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Pyrotechnics
 

Way back then in childhood days,
bonfire nights were so exciting.
We would pile material for months
in preparation for igniting.

May, for us, is Autumn
but our trees are evergreen,
no lovely leaves all brindled
to enhance the wondrous scene.

The bonfire stack was built up
on a spare block down the road.
Off-cuts from Dad's timber mill,
by billy-cart were towed.

This was back when pyrotechnics
were available to all,
when silly boys played dangerous games
which made them ten feet tall.

May 25th, as darkness fell,
the bonfire stack was lit;
gasps of awe and wonderment,
though the crackers cost a bit.

Sky rockets stood in beer bottles,
just waiting for a flame.
Tom thumbs under Mum's old chair
but only if you're game.

Jumping jacks went crazy
and throw-downs popped all night.
Catherine wheels and magic fountains
filled the air with colours bright.

The glow of roman candles
filled our childish heart with joy,
penny bungers exploded loudly,
lit in tins by some bright boy.

There's nothing like it nowadays
with strict government control.
It made good sense imposing the law
now fireworks take a tamer role.


By cherryk

© 2017 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Autumn (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Autumn (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Autumn (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Autumn (challenge has been closed)


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