Post Dusk

Post Dusk

The horizon a cut-out
of crest fallen sky,
geese honk
flying by, horns caught
in some rush hour
towards spring,
as smallish birds that don’t yet sing
buzz imitations of tree frog, bug,
define overhead wires in this grey hour
with ciphers of what’s just
gone West
(and its caress)—
I know one’s days are numbered,
but please not
the evenings.


Drafty poem just for myself and Real Toads open platform. 

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11 Comments on “Post Dusk”

  1. ihatepoetry Says:

    I really enjoyed this. Thanks for sharing it.

  2. I really like the end… evenings are what we live for.

  3. oh wow, I absolutely love this. Not just that ending smashing line, but the rhythm and tone and flow, and the descriptions–original. Great write.

  4. hedgewitch Says:

    Vibrant, in the way that night and day fighting for identity(or seasons) is vibrant,that is, plainly there but in the background, only if you look or happen to be in the kind of life where these things are part and parcel of being, which is the feel for me here–allowing ourselves to feel the rhythm which we lean on to provide us with some sort of continuity and meaning outside ourselves.

  5. Marian Says:

    gone west, and its caress–

  6. Kerry O'Connor Says:

    Such a beautiful evocation of nightfall.. I love the crest fallen sky.

  7. Susan Says:

    Love the “rush hour toward spring,” which,like post-dusk is a lingering between, an existence on the borders. It seems reasonable to pray to stay in this state of anticipation indefinitely (like unrequited love in a way).

  8. That intense blue in the photo is hard to forget. I could not take my eyes off it. Beautiful shot. Thanks.

    Greetings from London.

  9. […] 12th poem for this April;  this one for Magaly Guerrero’s prompt on Real Toads to use three of one’s own titles.  I’ve used the winter of dreaming bears, night mare and post dusk.   […]

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