Friday 10th April
Not at all sure of this one. It was written at one sitting, one bitter bonfire night. I cannot even remember who I was thinking about. Make of it what you will…
November the fifth – Bonfire Night, but no fireworks
Remember, remember – do you remember, how we flared
In previous years, other Novembers, how we burned when we dared to
And now I work and then I sleep, too busy now for emotions, no time for the flashes
Or flooding tides that sweep, buried oh so deep
The heart that was rendered, sundered and plundered and hopes dashed.
The turmoil I ignited, the short fuse of your temperI kept on re-lighting, back then when we delighted in the fighting
And the making up too, but oh the time that was taken up, the confidence shaken
How I yearn now for THE TORCH OF YOUR LOVE.
That spark of effervescence, dark nights lit by incandescence
The fire flashing in your eyes, the dark lashing of your bitter-pill lies.
The refusal to end it, how we must have resembled
The last dying throes of these fog-bound fires
The sultry glow of their dying embers
The steamy blue smoke, its retching choke
The rains drizzle sets in and the fire is extinguished
Your grip is relinquished, how I long now for that hand.
So home I come and bury my head in figures again
Rows and columns and numbers on the page
Pretending it means something; that somehow I will gain
When in another time, another age…
But now it’s the fifth of November
Of course I remember – Bonfire night, but no fireworks.