In this month’s Manx Bard column, Bradley Chambers talks about the month of January.

Is January really the dullest month? Bland, boring, rainy, dark, dismal – are those the words that you think of?

January can be all those things, but I guess it’s what you make of it. It is a new beginning after all. Let’s be hopeful.

What do the poets say?

Hilaire Belloc is an interesting character. He was born in France but became a British citizen and then became a Liberal MP in 1906; one of the very few Catholic MPs at that time.

He wrote a poem called ‘January’ – ‘It freezes – all across a soundless sky. The birds go home. The governing dark’s begun: the steadfast dark that waits not for a sun.’

I can relate to that.

George Marion McClellan was an African American poet. He wrote ‘A January Dandelion’ in 1916 and uses the flower’s resilience as a metaphor for enduring love and hope.

I can relate to that too. I love gardening but dandelions, not so much – they are resilient and their roots are deep.

‘Thou blasted yellow-coated gem’, ‘When the heart has bloomed by the touch of love’s warm breath...it may still beat but there is blast and death, to all that blooming life that might have been.’

Nobody did brevity like William Carlos Williams. In his poem, ‘January’, he proclaimed - ‘Play louder’, as the winds drummed on his window.

The wind may play its derisive music, but it won’t succeed. Poets know all about hope and optimism. They also know about stubborn defiance. After all, aren’t we always on the outside, looking in? Perhaps that’s just me.

Finally, how about Helen Hunt Jackson? She also wrote a poem called, you guessed it - ‘January’.

‘Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows, the winter is the winter’s own release.’

Pretty profound I reckon. Fascinating lady was Helen – a campaigner for Native Americans. ‘O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire.’

But I can’t just quote from long-gone poets. We made it to 2026. Quite an achievement and worth feeling some pride in. Not everyone made it. We are the survivors.

A whole new year ahead of us. Daunting. Scary even. But you are tough and you are an inspiration. I wish you every success. Have a great year.

This is my poem – I hope you like it.

is it January?

and the year lifts its head -

a dog gone tired of thoughts

of twelve long months ahead.

cold - not quite dead. I am,

always the optimist

and the year, breathes its first,

stealing promises from

those that can ill afford

to lose a day. I am

always one week behind

and the year appears, as

we feared. We see it reach

out its arms to us,

we hear it calling. I am

always almost ready.

and the year bursts forth

no better than one submersed

and lost, or worse. Though it

eluded some, I am

always more than grateful