Guy Fawkes Night in the Pennines


Now one by one the hills ignite
Like oil wells, and turn the night
Into a yurt of black and red
Held down with golden trailing threads
Of fireworks, that split the clouds
And silence the expectant crowds,
Whilst kids in mittens on the fells
Leave sparkler trails like wizards’ spells,
And Katherine Wheels shriek through the dark,
As thunder claps explode in sparks,
And baked potatoes, split in halves,
Drip butter down their parents’ scarves.
Then out at last, made fat with rag-
Stuffed Oxfam clothes, the guy is dragged
And flung upon the crackling pyre,
To writhe and snap, consumed by fire,
In echoes of the ancient rites
We resurrect each Guy Fawkes’ Night.


9 responses to “Guy Fawkes Night in the Pennines

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