Prepare for my bonfire! It's time, Mrs Fawkes.
(Remember, remember, is all that she talks.)
Well, right now, we're into timely new games,
And prepare your thighs to take in my flames.
With sparklers, so simple, hand-held, let us start,
To twirl about is becoming an art,
Ten inches they're long and sparkling in gold,
You're warming to touch and not now so cold.
So, yes, see, feel, when it comes to the flick,
Of what is fizzing and just nicely meant:
The energy dances and glows out so slick:
A launching, successful, bright stimulant.
Humm, some roman candles I ought to insert
Frizzy and whistly, sufficently pert!
Fountains will follow, it's in your desires,
As you respond to wetten my fires.
So, let's pin on firmly the catherine wheel.
A tingle with fizz, and jerk, and feel.
Whee! Round and round and around it goes
Up to your head and down to your toes.
No bangs as yet, but let's try my rocket:
It comes straight from me, as in my packet;
But place one more round and around catherine
As the rocket launches, going upward, and in.
Let's try more sparklers as a well-needed pause.
It's all about pacing, it is so because
We won't finish early, but still plan ahead.
They're 18 inch silver and sparkly they spread.
For multishots follow, stronger are those,
As more rockets launch straight into your rose.
It's going to get less so, well, not quite refined
So BANG placed inside is one hefty mine.
Some more roman candles, and how do they feel
With one more twirling-round catherine wheel?
What then, I wonder, of last year's bonfire?
What then, I puzzle, of any other fellas?
I wasn't there, and they're now unseen
As I light the erotic killers
Of red, white and green
Brilliant cascaders
Known for opening up as umbrellas.
But feel the power, before the night's curtains,
As agitated are my performing fountains!
With a great blast of my cracking rocket,
One force and another, the white silver sock it
And piercing, like the thrust of a pike:
The multi-colour burst of the wopping air strike.
It's been just my bonfire to you, and hope you've a thriller
The anticipation, the ending, for you it looms:
Erupting it comes, in high silver plumes
Of green and red, in transferring colour!
Those fireworks, together, scares a pussy turned feral:
The blast of your intense, exploding barrel.
Adrian Worsfold (November 2013)
Pluralist - Liberal and Thoughtful