Season Winter Poems | Examples
These Season Winter poems are examples of Winter poems about Season. These are the best examples of Winter Season poems written by international poets.
Summer has almost passed
in the Southwest -- slight
edge taken off, optimistic
with the shorter days --
shorter, darker days
has nothing to do with
spiritual content, in the
desert -- God blesses those
who survive as well as the
blistered dead. Fall, we
start leaving our dens,
our human bear connection.
Dare we venture back into
the sunny days? Looking
forward to garments, and
cold water from the cold water
tap -- colored leaves and crispy,
crunching while walking is
evident to the mountain dwellers --
but in the valley deserts, Fall is
recognized more by the thawing,
so to speak -- our season of cooler
drippy celebration! A chance for
splashing in puddles, and doing
happy Rain-dances! Monsoon
for Desert Rat Bloom! Maybe
I will even shave before taking
my first Winter Airing.
Autumn
A northwest breeze gently caresses my face,
and nine days linger until first day of fall.
Each change of seasons I readily embrace,
I see cascading leaves and hear Geese that call.
winter
Then comes winter with it’s seasonal blast,
when often, tree branches, wear winter attire.
Frequently this season leaves me downcast,
but the smouldering fire becomes my pacifier.
spring
Then buds sprout and grass begins to green,
spring always brings with it new birth.
I watch songbirds as they sing and preen,
and plant things that grow in God’s rich earth.
Summer
Summer is the season of some harsh extremes,
a sweltering heat index often affects my inhaling.
It conjures up my visions of rippling streams,
each season becomes a portrait God’s unveiling.
I spent a lot of time alone in bed like I am right now
Peeking through my windowsill
And watching little children on bikes with training wheels
But then I looked into my own room, and
Saw something I couldn’t bear
It was like a tornado
But quiet, not a sound
Destructive in its ways that teared me down,
Into pieces, into pieces
I saw something couldn’t bear
It was cold and harsh,
An icy winter air
It was destructive in its ways that tore me down
Over and over again
Left me in its wake to piece back the pieces all again
Selfishly i thought it was the end
But then, but then
The winter came back
But in the disguise of a summer waving goodbye
And it all started again
The loneliness was in the air
Collecting snowflakes in my hair
The season changes were too hard to bear
That I stopped combing my hair
And every little task that I used to find easy
Became a chore that I had to do because of necessity
In the springtime of my life,
I hear the birds, singing delight
Crooning the hope through my worst strife,
Silencing shadows with sweetest insight
In the summertime of my life,
I hear the whisper of leaves, alive
Telling a story of when I’m filled with strife
Pouring out hope, assured I’ll survive
In the autumn of my life,
I hear the music of stars at twilight,
Revealing the music of hope despite strife
Rising in victory, the music He’ll write
In the winter of my life,
I hear the praise of each sunrise
Coloring my world beautiful despite the strife
When death comes, there’ll be no surprise
In the days that leave me unsure,
I hear the beautiful of a God who is true
And I know, all this fear and doubt I’ll endure,
Knowing that my heart, He will surely renew!
The gentle sunlight
On a winter afternoon
Shining on my face
Informs me how soon
Fragrant flowers will replace
The last soft snowflakes.
Can you feel something is about to change,
is it in the air everywhere you turn?
Much cooler mornings and nights are coming,
less sunshine each day for us to enjoy.
Days getting shorter with less time to play,
nights are getting longer with more darkness.
Trees are turning into pretty colors,
colorful leaves will soon be falling down.
Squirrels working very hard hiding nuts,
wanting their pantry full for the winter.
Changes are needed for the new season,
autumn is near to see and to enjoy.
Christmas is a long song sung in winter,
An epic poem written with white quill feather pen and
Gold ink, and on clouds of paper,
Beginning from a sneezing December to a
Dizzying twelfth-calendar month,
When snow drizzles gently into the souls of
Those who hearken to the tinkling sound of
The church bell which rings gently with the weight of
The slow-passing season.
I see whiteness in every song, with so much redness;
Regal and romantic; flagrantly friendly.
Oh, how pure!
Oh, how sweet!
Well, that’s Christmas.
It lights up the courage in us to think right and assume
Merriment in the warmness of some frozen hearts.
It’s the best time of the year.
I swear to this because I am a child of Christmas.
It’s a time of fog and dew and sleet that rebaptise us.
Let’s not forget the slanting rain whose liquid kisses us.
And white Christmas of snow-carpeted lands and seas.
There’s no other time or season like it.
So full of gentleness and love,
Christmas causes hearts to race s-l-o-w-l-y,
As the year races on to breast the tape of seasons.
While hearths glow warm with ember’s light,
I dance beneath the pale moon’s gleam,
Where frosted breath curls in the night,
And ice-bound dreams take flight unseen.
The wind, a whispered song so bold,
It sings of stars in frozen streams,
Of silver landscapes, fierce and cold,
A world untouched by fire’s beams.
With every step, the crunching snow,
A voice that speaks to hearts like mine,
Where solitude and wonders grow,
And frozen beauty feels divine.
The Winter Solstice marks my days,
Its silent magic fills my chest,
The sacred chill, the moonlit haze,
This season feels like life’s own crest.
Though Yule and Christmas warm the soul,
The coolness calls me evermore,
To wander where the frost takes hold,
And where the northern tempests soar.
No words could cage this love so vast,
This bond with winter, fierce yet bright,
A thrill that lingers, unsurpassed,
Where cold and comfort both unite.
So let them stay by fireside glow,
With hands wrapped 'round their steaming cups,
While I embrace the ice and snow,
And drink the cold like boldest luck.
In that firm shell
a nut, the squirrel
squirrels away --
then off to play
thinking himself
secure for the season,
squirrels have their
squirrelly reason --
In that home
stores on shelves,
freezer keeps
squirrel like meat --
now off to backyard
pick-nick, children
giving squirrels nut
treat --
Yesterday, white and cold was the weather
It’s now gone old winter
It’s like turning a light switch on
Today is the birth of the spring season
Let me wish you: Happy Anniversary, Ms. Spring
Happy Birthday, my love! Again, the birds are chirping
After a long séjour flying in a warmer climate
They look like lovers coming off a lavish date
Tonight is our turn to go to dinner
To a fine dining restaurant and then to the theater
Where we can unwind, relax and have fun
The tropical wind is back, the warmth of the sun
Is back and the moon is now dancing among the stars
And of course, the beauty of the magnificent flowers
Cannot be ignored. Old and grouchy winter is gone
All the lights and glitters are on, a new season is born.
Copyright © March 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Many a time I took note of it
But never wrote of it.
Many a time I have been intrigued
by it throughout the winter season.
This Winter morning, I am moved
upon to make mention of a very
simple matter relative to winter.
What I could never see before winter,
I now see with eyes of iinterest.
Before winter, what was hidden from sight
by the stick green foliage, can now
be cearly seen.
With the leaves blown and gone,
I can see between and through
the tall trees.
Although it is late winter, and early spring
is approaching, the view continually cries out
to me to take note of the fact that it is often the
little things in life that demand our full attention.
Frigid days are disappearing
Gloomy graphite skies are clearing
Robins are sighted on the wing
As Winter bows his head to Spring
Leaves appear on maples and oaks
There's no need for warm woolen cloaks
Balmy weather, Nature will bring
As Winter bows his head to Spring
Crocus blooms rise above the ground
Cricket chirps are a welcome sound
It is the season of birthing
As Winter bows his head to Spring
Bees will start to harvest nectar
Task of a pollen collector
Beware the needle of their sting
As Winter bows his head to Spring
Crystallized dew drops scatter across vines in winter,
while I can feel the harsh grip of the season reaching for my throat,
slithering ever closer, bitter air sweeping across crackling skin.
Loneliness weighs heavy beneath ashen clouds that coat the skies.
The scent of dry ozone fills my nostrils as I struggle to breathe.
A step upon the gelid ground makes my feet shake, trying not to fall.
I look out in every direction, seeing nothing but the barren carcass of what was once summer~
when the warmth of days seemed to stretch on forever.
The scent of fresh pine once wafted through the breeze;
those days are now just a bygone memory,
shattered , lost in the frozen mist.
I rub my hands together, desperate to feel something beyond the numbness.
I continue onward with my journey~
there is no time for rest now.
The sun begins to set upon alabaster fields below,
and the wolves begin their search at dusk.
I must find your burial shrouds before they do,
for they are the only way to bring us back together again.
Withered wishes
lick the sap of spring
and loose all they've held,
except all that dared to
winter in a heart
that clings where hope's
tendrils grow tired and
brittle
and still ~ in their final
vestige of existence,
braved the relentless frosts
and hold firm,
even in their death,
the supple youth that will
bear the fruits of
another season...
In this, the death-prone winter of our discontent,
the world lay languishing from mitotic chaos
and malignant uncertainty---spreading a pandemic
cancer of destruction over the body of our moral humanity.
Infected rebirth cells of ancient crusade history
scatter world wide---blown like dry leaves
in chilling winds of cold war seasons.
Here, in the frozen season of time, Armageddon
stalks democracy in the chilled midnight hour;
while in the twilight of the eve of destruction,
world watchers waddle the time away: constructively
engaged in spotlight moments of warming scenes.
With a bloody but unbowed head, let not our world wallow wearily
in the mirage of winter’s defeat; nor allow her frigid blast
to shatter the bruised reed of hope or out the burning wick of love.
Let us stare adversity in the eye, rekindling the spirit of unity;
let us refashion the crumbled, rejected stones of our moral society;
we building a new and better world where we hold it to be self evident:
peace---perfect peace, is the dominant ethos of our recaptured humanity.