Late Summer Poems | Examples
These Late Summer poems are examples of Summer poems about Late. These are the best examples of Summer Late poems written by international poets.
I wander on a journey that may fail
The compass heading points me to true blue
Late Summer is the time I know so well
Accentuated by my thoughts of you
I wonder as I wander through the maze
What separated us as years sped by?
My love for you displaced by cruel malaise
Still on the journey asking myself why
Acceptance is the price I have to pay
I’ll try my best to take the good with bad
Accepting our relationship’s decay
Your absence from my life makes me so sad
To make the best of life remains the goal
My thoughts of you are balsam for my soul
I wandered out beneath late-summer skies,
a blue so wide it felt like open thought.
The road before me stretched in quiet sighs,
inviting me toward places wonder sought.
A compass rested lightly in my hand,
its needle trembling as if it could feel
the pull of distant paths across the land~
those whispered routes the heart keeps half-concealed.
I followed where it pointed, mile by mile,
past fields still holding sunlight in their seams,
each turn a question, each new step a smile
that rose like wind through half-remembered dreams.
And when the day leaned softly into night,
my wandering felt shaped by blue-tinged light.
I remember the gold that late summer keeps~
not in the fields, but in the soft corners
where light settles without asking.
A lantern rests there~
its glass warm from the day,
holding the small shimmer of evenings
that never learned how to leave.
Memory moves through it gently,
a slow-burn brightness
that refuses to dim even when the air cools.
I lift the lantern,
feeling its weight like a promise
that hope can be carried
even when the path is quiet.
Outside, the sky leans toward autumn,
but the gold stays~
a thin, steady amber
teaching memory how to glow without burning.
A MEMORY
hope
I now
remember
that late summer
gold
summer dog days wane
and sunflowers fade away
melancholy winds
sweep my blooming blue asters
one more birthday come and gone
Beautiful things don’t last.
Think of flowers wilting
in woeful pageant
You’re lounging,
half in shadow
almost out of the sun
your feet, outside shade
look on fire, a photo overexposed.
Your smile is light and brite.
Your skin tanned and tight
as if stretched over
Leonardo’s David, in repose.
You are beautiful
if flawed
your hair is a tangle
your smile akimbo
I think, ‘this is too good,’
in self-aware deflation
as if the moment were both sacred and imperiled.
You brush sand off my face
your hand seems warm, fevered.
I’m as delighted as a child
to be touched
.
.
A song for this:
Constant Craving (Fashionably late remix) [Edit] by k.d. lang & Tracy Young
Howdy white rabbit have you seen
The summer sky today
The vastness of the blue and green
In shadowless array?
Or you’ve been busy all the time
Just for the habit of
Being busy, cause it suits you fine
You schedule must be tough
Although you’ve nothing else to do
But hear my hello
You are forgotten, aren’t you?
Don’t worry, start the show
Of coming late to some address
Where you were not invited
It is both sweetly meaningless
And seriously one-sided..
A single, white thunderhead
tainted slightly, with the pink-shine
of a late sun coughs
lazily in the vast grayness
of an elegant sea,
somewhere—
a sea still asleep.
Greedy cries of gulls
fill the saltiness of the heavy air
and through the early mist
people of the day appear
in straw hats and red and green covers.
The night-crowded streets,
baked and earthy,
move on among carts
and fresh purple blossoms
and over-ripe fruit from the sea,
to and endless sand-scape.
Staggered and restless,
the ocean-lights appear,
and a warning from the sky
floods and nourishes
the clay walls of an empty palace.
Late November, the last days of spring
are beginning to preheat the air, the vast
outback furnace is set to fire up
for summer and ignite the northerlies.
But for now, the evenings are cool
as I take breath, float thoughts off
towards a dozen vague destinations
that glow on memory's horizon.
Old age sets you off on such journeys
as if to find something lost long ago
that seems to have left a lifelong cavity
at the very centre of yourself.
Meanwhile, the world calls me
to hear what it has to say in the sounds
of a November evening.
It is not interested in my memories.
It cares little that I'm old
and that my body is sometimes hell.
I am perfect for it to echo its sounds
just like an empty seashell.
Fondly reminiscing under starlight
of sweet kisses in the cool breeze of a late august night
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Late summer whips its last, blazed song
*
As autumn 's dresden chill hums along !
What are the dog days of summer?
Sirius – a late comer.
He arrives every year
without welcoming cheer.
To some, they're a major bummer!
visions of children shrieking on clogged shores,
warm swirling gusts topple gaunt sand castles,
games galore thrive in weather dry and bright,
family fun fair gasp and sheer delight,
yet summer’s warm hue festoon tapers off,
whilst journeyed beehive swarm near blue lagoon,
dip their toes in sunny moss fleck torrents,
others seize their madcap visceral thrill,
from dashing down mint green meadows as that,
August time frame segues into autumn
his lips slipped upon mine; into dreaming
in the satellite of fall's chaste shadows
sphered by the last cast of summer streaming
onto our free skin, sunk in the shallows
our first kisses, our first mature outlet
for a latent love now bursts in our ears
from seeds sown in spring's bosom, mere trinket
our little love, hedging, a nest appears
underneath the wakeful sun, its pure heat
receding; displaced by the chatoyance
of autumnal leaves waltzing where we'll meet
singing, unfazed, at the cold's arrogance
Written: August 09, 2025, for contest SEASONS NOW AND AFTER Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
************
Aurora sheds her velvet, gleaming flame,
Dusk with iridescent shades fills the air.
Molten winds trick hearts in taking a game,
Grooved meadows grant obedient despair.
The alabaster clouds sparkle with grace,
Empyrean dreams appease the reek ache.
Fertile roots stir zymotic in their place,
Anodyne stars at triptych kindly break.
The swarm is a hive of busy tough bees,
Pavonine clouds, incarnadine with thrill.
Multivocal leaves—ethereal, breeze—,
Rapture in desiccation, soft and still.