Terry Miller Poet Free verse

October '61

We struggled along damp, smoke-filled streets;
leaves still summer green, 
a chilly breeze rustling some, turned golden early 
in anticipation of the fall.
Neil at one end of the log; 
me at the other.

Occasionally we paused our journey, rested;
took turns with the diminishing gobstopper;
and backward walking with the heavy branch.

Early October, our collecting started;
we had first-dibs on Ethel Jones' old settee,
two shabby chests of drawers,
about a mile of rotten fence,
branches collected from the woods,
assorted liberated shrubs,
and now, of course, a giant log.

We were to build 
the most monumental funeral pyre;
the street had ever seen,
topped with fabricated Guy,
long-wheeled from door to door
for a penny here or there.
It would be the biggest and the best,
standing proud in the bombed-out lot, 
that was our playground,
but once home to family and friends.

November fifth would come, 
the bonfire built, would fiercely burn;
cracking windows with the blistering heat
scorching paint on faded doors.
Part-cooked potatoes
thrown in the embers;
would later, held in hands 
be greedily eaten with a spoon;
steam rising from damp, woollen gloves.
Red noses, rosy fire burned cheeks,
sparklers waving patterns in the dark;
oohs, aahs; and gasps at fiery rockets,
whirling Catherine wheels and jumping jacks.

Then time for bed
Our grubby faces, 
smoked stenched hair and clothes
would last a week
'till bathday.


October Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh 
Date wrote: 03-October-2021

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Caren Krutsinger October 24, 2021 at 1:08 AM This is incredibly well written; I like the feeling of a kind of stream of consciousness in this part "November fifth would come, the bonfire built, would fiercely burn; cracking windows with the blistering heat scorching paint on faded doors. Part-cooked potatoes thrown in the embers; would later, held in hands be greedily eaten with a spoon" It sounds casual, and yet it is anything but. Terry Miller October 24, 2021 at 7:07 AM Thank you, Caren, I truly appreciate your comments, have a wonderful day, Terry.

Gary Radice October 3, 2021 at 1:56 AM Love this. Loved bonfire night. I was actually born Nov '61 but the bonfire nights of my childhood were as you describe. Your own memories brought back mine. The fizzing and spitting of roman candles. Waiting for the touch paper to light. The cold wind. (It was always cold) Cinder Toffee, treacle toffee.. See what your poem's done? It captures an atmosphere of another world and I loved reading it. Thanks for taking me back. Cheers - Gary Terry Miller October 24, 2021 at 7:08 AM Hi Gary, thanks for passing by and reading; great memories. Cheers, Terry.