‘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.