‘Tissue Paper Flames’
Abbie Walker shares her bonfire night poem, ‘Tissue Paper Flames’.
Faces glow a golden hue,
Within an inky frame.
Eyes fill with sights that smoulder red,
A hundred grins the same.
—
Upon the spectacle that stands
Before all of the adoring fans
A wooden man with straw for hands,
Arms raised out towards the man
With the high-vis vest and water tank,
Far too relaxed before the blaze,
A mere 6 feet before his face.
—
Flames that flicker billow smoke,
Writhing far above,
And fill the speckled skies with fog,
Obscuring out the stars.
—
Crinkling like tissue paper,
The fire does applause,
Roaring louder than the cheers,
As burning crates implode.
—
The little boy with blue dot hat,
Leans closer to the flames,
His father holds his shoulder still,
To keep him close and safe.
—
The blaze ebbs down and shrinks inside
Itself as it falls in,
Ash engulfs the feathered flames
And leaves a molten scorch.
—
And there the grass lies, choked and burned,
Within its ashen bed,
As people move on from the blaze
And fireworks begin.
