January Poetry: A Word Lover’s Guide to the Coldest Month

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So, it’s January again

Honestly, I have a complicated relationship with January. The decorations are down. The nights are still long. And for some reason, everyone is either very motivated or very tired, and I never quite know which one I am.

But here’s the thing I’ve started to notice. January is actually one of the best months for poetry. Not just for reading it, but for writing it too. There’s something about the stripped-back, quiet feeling of this month that sort of forces you to sit with your thoughts.

So I’ve been doing a bit of digging. I’ve been reading poets who wrote about winter, new beginnings, and the strange in-between feeling of the new year. And along the way, I’ve picked up some tips and prompts that have genuinely helped me write more. Even when I didn’t feel like it.

Whether you’re a total beginner or someone who’s been quietly filling notebooks for years, hopefully, there’s something here for you. Let’s start at the beginning.

Why January is Actually a Poet’s Month

I know, I know. January doesn’t exactly feel inspiring. It’s grey, it’s cold (at least in the northern hemisphere), and the post-holiday comedown is real.

But think about it this way. Poetry thrives on contrast and transition. And January is all of that. It sits right between what was and what might be. That liminal, uncertain feeling? Poets love that stuff.

Ted Hughes captured this beautifully throughout his collections, returning again and again to winter landscapes as places of raw truth. Many poets have done the same.

Also, January is the month of the new year. Across the world — from the Gregorian calendar’s January 1st to the Lunar New Year falling in late January or early February — people mark beginnings. Poetry is one of the oldest ways humans have processed change.

So if you’re feeling the pull to write something, even just a few lines, that feeling is not random. It makes complete sense this time of year.

Poems Worth Reading in January

Before we get into writing, it really helps to read. Not to copy other poets, but to remind yourself what poetry can do. Here are a few I keep coming back to in January.

Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day ends with one of the most famous lines in contemporary poetry:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

It’s technically a summer poem, but I read it every January. It’s about paying attention. It’s about noticing small things. That feels very relevant when the world is quiet and still. You can find more of Mary Oliver’s work at the Poetry Foundation.

Another one I love is Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. Almost everyone knows it. But read it slowly in January, and it hits differently:

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep.”

That tension between wanting to stay still and knowing you have to keep moving — that’s January in three lines. You can read the full poem at the Poetry Foundation.

If you want something more contemporary, check out Ada Limón, who became the US Poet Laureate in 2022. Her poem “The Carrying” explores grief, hope, and winter imagery in a way that feels deeply human and accessible. Her work is a great reminder that modern poetry doesn’t have to be difficult. Her official site is worth a visit: adalimon.com.

A Note on Poetry Around the World

One thing I’ve been trying to do is look beyond the English-language canon. There’s so much incredible poetry written in other languages and traditions that reflects on winter, the new year, and beginnings.

For instance, the Japanese tradition of haiku has a long history of winter poems, or fuyu. Matsuo Bashō, the 17th-century master, wrote often about cold, emptiness, and silence. These short poems- just seventeen syllables – are a brilliant starting point if you feel intimidated by longer forms.

The Lunar New Year, celebrated by over a billion people across East and Southeast Asia, also has a rich poetic tradition. In Chinese classical poetry, spring — which the Lunar New Year heralds — is associated with renewal and longing. Poet Du Fu, writing in the Tang Dynasty, explored both loss and hope with extraordinary economy.

If you want to explore global poetry, the Poetry Foundation’s poems browser is a great place to start. Another excellent resource is The Poetry Archive, a free archive that includes recordings of poets reading their own work.

Tips for Writing Poetry in January (From Someone Still Learning)

Okay, so here’s the practical bit. I am absolutely not an expert. But I’ve tried a lot of things, and some of them have actually worked. So here’s what I’d pass on.

Start small. January is not the month to write an epic. Try writing just one image per day. Not a whole poem, just one sentence that describes something you saw or felt. That’s it. From those tiny seeds, actual poems sometimes grow.

Stop trying to rhyme if it’s not coming naturally. Rhyme is brilliant when it works. But forced rhyme kills a poem faster than anything else. Free verse, poetry without a fixed rhyme scheme, is not a cop-out. It’s actually much harder to do well. Try it.

Read your poems out loud. This is the one I resisted for ages. But it completely changes your relationship to your own writing. You hear the rhythm. You notice where it drags. You catch repetitions you’d otherwise miss. Just try it once, even if it feels awkward.

Use a prompt. I know it sounds a bit school-ish, but prompts genuinely work. They give your brain a starting point so you don’t sit staring at a blank page. Speaking of which…

January Writing Prompts to Try

Here are some prompts I’ve either tried myself or stolen from better writers. Use them however you want. Change them, break them, ignore half of them. They’re just a door in.

Prompt one: Write a poem about the first thing you noticed when you woke up this morning. Not the interesting thing — the very first thing. The ceiling. The sound outside. The weight of a duvet. The ordinary stuff is where poetry often hides.

Prompt two: Take the phrase “this time last year” and see where it takes you. You don’t have to write about something dramatic. Sometimes, the most moving poems are about very small differences in life from one year to the next.

Prompt three: Write a poem addressed to winter itself. Is it a foe? A friend? A boring acquaintance? Give it personality. Talk to it. This kind of address, called apostrophe in poetic terms, is one of the oldest techniques in the book.

Prompt four: Pick a single object from your home. Write about it as if you’ve never seen it before. Describe it to someone who has no idea what it is. This forces you to look closely, which is the most important skill in poetry.

Prompt five: Write a poem that starts with the words “I used to think”. January is a natural time to reflect on what’s changed. Let it be simple. Let it be honest. That’s usually enough.

Places to Share and Find Community

Writing alone is fine. But sharing your work — even with just one person — does something important. It makes the poem feel real. And reading other people’s attempts, especially beginners’, is genuinely encouraging.

If you’re in the US, the Academy of American Poets runs a brilliant initiative called Poem-a-Day, which sends a new poem to your inbox every single day for free. It’s one of my favourite things on the internet. Their website also has a huge archive of poems to browse.

In the UK, The Poetry Society is a great resource, with regular competitions, events, and a magazine called The Poetry Review. They also run initiatives specifically aimed at younger and emerging writers.

For a global community, Reddit’s r/Poetry subreddit has a genuinely supportive corner for sharing original work in r/OCPoetry. The rules encourage genuine feedback rather than just likes, making it much more useful.

Also worth mentioning: in January, many towns and cities run poetry events as part of their winter arts programming. A quick search for “open mic poetry near me” or “poetry slam [your city]” will often turn up something local. Hearing poetry read aloud in a room full of people is a genuinely different experience.

On Getting Over the Fear of Writing

I want to end with this because I think it’s the thing that stops most people. The fear that what you write won’t be good enough. That it’ll sound pretentious, or amateur, or just plain bad.

Here is the honest truth: most of what you write will not be great. That’s completely normal. That’s how it works for everyone, including the poets whose work you love. Poetry is a practice. You get better by writing badly, a lot, over time.

The poet Naomi Shihab Nye, who writes some of the warmest and most accessible poetry I’ve ever read, has talked about this. She often says that poetry is about noticing — and that everyone is capable of noticing things. The technique comes later. First, just pay attention.

You can find some of her work and interviews at the Academy of American Poets.

January is a good month to start something quietly. To try a small thing with no expectation. To write a poem that nobody ever sees. And then maybe, eventually, to write one that you’re genuinely glad exists.

So go on. Pick up a pen. The blank page is just waiting for someone to be honest with it.

Happy writing.