Water Sunset Poems | Examples
These Water Sunset poems are examples of Sunset poems about Water. These are the best examples of Sunset Water poems written by international poets.
mesmerized by nature’s pendulum
the rhythmic motion of the tides
I listen to the splash of waves
unfurl against the seashore
the ever undulating flow of waves
the hypnotizing sway of water
it’s the perfect appetizer before
enjoying every sunset as it falls
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The sun matches how I feel about your energy
you're so bright when you walk into a room
your so warm when you pull me into hugs
When I go to the beach I think of you
the water smells like you
the sand holds on to me like your kisses do
I'm so lucky that I get to fall in love with you
In the midst of my loneliness
I find myself plagued by my fears
Altered to seek for love
In places where my soul be dead
In the midst of my loneliness
I am a slave to my thoughts
In a dream I am dragged
by a rope to drink from dirty water
In the midst of my loneliness
I feel the roots
Underneath my feet
Tangling me while I seek answers
I wait patiently for a light to glimmer at my corner
With glimpse of hope as tears run in my chicks
And heavy is the heart as I drown in my sorrows
When will this dawn break?
Beloved I warn you of habbits
That may seem elegant at first
That flow slowly like water to disturb
The tranquility of our life's
I also confer to you the secret of life
Concealed in the blood of the lamb
A serene sunset paints the alluvium at the shore line in tones reminiscent of a blushing bride. The glassy surface of the lake reflects the gently swaying of a lone tree. Whispers of wind weave through the willows, sharing secrets of yesteryear. Each gentle gust carries a chorus of memories, softly sung by the wind's lament. The trailing weeping willow tree branches sweeping the water are dripping with her tears, trying not to merge with the discarded bouquet swirling in the eddies at her feet. Thankfully, the timeless beauty of nesting birds returning in the twilight creates a moment of pure, peaceful perfection.
An artists paintbrush splashes againt a white canvas,
like the sun on an untouched sea
the palette of vibrant colours the same as
the rays of light reflecting off the waters surface.
Wielding his brush in between his fingers,
he mixes two colours carefully,
blurring the line
between the water and the beach.
He paints yet more,
leaving strokes of fading yellow, vibrant red and pink
upon the sea's deep blue ripples and frothing crests,
the sun's image shimmering on the surface.
Intricately he constructs serveral palm trees,
their leaves tickled by the wind,
their bodies forming delicate shadows
dotted all around the beach.
Ethereal rays of light illuminate the idyllic scene,
a majestic combination of ruby, violet and gold.
As the final strokes are set and done,
the silent painting jumps into a cacophony of life.
The cry of seagulls.
The neverending crash of the sea,
palm trees swaying gently in the ocean breeze
as the sun slowly sinks beneath the waves.
Ah!
A summer's sunset
Calm, clear blue water
Fishing boat in the sunset
Mirror the sky.
In the shade, under the banyan tree,
Where the man lays his heavy head
And rests his pounding heart;
He whispers in his dreams,
His hopes in his life, he leads.
His dreams are coloured
As the vivid hues
Painted across his cheeks.
A mini sunset painted on his face
But in his dreams, it's the dawn.
Dawn of sunrise.
He wishes for the tomorrow,
Yet to come.
Oh, how the records are played on repeat;
As the songweavers reach for the Sun at day's end.
The melancholy in their voices,
Some, chirping and twirling,
They wish for the today
That is about to end.
But some, singing their melodies in the skies
All the while, making their way home
To their nest, beyond the Sun
Alongside, their shadows
Dancing on the valleys.
And their reflections
Hiding their weary wings-
On the lazy river;
Its water fall down the horizon
With the moon on its tail.
As the man under the colouring shade
They wish for the tomorrow,
Yet to come.
If everything weren't roses
gliding on a lonely lagoon
and eyes stared at skies ever blue:
you wouldn't show your enthusiasm too soon;
if nobody played strange games
to hurt the other, you wouldn't hang on a clue!
Let the waves carry you to the ocean,
turn back if only you heed some danger;
I've saved from storms, got no appreciation,
not even a hug for my sacrifice in high water!
No, you wouldn't show your enthusiasm too soon,
it'll make all the sand castles fall on white dunes;
nothing can be saved, they are fragile balloons
that drift past bright clouds on a high noon!
Why rush into something, run fast and fall?
Wait for a sign that, make sure it won't harm;
I've taken chances, broke rules and lost all:
even passion is fading, so is your charm!
No, you wouldn't show your enthusiasm too soon
and not wait for my answer should I disagree;
slow down a bit, consider feelings to a degree:
to make mistake is a normal thing for a buffoon!
What we wish for is clear skies and stillness,
our glances follow the flight of a thousand eagles;
they go far to disappear into the vast universe:
will we follow them or chase something else?
SUNSETS
ONE TAKE MESMERING
DEAR TO ME AND YOU ALWAYS
LET US SEE IT TOGETHER
The last embers of a sunset
sink below a dark horizon
almost mirroring a Rothko
painting in its somber
and weighted tones.
A sadness has found
a place to settle
for the evening
and is absorbed
by the water and sky.
It seems weary, unable
to take form in a thought
and be given a name,
but is more a shade
as that which inhabits
the internal landscape
of a haiku when something
fragile and exquisitely beautiful
is caught briefly in its passing
and let go.
It is a sadness that feels
soul deep, reverberates
in the ear beyond
any audible note
from a place that echoes
an emptiness,
the absence of what perhaps
first gave it breath
and let its fragile existence
float free and alone
to wash up on the shores
of this gentle evening
and utter a sigh.
It's dusk, almost an hour from sunset
and the wood thrush is not cheery;
his melody is a whisper heard in a lot,
where he sang with others happily!
The wood thrust with auburn wings and round belly
couldn't find a stream in a nearby forest and fled
fled here to drink from the water fountain color grey
brushed by a sudden darkness that spread dread!
Sing out loud, little wood thrush and uplift my low spirit;
evening is approaching quickly with its turbid shadows,
we'll shiver thinking of the fear so frightening to admit...
oh, wait: we can alter the mood of our dreary thoughts!
I'm wondering why the wood thrush is not cheery,
has he lost all the enthusiasm for unclear reasons?
It's a phase he must go though to regain full harmony...
when despair leaves and he'll sing again with his sibilings!
The sky broke like an egg into full sunset
and the water caught fire.
—Pamela Hansford Johnson
Sailor’s Sunset
Plummeting orb, hoary red sun,
envelopes us - we’ve just begun.
The ache of passion’s absorb.
Hoary red sun, plummeting orb.
The yolk baked ‘round the mammoth breast.
In loping eyes, our love’s expressed.
Infusion of colors, unbound.
The mammoth breast, the yolk baked ‘round.
Sailor’s sunset without warning.
Safe and sound, moaning in morning.
Life’s looking good from the onset.
Without warning - sailor’s sunset.
Just Clouds
They seem just ordinary fill
for a background, a fuzzy white
or gray that doesn't grab the eye
and distract from the more deserving
stuff like trees, sweeping ocean views
and mountain lakes. Clouds lack
a clean line.
They seldom get prime billing
unless infused with anger and about
to burst, or wear the outrageous
colors of a rising or setting sun.
Many exclude them altogether
with a preference for a blue,
totally cloudless sky.
Frankly, total blue is boring to me.
Give me tufts of purest white
drifting soundlessly across
an otherwise featureless sky,
big bellied storm clouds, dark
and sagging with weight,
rumbling with thunder,
letting their load of water go.
And wrap me
in the soft, filtered light
of low, misty clouds that have learnt
how to weep, keep me safe
from the big towering giants
that grow with menace on a distant
horizon and bless me
with the unseen ones
that send down a gentle rain at night
to lull me off to sleep.
All day the world has waited
for me to come and rest here,
to welcome me into a picture
it has composed with people
walking their dogs along
the water's edge and the wide,
seaweed strewn beach bathed
in the soft light of a setting sun.
‘See what I have prepared’
it seems to say, drawing my eye
to the distant clouds, the water
wearing a golden glaze
and creased by a gentle breeze,
birds overhead, the sand scored
in a joyous language written
by children's scampering feet.
I sit and take it in,
feast on the exquisite detail
that is layered and worked into
every inch of the scene.
Memory gives it a name as light
fades and I leave, re-entering
the dark that is waiting for me
just beyond the frame.
"One day, . . . I saw the sunset forty-four times! . . . You know—one loves the sunset, when one is so sad."
Quote from The Little Prince
by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Sky, mirror of our hearts,
tries to hide her burning heart under water;
The ocean heaves in empathy
with tears of angst the colour of fire
transforming, slowly, into lava.
Sky, mirror of our hearts..
Roses fall from her cheeks
spreading over pages of transparency
to turn her boundless looking-glass
into a sea of fiery roses
that will soon be devoured by
the charcoal of the night.
Sky, mirror of our hearts,
waits for the serene moon
to veil her smouldered cheeks
with gleams of composed silver.
Sky, mirror of our hearts
that will forever lurk within us,
at twilight, hides her blushing sun
until she re-learns to rise from the ashes
and recommence weaving hope . . .