Poems for Mid-Winter Hibernation
This month's featured poets on the theme of Dormancy.
Dear Friends,
Welcome to our first community poetry feature! Each month, I will share themed prompts for an open submission call where five poets will have an opportunity to have their writing featured on Poetry Outdoors.
January’s theme was Dormancy. An invitation to explore the state of being suspended or slowed for a period of time. Moving through the world as if half-awake. Existing only in slowness. Stretching the shape of time, watching its slow passage.
Here are the two prompts given for writing inspiration:
Prompt 1: Write a poem that explores the state of being suspended or slowed for a period of time. What does it feel like to move through the world half-awake? What does it mean to exist slowly? How does the shape of time change when we prolong its passage?
Prompt 2: During hibernation, a bear’s heartbeat slows to eight beats per-minute. Their body temperature drops and they enter into a state of sleep called torpor that helps them conserve energy for months spend drifting between waking and dreaming states. Write a poem about the perspective of a bear during hibernation.
It was such a joy to read all of the interpretations of dormancy in your writing. Thank you to every writer who participated in this month’s theme. Find a cozy spot, a warm drink, and enjoy the slow wintry embrace of our featured poet’s this month.
The Poet and the Bear
By Nancy G. Shapiro
Retreat to the cave is an easy going
a slow rolling away from the glare of doing
no urge to connect
no hunger to create
the return to the world an annual promise
kept by the seasons
and patterns of memory.
December passes
January fades
February spreads its toes into spring
and still no urge
no wild hunger
as if heart or lungs have been removed
wondering if home is now the cave.
Until wearied by illness
a flurry of intrusion
you sense a migraine silencing the day
though you take your seat
in a room full of writers
where a poet names the ache
to its very bone.
Humiliation
rooted in Latin humilis and humus
a song in your ears when he says
a coming to ground
tears of arrival jolted loose by his voice
the cave door slammed shut
long months before
now inching open with each holy word.Surrender
by Merc Alish
there is no longer any light to carve
into my grief
to claw across the future or wake
my long memory
the metronome and valve slowing, shrinking
diving
lower
into the
creekbed
i burrow deeper into my fur
around the den
winter
howls out every heartbreak
close to earth
a shallow water of knowing;
i have made myself ready to dwindle
suspend
forget myself again
even put away the sun touched joy —
flint spark will form out of a silent rock
tomorrow, march, whenever i stir
now i am kept from the elements
the trickling life
dripping onto the taut skin of the drum
as i surrender to the pace of seasonal death
The Clearing
by Camilla Richardson
Strange thing, winter.
Water, essential to every
green/bark-encrusted/viney-tendriled/soft-petaled
thing, rests touching
the very earth the seeds are
enfolded within. Yet
winter renders it lifeless: still.
Winter makes ice of life,
Of green, of soft. Flexible shoots
turn brittle under the weight of
teasing water, frozen water, unabsorbable water.
Winter's joke on a blue planet.
Is it not our bones that grow brittle in the dark cold?
Last summer's grass mirroring our skeletons?
It's our souls that are tipped toward
shattering in the drying freeze,
screaming for light
as our chemistry
does for vitamin D.
But this water fast,
winter. The microscope
on our soul's hunger for
warm/soft/color/evenings bright
brings a clarity,
revealing what's buried:
emotions/cravings/wounds
make their Lazarus appearance when
hunger strips comfort bare.
Then, the resurrected, the
uncovered, demand addressing,
releasing. Freeing room in the heart soil
where their coffins lay.
Those lovely seeds of
green/colorful/perfumed/petaled
things, now have root room/anchoring space
to sink into,
when ice finally shows it's blue color
and melts.
Winter Woods
by Kassi Wilson
Crisp air, frostbitten grass
pinecones disguised as icicles
Baby’s breath suspended in time
Winding trails gleam in snow dust
mid the quiet hush of evergreens
Twigs stretch for a touch of warmth
Chickadees flutter between trees
near flowing streams…
As the deer,
don’t look for me, I’m tucked
in the woods, happy as can be!
Half-Light by Gabriel B. The world - a blur of muted colors a watercolor left in the rain. I move through it, half-awake, a ghost in a dream unsure of my own edges fading into the background like a forgotten wallflower. Not quite here, not quite there, suspended between worlds - A shadow left alone on the wall, waiting for the sun to return and paint me back into existence.
Show your love and support for this month’s featured poets by subscribing to their Subtstacks below:
: Love Merc
: Persuaded
: In the Elements
: The Broken Winds
Poetry Outdoors is a creative community devoted to restoring our relationship to the natural world through poetry, storytelling, and environmental stewardship.
I loved these! That line, “flint spark will form out of a silent rock”, having such a clear double meaning—so good!
Thank you for including mine as well!
I really adore this! What a lovely anthology! Looking forward to more of these!
Congrats to everyone selected!