Dusk Poems - Poems about Dusk

At dusk when my shadows quit me, That’s when hundred arrows hit me. So far some faceless folks fooled me, My own close to heart now cheat me. A feeling heart hails thee, my friend, Come heart to heart, why audit me? Come, pry unto my nightlong dreams, Thence, for what I say credit me. Dawn dawns, if dream deprived I...

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It was a blithe wintry vesper Strolled I, zealously anigh hillock. The hillside's scenario was glimmering green Perceived I, covey returning to nests Gazed I, the ranting rill That divulged towards creek Clandestined the Sun in the west Enrouted I, amidst clump of tress The birds were twiterring on the trees Akin to expressing obeisance to an entrant Else, were they in invocation? Only the Almighty...

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Georgia peach dusk beyond blue and cloudy skies a bodacious kiss won with a Southern accent a drawl that draws one's eyes up...

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For a long time, the old barn had quite a lean It was still shocking when it finally fell. When you came around the bend it was comforting to see it blushing in the sunlight. It was a great loss when it finally succumbed. If it could speak would it speak of great sacrifice or hardship and Goodtimes. Would it converse with antiques...

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WHISPERS OF CLOSURE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In the quiet hour, when the sun dips low, casting long shadows, I find myself wandering through the corridors of memory, where echoes of happiness reside lingering like the scent of rain on dry earth. ...

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She thinned to vapour, blue as longing's edge, while we searched skywards, calling her lost name. Wind replied in whispers no one could catch– just hollow notes strung on a frayed thread. Now dusk repeats her gesture: palms upturned, spilling light where her shadow once poured. We drink the rain, still tasting her farewell. ...

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MONOCHROME © Sara Etgen-Baker 2025 Sun slowly descends, and the world turns monochrome, like a black and white drawing on the Creator’s easel. I patiently wait for night with its renewing spirit. Nightfall serves as a metaphorical curtain closure, while dawn symbolizes a daily reopening, with the birds serenading harmoniously on cue. dusk whispers, night...

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Atop the edge where silence leans, A figure stands — the dusk between. No name, no face the canvas shows, Just wind that hums what no one knows. The sky explodes in molten fire, A final gasp of day's desire. It stains the clouds in crimson breath, A masterpiece that flirts with death. Does he await or does he grieve? Or dream of flight...

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It's quite a bright dusk today I would choose Neapolitan yellow for the sky Although I haven't touched colours for years After all, images and paintings are quite enough So why create more without urgent necessity? The thick foliage of the trees around the balcony Stands still as if painted on a canvas It’s a heatwave now, I'm sitting in my...

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Your call resonates like a lost echo among the shadows of dusk, Deep within me, like spring water flowing towards distant lands. My heart, boundless and mysterious, responds silently, naive and gentle, As the sleepless twilight creeps again through the misted windows. The lilac and currant bow their heads gracefully in the evening wind, And my silent homeland whispers the...

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An isolating darkness looms: A numb yet tingled skin; And residues of twilight's gloom, As walls unseen close in. This place feels sharp, yet vague and stale; The clash stirs strife within. My fingers click and spread—a snap! So faint—I fear I'm dead. Insipid airs invade my lungs: The voices haunt my ears; Adrift in dreamlike black, undone, Alone, still lacking fear. Commanded, guided, commandeered My soul is...

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across rippling lake cousins casting half blue moon ...

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Twilight was the time of day as well they do concur about the hour of crepuscular dusk or evening if you prefer there in the gloaming altho' the light was slightly dimmer I took a look at the situation and saw more than quite a glimmer of absolute absurdity the altercation confrontation as if every nation were to follow the Law of Exact Retaliation an...

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p i t g r e i o l...

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When fate blows out my candle and the flame dances like a ballerina at dusk, I will listen to the secret whispers of the wind, spinning tales of long ago, Neither prayers will halt this departure, nor tears will tame The ephemeral gesture of destiny that has secretly woven the web that now envelops me. I will dedicate an...

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