The  Post
Christmas  Poetry  Competition
   2007

Firstly, thank you to all who entered the competitions and all those of you who submitted a vote. The voting came fast and furious and there were some close shaves, but, in the end, we were able to select three winners. So, without further ado, here are those winning entries!

The Christmas Poetry Winner is:
The 21st Century Letter to Santa  by  Beatrice

Dear Mr Claus, (or are you a Ms?)

I’d like some champagne please, with oodles of fizz,

An Xbox 360 and maybe a Wii -

I’m sure you could squeeze in a Playstation 3.

Dear Father Christmas, I’ve been oh so good.

So please, will you bring me Brad Pitt in the nude?

Or if he’s too busy I’ll take Johnny Depp,

And a couple of tix for the gig by Led Zep.

Santa, I know that you’ve much work to do;

So I’ll txt u my wish list, it’s on Facebook too.

Just fill my stocking with Gucci and Prada.

I don’t want your reindeer to work any harder.

Now listen, St Nicholas, here’s my advice

A shiny black Porsche would be very nice.

I'll Bluetooth a picture of what would be great,

A gleaming Ducati outside my front gate.

A word in your shell-like, St Nick old pal;

Buy online this year – no more queues in the mall.

I don’t heed those folk who say you don’t exist,

Just prove that you’re real and bring me my gifts!

The Vogon Christmas winner is:
Vogon Express  by  Beatrice

(Yes, Nigella's influence extends throughout the known galaxy.)

Snitch the schnitzel spring onions

Snip in squiggle squirgles

Sprinkle sprocket scallion scab

Until the mixture gurgles.

Flummox fan or feeble fly

Flush the flaying phial

Flack and flax to flicking point

Stirring all the while

Plush and plump and puss-filled puke

Press the putrid peas

Pluck and push into the stove

At 200 degrees

Grovel gravel greedy gorbs

Grinch and gritting glower

Gripe the grope and graze the gruel

Checking that it's sour

Jabber jay and jackal juice

Jump and jug adorning

Jet black jeepers creepers jive

Ready for Christmas morning.

Crack the crumbling curling crust

Crunch the creaky crest

Kibble cobble dribble dodge

And that's Vogon Express!

The Christmas Prose winner is:
Silent Nights  by  B'Elana

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

And the very next day, you gave it away.

She switched the radio off. December. Advent. The festive season.

She was finally free, so why wasn't she in a festive mood?

She looked through the room which was still bare, as she had only moved in a few weeks ago. The naked light bulb at the ceiling gave a hard light. She would have to go and buy a lamp shade soon. Maybe she could make one herself; money was tight. She knelt down and randomly opened one of the boxes. On top was a photograph of her children. She smiled a sad little smile. She missed them. They were grown, living their own lives now. Oh, how she had looked forward to the day they left home, because it meant she could leave, too. And there she was, 50 years old, and alone. It was pathetic. She even missed her ex husband. You don't just forget 30 years, no matter how far away you go to leave your memories behind. It didn't work this way, she should have known.

But then she had had dreams, and plans, all these years while she waited. They were all shattered now. The man she loved had turned away from her. For no obvious reason. Oh, he hadn't 'said' anything, but the way he talked to her had changed. She wasn't stupid, she recognised his sudden lack of interest. He told her he wanted to do this or that, but when it came to actually doing it, there was nothing. Yet, when he said he was interested in what she had to say, she had fallen for it. Every time. But not anymore! Friends innocently told her they had seen him here or there, having fun - when he had told her he had to work. She wondered if he had never really been interested, if she had just imagined it all this time? Wishful thinking, it was called. She wasn't yet prepared to believe there had never been anything; it hurt enough as it was. But she had her pride, she'd never ever show how devastated she was. Not even her best friend knew.

She turned the radio on again. Yep, the song was over, it was the news now. She sat down to listen. Disasters and catastrophies all around her. Appeals to donate for children in need, the homeless, the poor... Old people, lonesome, in old people's homes or hospitals... That was how she'd end up if she didn't stop pitying herself. She'd be old, alone, and bitter. She hadn't smiled or laughed for ages, and it started to show in her face. She pulled herself together. She'd go and make herself a nice cuppa, then things would look up - hopefully.

Back from the tiny kitchen with her tea, she pondered: the first Christmas cards had arrived, she'd better return them. Telephone and internet weren't yet set up, she was cut off friends and family, except for snail mail. She could probably write a Round Robin, then go to the copy shop and get a few copies. But what to write without sounding negative and admitting total defeat?

She searched for a pen and some paper, found both, and started writing:

Dear family and friends,

This year has brought some changes, I'm finally free to do as I want.
Read: Nobody cares for me.

I don't have to worry about what to spend my money on.
Read: I don't have any money to spend.

I'm still very busy with unpacking boxes and getting everything into its place after having moved.
Read: There's nobody here to help me with anything, which is why it takes so long.

I'm currently job-hunting, and had some positive feedback.
Read: It's the usual: 'Don't call us, we'll call you', which never happens.

I've already made the acquaintance of a few neighbours.
Read: That nosey woman to the right, and the eerie man from upstairs.

This year, I'm planning to have a very quiet, relaxed Christmas.
Read: I'll try to sleep through all of it, can't wait for Christmas to be over.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


Love

She breathed a sigh of relief. That was the Christmas mail dealt with, now all she had to do, was to get through the rest of December somehow. Still, it couldn't be worse than the Christmasses she had experienced for most of her life, first with her parents, then with her husband. The stress, the aggression, the quarrels... No wonder there were so many suicides around Christmas time. She'd definitely not miss any of that! There must be something in between, she thought, but obviously, that wasn't meant for her. They now played 'Silent Night' on the radio. Oh yes, she'd have very many silent nights from now on.

December. Advent. The festive season?

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