A Chilling Winter Poem

And a third place win for 'stark, relentless' imagery captured in 'unsettling' layers.

Hi there.

My final entry into a competition in 2024 was a poem entitled ‘Mist of Life’, inspired by this prompt:

“Write a poem (up to 30 lines) with winter (not Christmas) as a theme. Set the tone to be eerie and unsettling, perhaps even uncanny, making winter itself feel sentient.”

I was delighted to receive an early Christmas present of third place, awarded by judge

Jean G-Owen

, owner of Naked Figleaf Press, who collectively do “Give A Fig about Community, Performing Arts, and Independent Publishing”.

The original version of my poem is available to read on Hampshire Writers’ Society competition page. However…

I often return to competition pieces after the pressure of an entry deadline has lifted. As with athletes analysing videos of their performance, writers re-reading their work in search of improvement shouldn’t despair, no matter any competitive result.

With this poem, I’ve re-tweaked several of its thirty lines to improve the flow and clarify the consequences of Winter’s chilling intent. I’ve also tried to maintain its low register with frequent compound adjectives to create a more historical, even mythical, atmosphere. Finally, I’ve not so subtly retitled it ‘Frozen to Death’.

This updated version can be read below, and I hope the revisions hold up to your scrutiny. Please let me know if you think otherwise!

Until next time…

---

‘Winter reaps its eternal chill’ — © J.Reid

“I like the ambition of this poem. The way it conveys Winter as a destructive, sentient force through stark, relentless imagery, while the focus on survival and inevitable decay adds another unsettling layer." — Dr. Jean G-Owen

‘Frozen to Death’

Winter whispers its first warning
to ice-splintered hearts of pine,
unhealed from perpetual war.
Chill blizzard sweeps down
to blind bird and beast,
smother Autumn’s leaf and branch,
strangle stillborn bud-to-be,
until every forest bone
creaks and moans in
frost-bitten symphony.

Sharp-snapped twig signals
rare breaths daring to break frigid air,
each billowing cloud of life
a strike against the bitter, silent foe.
Antlers rise in regal pose,
ears of warm meat twitching
in denial of Winter’s ultimatum:
Migrate, starve — or stampede,
through snow-powdered blankets,
into lupine jaws on moonlit nights.

Ancient woodland sentinels,
mist-cloaked skeletal ghosts,
grasp dead soil in a last stand.
Cracked roots claw grave-deep
into hoar-baked burrows, to cradle
Summer’s few shivering survivors.
Frozen earth numbs warm hearts,
bright eyes dim to blind glass, 
as sun-starved fur succumbs to 
the tilt and turn of cold-blooded Winter.

---

‘Mist-cloaked skeletal ghosts’ — © J. Reid