Who writes poetry about seasons and when do you write it?

I like writing poetry about certain seasons from time to time and when I look back at my old poems I can tell when I wrote them but, occasionally, I might write a summer poem in the winter or an autumn poem in the summer etc., but it’s quite rare because it can be hard to get inspired without being in the deep of that season.

So, to those of you out there who like to write poems that are related to seasons, when do you tend to write it? During said season or just randomly? And, do you have any specific reason for that?


I used to have this poem where each stanza was a different season (I did it years ago so it’s lost now). I like autumn poems because I find them calming but I usually write weather poems randomly.

I write poems for the seasons, on occasion. Every year especially I write a poem for the winter and summer solstice.

I’ve written poetry about seasons before, but the funny thing was, most of the poems I wrote in each season had nothing to do with the season at that time.

i’ve written poetry about seasons, and i associate them with my emotions.

I write poetry about the seasons even when it’s not the season I’m writting about. No specific reason :'D The feelings just come and go, you know? Like the seasons :'D


I carry a little notebook and take photos. The notes and images are my source for poems. So the poem is usually written in the season to which it refers, or soon after.

Here’s a bit from a poem in spring, a punk Ophelia riff, on the snowmelt and the rising of rivers:

≈ ≈ ≈

I’m no Emily: most of my dreams are outside
In the tufts of wild rye, barely green, the last
Snow melting, a gust rattling the cottonwoods,
(Darling buds of May), wet juniper, buttercups
Silent and small in the lee of the log fence.
No fantastical garlands.

Just the river, rising with snowmelt, not yet enough
To carry me over the boulders, and cold? Wow!
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny,
(On her grave rained many a tear.)
Rue for you and some for me.
We will never come again.

I’ll lie down, loosen my hair, incapable
Of my own distress, a creature native
To the element: water, water everywhere.
I’ll drink it all, and bump downstream,
Chanting snatches of old tunes: My, my,
Hey, hey. Rock and roll is here to stay.