A Winter Beared


A Winter Beared

In the winter of dreaming bears, the night mare
barely dared enter
the forest,
for even the poorest ursine unconscious
would have none of her clip-clop.

What could she trot out?
When the bear dreamed of rot,
its snout twitched at riches;
when its sleep faced fear,
its fur flared, small coronas of dust
haloing its humifying aroma;
hibernation already borders
death, even if it’s the neighbor
whose grass is always greener, even this old
snow-weaned grass, bleached brown gold.

Still, the mare, though wary
of the dozing bear, nosed, post dusk,
its spun aura of steam, dust, musk,
as if she might inhale such dreams–
as if she might inhale–
as if she too
might awaken
come Spring.


12th poem for this April;  this one for Magaly Guerrero’s prompt on Real Toads to use three of one’s own titles.  I’ve used the winter of dreaming bears, night mare and post dusk.  

The picture is a painting by Jason Martin, reposted here.

ps corrected since first posting to correctly spell “humifying” which is the process of turning organic material into humus–that rich black soil, essentially. 




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10 Comments on “A Winter Beared”

  1. whimsygizmo Says:

    Man, I really love that last stanza.

  2. What a tale you have written from three poem titles.” hibernation already borders death” That line really sticks with me.

  3. The first stanza is just brilliant. I see the night mare, brows close together, pacing at the edge of the forest… wondering about bears and rot.

  4. gillena Says:

    with all the darkness spent, Spring’s welcoming eases the tension
    providing a fitful balance

    much love…

  5. Sherry Marr Says:

    How I adore “the winter of dreaming bears”.

  6. What a thought of night mare in hibernation .. Maybe that’s what awakes the Bears.

  7. hedgewitch Says:

    Will be brief, as lost several comments already, probably due to my switching back and forth to read the three you chose to draw this dream from–all carry a load of those images and emotions that haunt our sleep, the perfume of loss, and the search for some sort of comfort in any possible place–and find a sort of condensing core here in the gravity of this poem. I esp. like the striking imagery, the sleep faced fear, the snow bleached grass, that falls so naturally into understanding. You are writing at the top of your form, Karin–a pleasure indeed to be along for the ride.

  8. Love the cyclic open/close with dreams…well written, K.

  9. C.C. Says:

    “as if she might inhale such dreams”—ah, so lovely 🙂

  10. M Says:

    a questioning here, with that doe ~

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