Last night we had a brilliant Sparkle Party with our church cluster (pics to follow). We had to dress up in something sparkly, bring bonfire food (and mulled wine - yummy!), write a poem and then played games, had fireworks etc. JT made toffee apples and I knocked up a poem 20 minutes before we were due to leave. I wish I could post the other ones, some were brilliant! I remember Carl’s off by heart: What rhymes with sparkle? Nothing. The End.

Here is mine - slight timbre issues and a rather ridiculous nature due to the speed with which is was cobbled together: (PS This does not relate to my family in any way!)

We’ll do our own…

We drive past the garish hand-painted sign,
Giant family fireworks! At half-past nine,
I sit back and sigh, it’s always the same,
Dad seems to think it’s some sort of a game.

“We don’t need that!” he shouts, sounding smug
“We’ve got a big garden and earth freshly dug!”
We’ll pop down to Tesco and buy a good set
And invite round the neighbours for the best show yet!

We arrive at the shop and stare at the shelves
All sorts of explosives we can set off ourselves
I point to a big box and tug at Dad’s sleeve
He picks up a small box “This is all that we need!”

I smuggle some sparklers when he isn’t looking,
We talk about food and who will be cooking.
Mum will make jackets and fillings and cake,
Aunty Pam will bring… Goodness knows what she’ll make.

The big night arrives, a knock at the door,
I shuffle my feet and stare at the floor,
Yet another set of neighbours, attend to be polite,
But will end up wishing away the hours of the night.

Dad dances around like an excited small dog,
We can’t see the garden because of the fog,
He’s buried the rockets deep into the ground,
The matches of course, are nowhere to be found.

A peculiar sculpture is nailed to the shed,
The Catherine wheel mount, made from Granny’s old bed,
We huddle on the patio, shivering and cold,
There’s drinks to be had and sparklers to hold.

And then come the cries of “Stand back, don’t go too near!”
“It’s alright!” says Dad “there’s nothing to fear!”
He lights the first, the size of a sherbet fountain
It fizzles and spits for 20 seconds and counting.

We wait and we wonder whether it will go off
“Made in China” mutters Dad and stifles a cough
We smile politely and say “there’ll be more”
But Dad’s donned the goggles and is scouting the floor

He finds his next victim, a rocket amongst the veg,
He lights it and stands back as we wait, on edge.
It goes up with a screech and sideways with a pop,
Potatoes fly everywhere, uprooting half the crop.

Mum is furious and uses bad language,
I wander inside and pick up a sandwich,
But yuck! What is this?? What HAS Aunt Pam done??
Horseradish sauce with marmite and tongue!!!

I scrape the rest secretly straight into the bin,
“Oooh they were popular!” she sings, walking in.
Outside the golden rain is making people “aaaah”
I think they’ve drunk enough to stock a hefty bar.

They need to mind you, with Dad’s odd little show,
He’s dressed like the SAS and there’s still a lot to go!
A little bonfire struggles to get lit,
I toast a marshmallow and down I sit.

The neighbours start to drift and make their excuses,
Mum offers them doggy bags, but each person refuses,
This is the same as it is every year.
Happy fireworks to all, and to all, good cheer.