Related quotes: dusk to dusk this sadness...

Sad

dusk to dusk
this sadness
carries a shade
the heart finds
hard to bear

the melancholy
scarlet of dusk
an artist keenly
touches up to portray
the remaining
breaths of the day

the soft breeze
carries your soft sigh
and carress
to bid me farewell

the quiet dusk is
choked with
my longings
for you while divinity
witholds its
consolations
and looks at me
through blood shot eyes
a breathless
conflagration of
copper red,
orange and gold

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

Dusk last light

As noon last light
end slowly,
the twilight sleep
tiredly,
with promise of rise
up tomorrow,
to borrow many things
coldly.
is this you dusk?

and the roads become
unseen
slowly, moon appears boldly
to show correct way,

why are you so pretty dusk?
to attract me or to
distract me
yes! dusk its you with
pretty orange face
gods wonderful grace.....

poem by Deep Doloi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dreams

I HAVE been dreaming all a summer day
Of rare and dainty poems I would write;
Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scent,
Soft idylls woven of wind, and flower, and stream,
And songs and sonnets carven in fine gold.
The day is fading and the dusk is cold;
Out of the skies has gone the opal gleam,
Out of my heart has passed the high intent
Into the shadow of the falling night—
Must all my dreams in darkness pass away?

I have been dreaming all a summer day:
Shall I go dreaming so until Life’s light
Fades in Death’s dusk, and all my days are spent?
Ah, what am I the dreamer but a dream!
The day is fading and the dusk is cold.

My songs and sonnets carven in fine gold
Have faded from me with the last day -beam
That purple lustre to the sea-line lent,
And flushed the clouds with rose and chrysolite;
So days and dreams in darkness pass away.

I have been dreaming all a summer day
Of songs and sonnets carven in fine gold;
But all my dreams in darkness pass away;
The day is fading, and the dusk is cold.

poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Research on Cinderalla - after Shel Silverstein In search of Cinderalla

From dawn til dusk,
from land to land,
without too much ado,
I'd seek the perfect ankle,
From dawn til dusk
I'd stretch my hand
to virgin, husk, - not you! -
perceptions change, oh dear, they do!
perfection minds must rankle

In Search of Cinderella

From dusk to dawn,
From town to town,
Without a single clue,
I seek the tender, slender foot
To fit this crystal shoe.
From dusk to dawn,
I try it on
Each damsel that I meet.
And I still love her so, but oh,
I've started hating feet.

- Shel Silverstein

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Before Dark

Dusk right before dark is my favorite time of each day
The dim light feels as if I am only in this world halfway
Right then it is time for shadows taking over the light
And colors fade slowly to shades of black and white
Sometimes I see the sun bathing all in an orange glow
And I wish I could touch the heat before it let go

During dusk I want to have you close and not be alone
In the fading light your features turn to marble and stone
Right then I want to bring back life into each inch of your skin
I want to touch you and feel your strong heartbeat within
Gently I want to glide my hands over your neck to your chest
Feeling gatherings of hair against my palm if you are undressed

The light of dusk kindles a low fire and put sparks into your eyes
Right than I love to be close to you and renew our strong ties
That time of day brings a natural melancholy to my heart
And I am most responsive when you are gentle with me to start
I know you rather see me passionate demanding and strong
Therefore I want to say thanks for running with my mood along

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Death Song

What cometh here from west to east awending?
And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?
We bear the message that the rich are sending
Aback to those who bade them wake and know.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

We asked them for a life of toilsome earning,
They bade us bide their leisure for our bread;
We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning;
We come back speechless, bearing back our dead.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken.
They turn their faces from the eyes of fate;
Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken.
But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison;
Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest;
But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen
Brings us our day of work to win the best.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

For M.W.

There is no transcience of twilight in
The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face,
No flicker of a slender flame in space,
In crucibles, fragility crystalline.
There is no fragrance of the jessamine
About you, no pathos of some old place
At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eater lace
Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.

Your love is like the folk-song's flaming rise
In cane-lipped southern people, like their soul
Which burst its bondage in a bold travail;
Your voice is like them singing, soft and wise,
Your face, sweetly efflgent of the whole,
Inviolate of ways that would feile.

poem by Jean Toomer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dreams in the Dusk

Dreams in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day
And with the day’s close going back
To the gray things, the dark things,
The far, deep things of dreamland.

Dreams, only dreams in the dusk,
Only the old remembered pictures
Of lost days when the day’s loss
Wrote in tears the heart’s loss.

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.

poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Like A Rainbow In The Dusk

rainbow, as well as dusk
a beauty of the shortest time
what more...
a rainbow arched
at a curtain of dusk
decorating the universe,
amazed to human eyes
(so that we know)
about our existence
in the transience of this world
before moving again
into the realm of eternity

poem by Ibnu Din Assingkiri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The lost lagoon

It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,
And we two dreaming the dusk away,
Beneath the drift of a twilight grey,
Beneath the drowse of an ending day,
And the curve of a golden moon.

It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and--you,
And gone is the golden moon.

O! lure of the Lost Lagoon,--
I dream to-night that my paddle blurs
The purple shade where the seaweed stirs,
I hear the call of the singing firs
In the hush of the golden moon.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Nature At Dusk

Butterfly, butterfly, up so high
Your radiant colors as you glide
As the mockingbird sings so sweet and soft
Flowers of beauty and rich scents fill the air with tranquility and serenity
Bumblebees slowly and delicately hum their lullaby to all the creatures
The stars and the fireflies are nightlights to the creatures' babes
The wolf howls gently and sincerely to call the moon out of the clouds
Woodpecker beating his drum to tell the night it is time to overpower the day sky
At last, it is dusk
There is no movement or sound
The singing, the humming, the howling, the drums, and the wind too, all are silent and idle
Every creature is asleep and peacefully quiet
This is nature at dusk

poem by Caroline Bulleck
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

From Dusk To Dusk

The dazzling star
went through me.
I was undemanding
from dusk to dusk
hurting myself, not anybody.

Time to meet my twin,
to set he black on orange.
My guilt, my fear, my foreboding.
Let go off, my sap in the twigs,
fruits were coming down.

Under the guise of innocence
eruptiness entered into non-thought.
One by one snakes unrolled
with black eyes, under the succulent breasts,
the black poison clapping the pink lips.

The dirt was spreading
on the hands of unborn children.
Their eyes searching the seeds.
On dark beads of mother.
Father had been killed in a cave.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Touches Of Her Hand

The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp
Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.

Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,
The touches of her hands, and the delight--
The touches of her hands!
The touches of her hands are like the dew
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew
The touch thereof save lovers like to one
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.

O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs;
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dear Hands

O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs,
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Fishing (Novelinee)

To sit next to the big river brings peace
throwing a rod over the tranquil way
in a kind of the heart's sheer release
into the same pool up to close of day.
To live a life of utter joy we must,
when the river catches the rays of morn
to experience nature until dusk,
to be there when the bright new day is born;
it's great to just catch time at dusk and dawn.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sunrise, Sunset

O Sun, When you rise,
It’s morning dawn.
When you set,
It’s evening dusk.

O Sun, Seeing your beauty lighting
Shining on landscape from dawn
Shining on seascape from dusk
It comes from dawn to dusk.

O Sun, rise from East
O Sun, set to West
From East to West,
Celestial light comes and go,
Seasons come and go.

Here come four seasons
North to South, East to West
From Spring comes Autumn,
From Summer comes Winter.

O Sun, From rising East
To setting West
O Moon, Come rising East
To setting West

Cycle never end,
It’s endless cycle,
Seeing sunset every dusk,
Seeing sunrise every dawn.

Making us pondering..
Make us wondering
Where, When will be next..
Sunrise, sunset..

poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

It is So Hard to be Alone

It is so very hard to be alone; from dawn to dusk
From dusk to dawn, alone, alone alone.
From a chant to a rant to a highpaying job
To an apartment in St Germain des Pres
That everybody wants to rob.

It is very hard to be a cog in the wheel
It is very hard to be a cog without a wheel
To turn, to burn in one's flaming solitude.

From birth to death, this profession of existence
Making an art of solitude, an act of independance.

It is so easy to die alone.

poem by Rani Turton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tableau at Twilight

I sit in the dusk. I am all alone.
Enter a child and an ice-cream cone.

A parent is easily beguiled
By sight of this coniferous child.

The friendly embers warmer gleam,
The cone begins to drip ice cream.

Cones are composed of many a vitamin.
My lap is not the place to bitamin.

Although my raiment is not chinchilla,
I flinch to see it become vanilla.

Coniferous child, when vanilla melts
I’d rather it melted somewhere else.

Exit child with remains of cone.
I sit in the dusk. I am all alone,

Muttering spells like an angry Druid,
Alone, in the dusk, with the cleaning fluid.

poem by Ogden Nash
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dusk Till The Next Dusk

i shall watch the coming of dawn
slits of light from the leaves of dark trees

glimmering packets of light
from the hiding sun on the side of the big mountain

i am dusk
and i am ready with the last breath i have

to face my death at the coming of day
this morning

tonight i prepare to live again
on this constant resurrection

i am dusk
i die when your light comes

i always live in the little dark corner
of my sadness

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

On The Other Hand He Calls It The Thousand Monkeys

on the thousandth
monkey
you shout
o my god
i made it!

the monkey
hangs and shifts
place from
vine to vine

jumps on the river
and swims
finds a fish
and eats it
rises from the river
and dances on
a rock
under the morning
sun

quite exciting
the other monkeys
did the same

except for one
he sits by the window
watches the running of
time
dust after dust
dusk after dusk
waiting for
the big break of
his own life.