Bonfire Night Poems | Examples
These Bonfire Night poems are examples of Night poems about Bonfire. These are the best examples of Night Bonfire poems written by international poets.
5th of November
Bonfire night
Why is it we remember
Guy fawkes set it alight
5th of November
Anti establishmentarian
Parliament a burning ember
Observance of many puritans
A plot was foiled
To blow up house of Lords
Guy fawkes plan spoiled
With dynamite and swords
Nowadays celebrated by a bonfire
The release of fireworks
Pay homage to the people's sire
I think it's berserk
Not a party pooper
Loud bangs scare this writer
Also animals can scatter
Guy fawkes was mad as a hatter
His attempt to overthrow was thwarted
Stood by dynamite he was caught
Sentenced to death and live in the tower
That's what happen if you go against power
Nothing really has changed
We're still locked up in chains
Speak out or scream and shout
You will be banned or taken out
No more posting on social media
You end up arrested for schizophrenia
The world nowadays hazy gone crazy
Smoke screens and lies make it hazy
Back to topic Guy fawkes
Never allowed to enter talks
He wasn't happy with the Lords
So got his rebels and drew thier swords
The mischief of the phantom was a plague to the town.
The townsfolk always had a sleepless sleep and their cries of horror always filled the night air.
What they did not know was that they had mistaken the ghost for a dreadful creature.
This harmless ghost just wanted to have some fun and share in the delight of their evening joy;
The joy that united the people around a bonfire before their sleep, was what the little ghost wanted to be a part.
It started last night, gently falling, large flakes.
I was back again almost instantly.
All the faces, my brothers, friends and neighbors.
Everyone is bundled, wearing half the clothes they own.
The speed and thrill going down the hill and
the long, cold trudge climbing back up again.
The warmth of the bonfire once you finally reach the top.
Jokes and heckling about the previous run,
then do it all over again, and again….
There are no worries here,
no democrats or republicans.
No one has children or mortgages,
and no one has been to war.
We pile onto large inner tubes from tractor tires,
the more the weight the faster the ride.
Piled high down “Suicide Hill” with reckless abandon,
headed for the frozen creek below.
The bodies of snow warriors are tossed aside,
we are the children of the cold dark night.
Our laughter and screams echoing as a song,
throughout the surrounding hills.
The warm, frothy soup
feels good my tastebuds,
one scoop
after the other.
It goes well with a good
company
around a bonfire
gazing at the clear, night sky...
Mystic moon, shimmering so bright;
Her silver shine rouses the night.
Like shining sun in amber glow,
she glows glitter where waters flow.
The shady shade of blinding dark
heaves high the worth of tiny spark;
While the bite of shivery snow
gives cozy chance for love to grow.
The lights of stars give hauling hope
to fainting faiths, for them to cope.
The mockingbirds sing soulful song
to show sad souls where they belong.
Through gleaming glow of wild bonfire
frosty flakes melt on hearts in ire.
The blazing beauty of the night
sparks bright boldness in hearts that fright.
November 17, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest (5th place)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Beauty of Night Poetry Contest (3rd place)
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Bonfire night
Sparklers dancing in the air
Children running without a care
Bang, boom, sizzling
Fireworks exploding the night sky glowing
toffee apples, peas, and pies
At night justice began overpowering
A man burned at the steak after threatening
From then on a celebration began
Dancing, fireworks, and much more in the air
Gunpowder
treason and plot
Guy Fawkes
was arrested
while guarding barrels
containing
highly
explosives
ready
to destroy
Parliament
Now he's remembered
each fifth of November
as
our bonfire nights Guy.
Sponsored by Emile Pinet.
' Yalto form '
9 / 9 / 2019.
primal timelessness
midnight bonfire by the beach
back to dawn of time
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on March 16, 2019
Land mirrors balaclavaed moon tonight,
The dark blindfolds insects in drunken song,
And censors bawdy bullfrogs’ ancient rite.
Our starved eyes protest truant fireflies’ wrong,
As we raise high a flame of bright sarong.
Pixies may dance nude with rioting sparks,
A sleepwalking coyote somewhere barks,
While hot crackles heckle the clouds away.
We thrill to a new June the warm wind marks,
Think of the bonfire of summer at play.
Bonfire night
It’s alright, it’s not really such a fright
Guy Fawkes and friends had a plan
But then fell down to a man
King and country took them all
Then made them all fall
No more challenges for a while
Until we all start to smile
What did we get from bonfire night
Well it wasn’t a fight
Royal crown and politicians
Keep us from sedition
But hey ho, do we care
No not really, I wasn’t there!
DAMO
On bonfire night I can feel my tummy twisting, tickling and turning all over my insides.
The warmth of the fire heating my face, as the smoke makes my eyes water.
The large fence keeping us safe as we watch the display,
The steaming cup of hot chocolate, warming my hands yet burning my tongue!
On bonfire night I can taste the hot chocolate running down my throat,
The smell from the gunpowder tickling in my nose.
As I watch my breath in the cold air blowing out into the night.
Oh don’t you just love Bonfire night?
On bonfire night I can see the Catherine Wheels,
Spinning round and round
The children, squealing with delight as the rockets light up the night sky,
Gold, green and silver glitter and dance
As the sprinkling of sparkles makes us fall into a trance.
On bonfire night, I feel all warm and happy inside,
As I see all the faces happy with glee.
I know they are all thinking the same thing as me,
Oh I just can’t wait till next bonfire night
Penny for the guy
C’mon mister give us a penny for the guy
This little ragamuffin asked with sad eyes brimming
Need the money to buy food she said with a cry
We are poor mister tearful eyes still streaming
Overhead great sparking rockets fly,
The girls guy looked sad and cold
C'mon mister a penny for the guy
She shouted as the oohs and aahs echoed around
Great Catherine wheels spun round and round
Sending sparks far and wide, in a colourful array
The smell of hot chestnuts making us drool
November the 5th is a fine fun day
Then through the smoke of the bonfire
Enjoying the fun sparkler in hand …. I saw
A cracker jack was lit by the sad guy
He jumped so high, ran, staying still no more
The guy she pushed for many a night
Was her brother who had been bribed to stay still
He tried but was the fright of the cracker jack
that made him jump and run up the hill.
Penned nov 2 2016
When we were young on bonfire night,
Watching fireworks light the sky
And marvelled at that coloured light,
When we were young on bonfire night.
Enthralled by that explosive sight
As sky rockets burst on high,
When we were young on bonfire night,
Watching fireworks light the sky.
Barry Stebbings
22/06/2016
Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice,
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk,
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins,
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice,
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk--
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014