The  Post
Christmas  Poetry  Competition
   2004

Firstly, thank you to all who entered the competitions and all those of you who submitted a vote. The voting was fierce but, in the end, the winners of both sections won by a significant margin. So, without further ado, here are those winning poems!

The Christmas Prose and Poetry Winner is:
A Cat's Christmas  by  lbclaire

Where I sit on the floor

Near the living room door

I can see, through the window, the sky,

And a tree that's all bare,

And a man with no hair

And a gaggle of kids passing by.

There's a bird in the tree!

And it's looking at me

With its red breast puffed out and it knows

That it's safe in the tree

So it's laughing at me

And I'm cross to the tips of my toes.

I want to go out

If I can't then I'll shout

But when I go out then I find

That the world has gone white

So I shiver with fright

And dash in, leaving footprints behind.

There's something amiss

In my house - what is this?

Have my family gone totally mad?

They've brought in a tree -

In the house! Can't they see

Trees live outside, you daft mum and dad!

Now they've hung it with things

That chime, and long strings

Of sparkly, shiny soft stuff.

And ribbons and bows,

And toys - I like those!

Though of course I'm too laid back and tough...

But they look so exciting,

To play they're inviting,

They're dangling above me and if

There's no-one around,

And I don't make a sound,

Then perhaps I could just take a sniff...

Ow! That was my nose!

And I've spikes in my toes

And a bauble just fell on my head.

That's it, I give in,

A cat just can't win,

Forget Christmas, I'm off back to bed.

The Vogon Christmas Winner is:
Vogon Yuletide Dirge  by  Lucky Star

Oh sherried trifle wibble-wobbling

Jostling by the pies of mince

Pudding rubbing grubbily in my

Chubby stubby tummy

Oh dreamy creamy whipping sipping

Gluggy groggy gluhwein

Dribbling moistly o'er my chins

And raining drainy-stains that pain

Me to remove and prove

That Dash is whiter

White is dasher

Black is bleakly blocking boney

M on telly, turgid smelly

Festering 'neath the fetid mistletoe

And oh, woe for though I know not who

Will do the sloppy slurpy kiss upon

My slippery lips, I lick them now and dream

Of someone green

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