and for a second,
I have something.
I pull my fingers away from the light and it returns to its flicker
the lightning fades away
and the boom comes in.
And here, standing at what once for me was Marshall and 140th
I realize,
that all I have
is all
I'll ever claim to know
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:48 AM UTC
Sullen leaves forlorn now at the edges -
dripping tips say the story of the night:
the thunder - is all over the road, scattered
in the branches fallen; it is the mud and slush
that tell how the sky wept in the hour;
Eyes still moist and still welling up -
must be a field abounding in blades
of tall them leaves of grass flowering, and
the rain drenching the soul; Now the sky
invisible behind the veil of tear-clouds;
The mind longs for the warmth of home
heart longs to stay there half-sunk knee-high.
Only one night that matters in the journey:
life but a gathering of memories plucked
from the fleeting world; Only one night
when fireworks light the sky and a lonely
heart beats as one with another, though apart
distant in the milling Guy Fawkes' night
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 5:10 PM UTC
This time please don’t feel sad.
I’ve tried to fade away.
Stretch thin to reach me.
Gone un-scratched for an eon.
As a breath on a death bed.
Can’t be savored for too long.
It’d feel nice to know who I am.
I’m pressed to find a way.
Dressed in his slime and his slop.
It’d feel good to know who I’m not.
Bottle up and conceal.
It’s all moved away this time.
I can feel.
No Fawkes whisper to reveal.
It’s all been changed.
But for me.
I feel the same.
I’m broken and poured.
All vivid, but defamed.
The color I had in my fingers.
Is distant on a tether.
I just coil it back in.
Before I grow numb in taste.
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 1:46 PM UTC
Remember, remember the 11th of September
Terrorism, mayhem and plot.
I see no reason why terror like this
Should ever be forgot.
Bin Laeden, Bin Laeden, 'twas his intent
To ******* America with an explosive event
Four fueled airplanes, oh how they soar
Poor old America dragged into war
By Marines providence justice was found
With women in hand dutifully bound
Silence my brothers, silence my sisters
God save them all!
In their memory we pray!
In rememebrance on this sad day!
A penny for your thoughts ol' America
on a day that chokes us all
nothing to rinse away the pain
on a day that scorched us all
forever burning is this day
Burning in our hearts always
Burning for those who have bled
and burning for those who are dead.
Silence on this tragic day!
Silence in their names we pray!
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
Tonight Guy Fawkes might get it right,
it's bonfire night.
Westminster,
the stage is set,
place your bets before the bang or hang old ***** high.
At Mansion House before fine fare,
sit politicians gorging there and getting fat from this,my land and I stand here with hand held out,
a teapot of a man with drooping spout and wilting will,
still,
Fawkes the hawk may walk the walk and then we'll see the ******** talk, when Parliament goes up in smoke,
Oh Guido,Guido take a match
don't let the watchmen catch you creeping,with lit taper,or you'll be 'sleeping with the fish'
It's bonfire night tonight
I do wish Guy Fawkes gets it right
and one more time,
't would be no crime
to light the fuse
and run.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
[I in no way shape or form take credit for this poem, it was written in the 1600's for the infamous Guy Fawks
Today is Guy Fawks night where they burn his Ephagy in a bonfire]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Fifth of November
Remember, remember!
The fifth of November,
The Gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
Guy Fawkes and his companions
Did the scheme contrive,
To blow the King and Parliament
All up alive.
Threescore barrels, laid below,
To prove old England's overthrow.
But, by God's providence, him they catch,
With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
A stick and a stake
For King James's sake!
If you won't give me one,
I'll take two,
The better for me,
And the worse for you.
A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,
A pint of beer to wash it down,
And a jolly good fire to burn him.
Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
I live vicariously
through anonymity.
The convex mirror
LCD flat-screen
deflates apprehension and
balloons confidence
I jump feet first
through the looking
glass slipper; which
will turn to pumpkin
just before dawn.
I am not Cinderella.
I am just another
Guy Fawkes impersonator
with “V” tattooed
on my heart-strings.
Just another harbinger
like the Plutonian bird
perched upon a pallid bust
sent to whisper:
“nevermore”
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 9:34 PM UTC
One leg Anne
crutched herself
to the window
and stared out at the rain
Look at the ******* weather
she said
she let go
of the handle
of one crutch
and scratched her thigh
you stood just behind her
watching her standing there
like a dejected Napoleon
What do you think
they’d say if I got you
to push me out
in the wheelchair
in this Skinny Boy?
she said
looking at you
over her shoulder
They wouldn’t allow it
you replied moving up
beside her
and peering out
at the rain
on the lawn and trees
I don’t give a donkey’s tail
what they’d allow
she said
being politer
than she usually was
Why do you want
to go out in the rain?
you asked
Because I hate
being shut up
in my room
or being pushed
around the corridors
like fecking Guy Fawkes
she crutched herself
away from the window
Come on Skinny Boy
let’s venture out
But we’ll get wet
you said following her
out of the room
Hush do you want
the grown ups
to know our plans of escape?
you stood beside her
by the backdoor
your eyes watched
the rain falling on
the path outside
Bring me a wheelchair
Skiing Boy
we’re going to explore
you went to the store room
and pushed a wheelchair
to where she stood
and she sat down
and gave you
the crutches
Right off we go
she said
and you opened
the door
and wheeled her out
the raindrops
pattering on
and around you both
and she bellowed
Go go
on on
and so you pushed
and the rain fell
and she laughed
and opened her arms
and her hands
and said
This is living Boy
better to live
and be wet
than dry indoors
and dead.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
The leaves in winter, they all fall in place.
In endings hidden, embers of a new life.
Every once in a while an unknown girl
walks up close on a smoggy night;
And an awkward lank woos her with
half-withered roses by the south bank;
Going after severed kites,
landing now by the memory lane:
by the Thames, holding a palmful,
saying, this river's named after you:
she has a dimpled smile;
By the lakes, deep at night, when the moon
walks over the waves, dancing with the swans;
Where the Lee bends around the corner,
a red bus emerges out of the mist,
a hero on chilly nights of the early autumn,
when the dhak welcomes the Goddess home.
Teals, wobbling out of the pond, by
the temple of love, closed for ages now;
Crimson paint dripping from the evening
sky at the corners;
Every day when loving this way
seems like a picture painting away,
get lost walking by the Thames;
Whirling back like the descent from the Eye,
time and crackers light the sky,
on a Guy Fawkes night.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
no doubt a right rotten mess
all that ******* noise
who can stand it?
i hate guy fawkes day
maybe it was a clever idea at the time
now it's a rotten mess of noise and the revellers don't really get
now it's crackers and food and idiots making noise
boom-boom go the cars, kicking ball on your wall
you ********* you mothersucking *****
**** off!!
do they even remember the reason behind it all?
******* idiots make a rotting ******** bunch of noise collection!
worse than a box of rotting tomatoes or rotting beefstrips in the corner
they should be made to EAT that!
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
Misty mornings and frost tipped blades
white-tipped grass slippery lanes
autumn chill running through red filled veins
As cold air brushes the face
Autumn mornings we have graced
shivers moments in autmns chill
wakes us up its no frill
Dark eery evenings add to the chill
Halloween beckons
free spirits roam
spookey goings on
as ghosts roam
Guy Fawkes is coming
be aware too
bang flash sparkle
sky s braced with colours
around you
Nature runs and hibernates away
storing food to keep hunger at bay
Trees rustle leaves depart
their journey floating
down in the park
Autumn is here having its way
as plants die off and wilt away
Birds migrate to warm climes too
far away from autumns chill
Seas become rough
no swimming today
summers has long passed away
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
When thinking about backgammon and playing the game,
It makes me feel kinds dead like rigomortis , being lame,
I don’t mean to deluge info with a flood of knowledge to you,
But my brain is a globular cluster with knowledge you never knew.
Now ill give you an orison a hope for a great day,
So you can make it over the skybridge in one piece but not one way,
But enough about the future I know you have chronomentrophia,
But who cares tomorrow is Guy Fawkes day so live in your own utopia!
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 11:11 AM UTC
I've crossed paths,
Crossed hearts with no hope to die,
Set fire to the night and watch it burn alive,
Watch it turn to ash and spit smoke into the sky,
So the clocks won't ever stop because they'll never freeze in time.
We will fight to claim our territory back,
Without guns and grenades or vicious attacks,
We'll use our words to forge our own weapons,
Make you surrender and we'll become legends,
The death of a war that has no place in heaven.
They say I look better dressed up in cold misery,
But I prefer armour made from bittersweet victory,
With words like matches that burned for our liberty,
I am Guy Fawkes and blazing on a new page in History.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
It only takes a favorite song
Come up on the jukebox
To fish her out of her despair
They call her Lola, Lola Fawkes.
She laughs at nonsensical jokes,
Likes clouds and sunny glades.
She licks the ice cream tub clean
And paints her toes in two shades.
She speaks of butterflies and shadows;
Says she sees them all the time.
The butterflies tinge her dreams,
The shadows add a smell of grime.
She lives and dies with every moment -
Does it all over again each day.
In her heart she truly believes
That salvation is always a blink away.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
I
Here I am, drinking in my local bar.
There's a sadness in the air,
Relaxed,
Aged with the whiskey.
Cheaper.
Guy Fawkes night fireworks
are some forgotten war,
Flash bangs,
We're all in the trenches
Fighting
What exists in the smudged
Moonlight
And ages with the whiskey.
II
I've quit my job -
I hate these walls
I hate the brick dust that sits
Like an ash cloud.
Keep spinning
Catherine wheels, rocket cases
Fall from grace and tell me
Did I love these friends?
Let me hold you
My
Shallow
imprints in the mud.
III
Am I just hungover from
Halloween?
It's macabre.
Melodrama
full of the rich scent of rotting
Dead leaves,
And what the dead leave
Costumes, an ecstasy of
wanting to be watched
touching myself.
IV
I hope they know I love them.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
While doing Guy Fawkes the night before
I received some surprising news
My Father said some things to me
I nearly blew a fuse
He said to me when tomorrow comes
A sad event will start your day
and i was so upset to wake up
to find my dad was taken away
this happened over 20 years ago
and it's still feeling like new
The anniversary comes but once a year
and Oh! I feel so blue
It was the day that changed my life
but things have improved as such
My awesome husband is in my life
and changed me oh so much
my love of life is music
and it brings me so much cheer
but my husband and my father
I love them both so dear
I really now must finish
before I go on to long
but I want you to remember
Go on! sing a song!
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
Oh hell,
A firework hit the moon.
That means the tides are *******
You kissed my soul with a purple balloon.
And so you ******* the alien.
Then the sun rose on eastern shores.
Surely not!
And the planet's corrupted by phoney power play.
Checkers and draughtsman.
Children sand huntsmen.
Spiders that play games taunting lizards.
In red hot desserts, where vulture soar.
Past the moon what got hit.
The tide's inverted and the gooneys play on pebble dashed beach.
Dreams imploded.
Out of reach!
(c)LIVVI
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
It's not too long until Guy Fawkes night,
A month and a bit, I believe,
Crunching damp upon the grass,
many autumn leaves,
they're laying underfoot.
It's getting a little chilly now,
The children all have mittens on,
Where on earth's that kitten gone?
kittens should really stay inside.
The bonfire almost a mile high.
A nervous mummy hides inside.
Daddy sets fire to the pile of trash,
hoping that by the morning,
should just be a pile of grubby ash.
Potatoes are all wrapped in tin foil,
you see,
who will take them from the fire?
not me.
A gigantic box of fireworks,
pyrotechnics display.
Wahey!
They should all thrill the sky,
supposed to do them one at at time,
David running round like a lunatic,
had one can too many,
and a couple of glasses of cheapish wine.
Tripped over a stone,
fireworks,
all went off with a boom.
A crash,
a whizz,
a crazy zoom.
A sudden flash,
Blew the roof off,
destroyed the living room,
The kitten hid under the couch,
The dog he dashed into the garden,
with his tail between his legs.
David felt a real wally,
cos he was off his trolley.
Very carefully crept into the living room,
to find the tiny ***** cat,
cowering in the gloom.
The remnants of bonfire night,
not much left of the living room.
Of course,
as this is just a funny poem,.
That little kitten,
well, she was safe and well!
(C) Livvi
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
lots of bangs tonight fireworks flying high
bangers. roman candles .rockets light the sky
bonfires all lit up children having fun
eating toffee apples and a burger in a bun.
celebrating guy Fawkes and his deadly plot
one day in November we have not forgot
each and every year we recall his name
now an effigy that we set a flame
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
in the house of parliment many years ago
guy fawkes had a plot the house was going to blow
he stored up his dynamite in the cellar down below
till the time was right and it was time to go.
but guy Fawkes he got caught before the time was due
the houses of the parliament were never ever blew
now we celebrate this part of history
with fireworks and fires this ancient mystery.
when November comes and fireworks burn bright
the time we all remember what happened on that night.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
"Get your head into the clouds! It's the 25th century! We don't live in the stone age!" -The Dystopia Daily.
"The media turned me gay!" -The media.
"Let's away..." -Mr. ***** joke.
"My season in hell wasn't quite so festive." -Rheumatoid Arthritis Rimbaud.
"They've eradicated anticulture, tossed it away like a fistful of dead roses." -Guy Fawkes.
"The imperfectly perfect subgenres are becoming very popular..." -the sad informist.
"Well, it's just that when everyone is the same, that's my chance to be different. Scrooge was on to something." -The Narcissist.
"Persistence can change failure into extraordinary achievement." -Matt Biondi
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC