0203 Evensong
As the evening cools
and I go out to water the front garden
watched by the guys
who lounge outside the house opposite
as it opens for its illegal evening business,
looking at me as if I’m expressing
some unnamed insult by my presence
on their turf
I wonder if they are as awed as I
that as the evening light from the west
glows radiant, boundless, just as the sun disappears,
then slowly pales to dusk,
the reds and crimsons, scarlets,
magentas, madders, vermilions, rose,
infuse with an almost ultra-violet tinge, live new lives,
and glow with the passionate intensity of prayer
in their vibrant evensong as if they know
that colour can outsing
any works of man when lived
on petals that know only innocence
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
The Poem Of The Evening
THE POEM OF THE EVENING
The poem of the evening
Is a small poem
It waits for its own words
And hears itself come slowly and surely
It knows by the time the darkness is here
It will already be real.
The poem of the evening
Is an easy and small poem
It may not mean much
But it comes so smoothly
It seems to laugh at the heat of the day
And love itself for being here.
The poem of the evening
After the long day
Is a happy poem
And it looks forward to praying the evening prayer forever.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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My Poem Came To Me In The Evening
MY POEM CAME TO ME IN THE EVENING/ AFTER THE RAIN AND EVENING PRAYER
My poem came to me in the evening
After the rain and evening prayer
When the sky opened up
For a moon and a star
And the winds diminished
And walking became a pure pleasure
And looking up a simple calm
Joy-
God giving me
Another gift
In a life in which there already have been so so many.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Evening's Dusk
Evening’s dusk, eerie forebodings,
Making one feel so insecure,
Blotting out distance, shapes of things,
Creating a scene, too obscure,
Shadows that hide the strange unknown,
Lurking when you are out alone.
Evening’s dusk creeps across the sky,
Twelve hours of night has just begun.
Moon hanging motionless up high,
Reflecting light, from earth’s own sun,
Lighting darkness with borrowed rays,
Lifting the black in many ways.
Evening’s dusk, rest for man, not beast,
Off to our homes, we go to rest,
All the days noise has slowly, ceased,
Animals though are on a quest,
For their nuptials they find at night,
When humans are well out of sight.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Evening Coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tuesday Evening
AN EVENING
AFTER MONDAY
IS ALDO KRASS'
FAVORITE EVENING
IT IS TUESDAY
EVENING AND
IT IS NOT A BUSY
EVENING AND
ALDO LIKES IT
TO BE NOT
A BUSY EVENING
WITH HIS JULIET
AFTER WINTER
AND SPRING
IT WILL BE SUMMER
ON A TUESDAY
EVENING AND
IT WILL BE A LOVELY
EVENING
ALONE PERHAPS
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Evening Star
I travelled to a distant shore
I felt I had to go
An inner voice had called me there
But why I did not know
I saw the evening star rise up
Shining out to sea
And now I understand at last what it means
What it all means
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
I used to tempt fate
I couldnt see straight
I faltered through my younger days
Never knowing where I was going
Then something helped me penetrate the haze
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
Now I am stronger
The haze no longer
Ruins my future destiny
Such inspirations and new sensations
Pull up these string ties chasing me
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
Im home once more, much better for
The things that I have found
Much wiser now, so simple how
Each time I turn around
I see the evening star rise up
Shining out on me
And now I understand at last what it means
What it all means
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snowy evening
Snowy evening
Snow filling the ground
Turning the city into white
She, in a bright red dress
Walking slowly, enjoying
Her walk in the snowy evening
Towards the Fence of the garden!
Greenaries of the garden
Now in white shades
With frozen drops of ice
Covering the grass
Every little bush
Like a cotton plant
Making a lovely sense!
Few snow flakes in her hands
To taste the pretty white snow
She opens her mouth
Awesome beauty with a white perl
In hand towards her mouth
With more innocence
Trees and bushes covered with snow
Wonders if she is pretty
Or the snow fall is pretty
Unexpressed silence persists
In the garden
Till the beauty
Went down the street!
poem by Archana Prabahar
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Evening In June
(Van Morrison)
By the light of the moon
When the night holds the secrets
Of the sleepy lagoon
I'm contemplating moonlight
On the water
When I'm walking with you
On an evening in June
On an evening in June
It can get so sentimental
When I'm thinking of you
And I can't think of anything
Except being with you
When the summer is through
On an evening in June
On an evening in June
Well it lifts me up
When I'm talking to you
On an evening in June
When the flowers are in bloom
And the sky is so blue
Well there's so many things
Taking place
That it's hard to keep up with it all
Keep your eye on the ball
And to make the right call
When we're longing for fall
On this evening in June
[Instrumental break]
On an evening in June
Well it lifts me up
When I'm talking to you
On an evening in June
When the flowers are in bloom
And the sky is so blue
Well there's so many things taking place
That it's hard to keep up with it all
Keep your eye on the ball
And to make the right call
When we're longing for fall
On this evening in June
By the sleepy lagoon
On an evening in June
By the light of the moon
By the sleepy lagoon
On an evening in June
On an evening in June
By the sleepy lagoon
By the light of the moon
By the sleepy lagoon
On an evening in June
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I
"Ah, poet, the evening draws near; your hair is turning grey.
Do you in your lonely musing hear the message of the hereafter?"
"It is evening, the poet said, and I am listening because some
one may call from the village, late though it be.
I watch if young straying hearts meet together, and two pairs of
eager eyes beg for music to break their silence and speak for
them.
Who is there to weave their passionate songs, if I sit on the
shore of life and contemplate death and the beyond?
The early evening star disappears.
The glow of a funeral pyre slowly dies by the silent river.
Jackals cry in chorus from the courtyard of the deserted house
in the light of the worn-out moon.
If some wanderer, leaving home, come here to watch the night and
with bowed head listen to the murmur of the darkness, who is
there to whisper the secrets of life into his ears if I,
shutting my doors, should try to free myself from mortal bonds?
It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey.
I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of
this village.
Some have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in
their eyes.
Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears
that are hidden in the gloom.
They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over the
afterlife.
I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns grey?"
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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The Journey of Life
I rose from the east, travelling west
With bright eyes, looked at the earth,
With my warmth to many, I gave birth,
I know in the west I have to rest,
To my back are the loud laughing faces,
Living merrily with love ones enjoying lives,
Going in evening with gifts in hands to hives,
In front are those who have run, won the races,
How many of the flowers will store my name,
A sun that once on them dim but shone,
Some will come and read my name on the Stone,
With my flesh will perish my name and fame,
But I have people in front of me, waiting,
No reason to scold west no reason for hating.
poem by Jahan zaib
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The Poem Of The Evening Is A Quiet Poem
THE POEM OF THE EVENING IS A QUIET POEM
The poem of the evening is a quiet poem
It comes in gentleness with tired eyes
It does not know how long it will last
It believes a fresh breeze
And a simple song
Are all its needs
To feel happiness.
The poem of the evening this evening
Believes in life
Believes in Goodness of God
Believes it will somehow be alright.
The poem of the evening this evening
May be a foolish one
But it is a quietly happy one.
We need such poems sometimes
For life is hard in the long working days
And in the times of difficult idleness
When no dreams come.
Quiet and quiet
Soft as sleep
The poem of the evening this evening
Is a gentle one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Romantic Evening
In a candle lit room
with an open fires glow,
you sit arm in arm
passing the evening through.
A bearskin rug under your feet
and the romantic evening
feels almost complete.
You bring the wine from the cooler
and both of you sip it gently.
Your hearts beat faster
with the warmth inside of you
and your kisses are like fire
and urge you to go on.
Then the door opens
and her parents tell you
in no uncertain terms
to get out and go home.
poem by David Harris
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To the Evening Star
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wing sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares through the dun forest.
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
Thy sacred dew; protect with them with thine influence.
poem by William Blake
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Evening Drinks
The elephants had made their way
To where the water was,
The mother and her calf to stay
Until their time to cross...
And only then, when all seemed well,
Some evening drinks to share,
God's miracle was there to tell
That He had heard their prayer...
Another feast of simple things
That made their lives worthwhile,
Before the evening dark night brings
God's moon above in style...
Mid fading light and softening heat,
The calf felt precious peace,
The kind that comes when life's complete
And wonders never cease...
The mother's heart was filled with joy,
A tear came to her eye...
And love like that none should destroy,
No need to question why...
Just evening drinks, tranquillity,
Unspoken heart-filled awe,
Good company and harmony...
Now who could ask for more?
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Evening Drinks'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Sonnet 04
A garden so well watered before morn
Is hotly up, that not the swart sun's blaze
Down beating with unmitigated rays,
Nor arid winds from scorching places borne,
Shall quite prevail to make it bare and shorn
Of its green beauty -- shall not quite prevail
That all its morning freshness shall exhale,
Till evening and the evening dews return --
A blessing such as this our hearts might reap,
The freshness of the garden they might share,
Through the long day a heavenly freshness keep,
If, knowing how the day and day's glare
Must beat upon them, we would largely steep
And water them betimes with dews of prayer.
poem by Richard Chenevix Trench
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There Is A Poem Of The Evening
THERE IS A POEM OF THE EVENING
There is a poem of the evening
never written before.
The tiredness of time
And the tiredness of mind
take flight.
when in the cool corner
of the silent light
Lines are put down
Slowly
One by one,
As if in forgiveness
For all the sins of omission
Of a life
that never came to be
what it dreamed
In the evening here
After the long day
And who knows how much time he has left
as these lines are written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Spleen
(For Arthur Symons)
I was not sorrowful, I could not weep,
And all my memories were put to sleep.
I watched the river grow more white and strange,
All day till evening I watched it change.
All day till evening I watched the rain
Beat wearily upon the window pane
I was not sorrowful, but only tired
Of everything that ever I desired.
Her lips, her eyes, all day became to me
The shadow of a shadow utterly.
All day mine hunger for her heart became
Oblivion, until the evening came,
And left me sorrowful, inclined to weep,
With all my memories that could not sleep.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Dr.Jekyll And Mr. Hyde
Yes, man I got! you
are Mr.Jekyll at day time
and Mr.Hyde at night!
Your good self is a
nice doctor, and the
shadowed a mischievous one!
Your tongue plays the
twisted slang in darkness....
But, you nurse your country
in the bright day light.
You make a garden of rose,
with the air, light, water
in the presence of the sun...
When the evening in
your mind approaches,
you start to burn.
your soul goes to
the domain of hell, in
The fire of ever-burning lust.
Mr.Hyde occupies you,
Increasing your hateful thirst!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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