Day At Rest
The sun is setting slowly in the west,
to put another day at rest.
The moon now rises from the east,
as stillness drifts through our world,
and heads rest in sleep.
The quiet of the night, comes for us all,
as darkness comes to call.
There are some of us,
who welcome the quiet bliss,
the lovers embraced,
in each other’s arms,
ready to steal a kiss.
The writer who needs,
the evening tranquillity,
to forward on their thoughts,
with nothing to disturb.
So we put the day at rest,
until tomorrow comes to call.
13 May 2007
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
Evening Comes To Call
The velvet sash of darkness
stretches across the sky
far and wide
as evening comes to call.
The willow bends its head and weeps
under a gentle breeze
emerging from the sea
underneath the darkened sky.
The sun has gone to bed
to rest for the new day
as I cuddle in my lovers arms
and into dreams we stray
amidst a child’s prayer
asking for life to go on and persevere.
All this and more happens
as the evening comes to call.
11 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Repose
Oh sweet repose,
thou doth call me.
Quiet I shall come and rest easy
on the silken canvas
laid by your silent hand.
Slacken as I bend
into your patient restraint,
for my body is heavy
with peaceful inactivity
and my mind tranquil
in the quiet stillness.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Summer Is Here
I hear the sounds of children at play,
as the sun has turned
the black clouds of rain away.
Summer is here
and laughter fills the air,
flowers fill the gardens
with colour everywhere.
After a hard days work
you feel free,
some will sit the evening out
eyes glued to the TV.
Not for me the little box,
rather an evening stroll.
Then sit to rest
my weary bones somewhere,
letting the cool evening breeze
dance with my hair.
As I sit quietly
absorbing all around.
Watching the sun
sink slowly in the west.
Breathing in the cool evening air,
as night begins to call.
11 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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Sleep, Tender Heart
sleep, tender heart
sleep like a fairy between petals;
sleep like a koala
safe and sound
concealed amongst leaves
sleep, gentle mind
like the innocent newborn
without a thought or care;
sleep like the moon
that crawls to its quiet
on the advent of the sun
sleep like the waves
that crawl to a lagoon
and still themselves for peace and rest
sleep, O gentle souls
and all you beautiful beings
sleep like the pervading stillness
before the world unfolded itself
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Nighttime
When the evening shadows fall
I know the nighttime's come to call.
It does what nighttime does the best.
It gives us time to be at rest.
It banishes all the daytime scenes.
It allows us to feel what nighttime means.
It means it's time for quiet thought,
peace of mind which can't be bought.
It's time to let yourself unwind.
It's time to leave all cares behind.
It's time to rest your weary head.
It's time to creep into your bed.
It's time for starlight and moonbeams.
It's time for silence and sweet dreams.
But for some the nighttime is their day.
They work the nighttime to earn their pay.
They start their night with the rising sun.
They go to sleep when the night is done.
So when the evening shadows fall
they are not in tune with it at all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The End of the Day
The scent of jasmine fills the air,
within my garden wall
while I sit in silence
awaiting the evening to call.
The sounds of the evening are heard,
as that nocturnal wake up call
as long shadowy fingers
creep from the garden wall.
The sun begins to rest its head
as in the west it begins to fall
the sleepy sunset lights up the sky an orange glow
when the end of the day comes to call.
(5 May 2007)
poem by David Harris
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A Kiss 2
They call it a kiss
A butterfly’s touch
The gentlest rest
They call it a kiss
A summertime breeze
The warmest caress
They call it a kiss
A drizzling rain
The heavenly dress
They call it a kiss
A sweltering sun
The desire for less
They call it a kiss
A bee's painful sting
The soul of true stress
They call it a kiss
Whatever it is
They call it a kiss
poem by Leslie Alexis
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Nice to Be Winter
It must be nice to follow fall
Rest, my babies, rest
To blanch the landscape, trees and all
Rest, my babies, rest
To still the flies and honey bees
Blowing snow in swirling wreathes
And comb the pines with a frozen breeze
To ice the waves which rule the seas
It must be nice to be winter
It must be nice to sew for spring
Sleep, my babies, sleep
Soon to melt from everything
Sleep, my babies, sleep
To brighten night with a moonlit glare
The might of slumber’s quiet fare
And whistle whispers in the air
To cure the world of summer’s ware
It must be nice to be winter
poem by Kimberley Myles
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Phantoms
It is the night, it is the night
When they come - those
Phantom thoughts that
plague my quiet,
They crowd around my bed
and mock me, these phantom
thoughts, they stop me sleeping
I cannot rest, I cannot rest.
I long for the morning when
the light will chase those
phantoms away, but all too soon
comes the night, it is the night,
It is the night when they come,
the night...
poem by Glenda PalmerVibert
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Macabre (A Poem From MTE)
Stillness of quiet countenance
Sleep ebbs to slumber
Time pauses
For life is almost to pass.
Still conscious
But retiring
To letting go
For knowing what lies ahead
Is rest eternal.
Peace, at long last
Consume my being
Pain no more
Of this life unending.
Whiteness of pure bless
My soul will rest.
I shall not think
Nor wonder
Neither strives
For the time has come
For me to cross the unknown
The west is calling
The amber sun retiring
But darkness not to welcome
But light encompassing
Come all you who passed
This portal of completeness
And welcome this poor
Wretched sinner.
To your indwelling
Let us rejoice and praise
This mysterious destination
For I know I will reside
In His all loving compassion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Would Write A Quiet Poem
I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM
I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.
A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Idea XXXVII: Dear, why should you command me to my rest
Dear, why should you command me to my rest
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
Methinks this time becometh lovers best;
Night was ordain'd together friends to keep.
How happy are all other living things
Which, though the day disjoin by sev'ral flight,
The quiet ev'ning yet together brings,
And each returns unto his love at night!
O thou that art so courteous else to all,
Why should'st thou, Night, abuse me only thus,
That ev'ry creature to his kind dost call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?
Well could I wish it would be ever day,
If when night comes you bid me go away.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Midsummer Night
Mother of balms and soothings manifold,
Quiet-breathed night whose brooding hours are seven,
To whom the voices of all rest are given,
And those few stars whose scattered names are told,
Far off beyond the westward hills outrolled,
Darker than thou, more still, more dreamy even,
The golden moon leans in the dusky heaven,
And under the one star-a point of gold:
And all go slowly lingering toward the west,
As we go down forgetfully to our rest,
Weary of daytime, tired of noise and light:
Ah, it was time that thou should'st come; for we
Were sore athirst, and had great need of thee,
Thou sweet physician, balmy-blossomed night.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Sonnet XXXVII: Dear, Why Should You
Dear, why should you command me to my rest
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
Methinks this time becometh lovers best;
Night was ordain'd, together friends to keep;
How happy are all other living things
Which through the day disjoin by sev'ral flight,
The quiet ev'ning yet together brings,
And each returns unto his love at night.
O thou, that art so courteous else to all,
Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus,
That ev'ry creature to his kind dost call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?
Well could I wish it would be ever day,
If when night comes you bid me go away.
poem by Michael Drayton
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When The East Awakes
When the east awakes,
The west goes to bed.
The east then keeps vigil...
Until the day does fade,
While the east wants rest.
Just then jumping on his
Feet rises the west.
God has divided duty
In such a divine way!
We must not break His law,
To usher in the good day!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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I Am in Need of Music
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare
AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE
An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-
Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-
Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.
There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Music Of The Evening Chorus
Across the sky at dusk,
the clouds of night descend.
The sun has set itself to sleep
as the moon raises its head.
Lovers walk the quiet lanes
arm in arm
as the music of the evening chorus
fills the cooling air.
The lovers stop occasionally
to kiss and cuddle a while.
As the music of the night
rings in their ears.
3 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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You Made Us
Their motors will purr into the night; what an infernal atrocity
To the beds the children stay in a state of brumal sleep
Deceived by reality’s hold; they rest into the break of day
Into the break of day their motors will purr
Upon the urban and rural they pour, devouring hopeful thoughts
Their movements shuffle to the pace, of the faintest of the hearts ticking
Steady they stop for the readying engagement; a droning mist seems to rest
A droning mist seems to rest upon the urban and rural
Hushingly so the children stretch, ready for a life of unintended living
Scarlet eyes bore into their heads, signaling the sign for extermination
Descend they do into the doors with weapons to the children’s heads
With weapons to their heads the children stretch their arms
Synchronized are their screams, synchronized the weapons fire
So their motors will purr into the night, what an infernal atrocity
To the beds the children stay in a state of brumal sleep
So that droning mist will forever rest; upon those children’s pillows
poem by Brooklyn Joy
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Sonnet
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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