The Trent Vale Poet has no clear competition

Despite currently living in Trent Vale (Stoke on Trent) I really don't think the Trent Vale Poet has anything to worry about in terms of competition.

You can read the background to why I wrote these poems and where they were broadcast here. The photo is of John Butler, the presenter of the show I wrote them for. It should be fairly clear (but I'll say it anyway) that the two themes I had to write about this time round were Winter and Bonfire Night.

In the bleak midwinter
There's a fifty percent chance of snow on my birthday
There was a fifty percent chance of my fifth being the best
Aged five my dad proudly showed my present that year
Two yellow plastic sledges ideal for the nearby hills
The odds fell in our favour and it snowed all weekend
Allowing me and he to slide down those frosted slopes

But those blissful childhood birthdays are long gone
So has my love for those cold, dank, grim, short days
Worse still is that it's just begun, early days for winter
It's great to sit warm inside and watch the cold outside
But you've gotta go out sometime and taste that bitter air
It freshens my lungs as I wait for that next birthday sledge

Bonfire Night
As the firewood crackles around Guy Fawkes
My mind flies back to the days of the days of yore
The bang, the whizz and the smell of burnt meats
The gloves, the scarves and the wellies on my feet
It's been too long since my last fireworks night
I say I'm too old to have the same delight

That I had when I was ten and my fresh face went red
In the cold that felt so comforting like a warm winter bed

I know I want to go but I pretend I dont
So I imagine the night that wont
Be happening for real just in my head
I'm not outside having fun, I'm in bed

Dreaming that I'm ten again and not twenty four
So I won't be smelling that burnt wood anymore
Not til I have my own kids when I can be ten again
Standing in my scarf and wellies in the pouring rain