Summer Sad Poems | Examples
These Summer Sad poems are examples of Sad poems about Summer. These are the best examples of Sad Summer poems written by international poets.
Words slur out drains in an alley,
winter chills as the flooding reaches
her sleeping bag & freezing feet
she reminiscences summer-time beaches,
flawed are the pieces in an art gallery
the beauty is in the artist's reaches,
of a society's greet on a bus seat,
a messiah washes away the bloody.
Half past summer, two months till fall,
boredom, bullies; teacher neglect.
sandcastles, encase, be my pall!
Half past summer, two months till fall.
when school bells toll, tenderfoots bawl—
sun's embrace, we'd warmly collect.
Half past summer, two months till fall,
blackboards, bullies; teacher regret.
As this life now quickly drifts away,
I'm unable to look around and say,
Look at all the difference I've made...
Sewn is the carnage I now reep today..
The fields I'm forced to work, like a nineteenth century slave;
With only my two bare hands
under a sun of a southern summer day...
My sweat pouring down like a thunderstorm drops it's rain;
As every new day leaves, more and more pain.
Captured are all the moments that created this disarray...
Ignored was the spiraling, from all your mindless yesterday's ;
That now lies before you, like a body in full decay...
In a thriving city a boy was born,
growing up melancholy and forlorn,
thoughtful, with a poet's sensitive soul,
he knew he was different and unwhole.
His life would be both rose and piercing thorn.
He took to the road, and he travelled far.
In the Summer of Love, he found his star,
and for the first time, he felt happiness.
a strange new world felt like a warm caress,
San Francisco and electric guitar.
His smile, like the sun, would light up the sky,
but that California Sunshine high
would almost break him and lay him down low.
But those days are gone, and so long ago.
Now, we can only cry, and wonder - "why?"
If leaves turn orange
to make humans cringe,
while Canadian winds
and thick snowy clouds
threaten all that's pretty:
isn't summer ending early?
If days lose the brightness
of sunshine over meadows
where lovers lay to dream,
how can lonely poets redeem
something lost in their rhyme:
would fantasy restore time?
If flowers start to droop
to make us a bit moody,
what is needed to cheer up?
Listen to that violin playing,
see a slim ballerina dancing:
she consoles hopeless Rudy!
If sad eyes look down, not up;
they are lost as a stranded pup,
will faith be strong enough to lead
them to God and restore their creed?
Isn't summer ending early?
Watch a frosted, trembling lily
at the mercy of the untamed wind:
would it sweep it away or be kind?
2025.2.23
Summer heat waves.
Checked on the website,
Beaurology of Melbourne weather forecasted.
The temperatures, the winds, the water and the tides.
Would be in the 30°c, calm, fine and low tides.
I somehow started to get panic,
Not because of the heat.
But more about the end of the summer is near.
Comparing to last year,
Victoria has more heat waves and sunny days.
I had so much sun tan,
Someone insisted I was from African decent.
This year, I visited Cowes Philip Island,
Warrnambool, Apollo Bay, Point Lonsdale and Lorne,
Not to forget Geelong,
As it was always there on the way.
I went to Sorrento back beach,
St Paul Lookout, Jubilee Point, Diamond Bay and Bays of Island's.
I would continue to travel,
As long as I was still able,
Until one day, I leave this place,
And go far far away.
Until then, I might see you again.
Trigger Warning: This poem deals with themes of self-harm. Please read with care.
--
my skin felt like a blank canvas
every time they faded.
i felt empty
my urges unsatisfied.
i had to give in;
just one time,
i told myself again.
i marked the canvas
angry veins of crimson swiped along the pale surface;
each stroke with more intent than the last.
the canvas wasn’t blank anymore;
it was tainted by my own scars.
i did this to myself.
the weight of my own hands agreed.
i panicked as i felt my arms sting,
was this an artist’s masterpiece or a crime scene?
i was always punished for such taboo actions,
why did i keep trying to hide what was branded onto the canvas,
always there, only able to be concealed.
even as temperatures rose, my sleeves became my bandages,
the summer sun never did see my arms.
darkness that once I befriended
is pulling its strings and laid down it’s plans
the tales I recited following the shadows
of his and her, my and their life
are being used as a canon
to shatter decomposed walls
who plead me to say “yes”
with every single breeze,
with every single breathe,
i refuse to kneel before defeat
in my cold barren land,
every season feels colder
but I’m looking at horizon
waiting for that summer
to let the dear readers know
“i’m trying not to dissolve in the darkness,
that eternal excruciating peace”
the train wheels stopped at a station
and the roads leads to lake harmony
my homestead, the town my memories roots run deep
the air feels fresh while the sun is overhead
walking down the road, it brings me to a house
where a friend of mine once resided
i faded away from her life when i was eight
i try to summon her face but
her haunting childhood flash before my eyes
seven but her abusive father left her traumatized
stranded in an ocean from which she can't swim out
she would sit alone in her room
playing with the dolls wearing her mother's cardigan
and whenever i saw her, she would just smile
all she could wish was to fly high in the sky
too young to know the right steps
i wonder about her whereabouts
and is she fine?
i should've ran away with her
to a place far away from her father's reach
to a place in the mountains
where the cold winter feels like summer
where she would've spent time singing like crazy in valleys
where no one would've dare to hurt her again
In spring’s exploding shards of shining light,
Of winter’s grievous garments, we’ll take flight!
And with the birds and butterflies we’ll play:
For sorrow’s match, ‘tis simply summer’s day.
Either the sun is broken,
or someone has stolen it.
The feeling of comfort,
of warmth,
is rare these days.
I find myself longing
for the shades of summer,
where shadows of people
and things
made the world more real.
Now, mists have taken over—
the views from my windows,
a magical backdrop
for dreamy photos.
I took a walk
in the misty rain,
its tender touch
washing away the paths,
erasing old impressions.
Misty drops clung
to bare branches,
sparkling like crystals
from a realm of quiet magic.
In the silence,
I heard the sound of mists
battling the light breeze,
a pleasing symphony,
until the silence shattered
by a passing plane.
My mind snapped back
to harsh reality,
to the memory
of a landing plane
where many souls
were taken away.
I imagine their relief—
the hope of reaching,
of arrival—
stolen in cruel waves
of burning fire.
All their stories,
their hopes,
their dreams—
vanished in the smoke,
a fading echo
in the sky.
My heart sobs,
but still throbs
with the pain I imagine—
the ache in the souls
of those left behind,
their love still burning,
their grief a shadow
that feels more real
than the sun.
A symphony’s no symphony if it is never heard
A poem is no poem at all if it contains no word
A rainy day’s a rainy day unless it brings some joy
A prized possession’s valueless if treated as a toy
A summer is not summer if winter frosts still fall
A bitter heart’s no blessing for it is closed to all
A vintage wine’s no wine to drink without a good bouquet
A love that life has brought to grief must wait another day
A harbour is no harbour if it is open sea
A promise is no promise if not kept faithfully
Whose psyche has come to my physique? Do I ever know?
I accept it as a stream accepts the fresh rain and flow.
In Ram, Rahim, and Robert, Rajeet this soul might have been
Did this dwell in Buddha and Jesus in a form unseen?
How many bodies had merged with the dust like earthen pots?
How, like feeble flies, has it passed through many throttling knots?
Did I get through any fragrant flowers and fleshy fruit?
Did I breathe through violin, guitar, sitar, flute, and lute?
Entwined amidst meaninglessness are wisdom and reason
Amidst winter, fall, monsoon, and summer, there's the spring season.
When absurd ends put a pause on flawlessly flowing streams
As though after dreams, before me dawn rays of rainbow beams
Peace, bliss, Nirvana, liberation, or transformation
New life, new hope, resurrection, or resuscitation
Concepts, caprices, conceits, and convictions could continue
Life, yet, like a fountain in flux, would secrete nectar new
you said we were close like tightbond two
I never would be losing you
but now I'm left only thinking of you
I used to see you in the stars
but now all I see are scars
why'd you go so far
you left me in the summer
never shared a mummer
now I'm getting number
you said you'd be there whenever
we'd be together forever
now your absence is my suppressor
maybe you didn't care
but to me you were rare
now I'm stuck in despair
you said you would stay
I put my heart on a tray
now I'm starting to fray
when you said to stay strong
I didn't know you'd be gone
why did everything have to go wrong
you may not be dead
but you still filled me with Dread
I feel so misled
you didn't say you were leaving
I can't stop the feeling
you knew I'd start reeling
I can't forget you
no matter what I do
but you left like the dew
if only you knew
how much I miss you
what would you do
Silent summer turns to autumn
Green trees red and gold
Abandon nests of mud and grasses
Lie crumbling in the cold
The warm blue sky, now gray and white
Boils and rolls in loathsome spite
While in my heart I feel such sorrow
And scorn the Gods' ungodly might
In a cellar damp with darkness
Lying lifeless like a loon
Taken from some vagrant alter
On a bitter autumn afternoon
I drink the wine made out of water
Eat the bread the faithful bring
And still all sorrows past and present
Fail to bring my heart to sing
So I grasp to fell that terror
The fear that was the child of doubt
I look within my rage, my ranting
To dare to find an accolade
But a sweetness from past dreaming
Seeps on through my vanquished veins
As I wait in vacant doorways
Lost forever in my dreams
Too swiftly climbs the rising sun
Too soon a heart must weep
And nothing but the gates of hell
Can cast the soul to sleep
written - Aug 5, 2024