Poems about evening



Commonplace Evening

Every 1: 27am
I come to my garage
And I sit with wine
And converse with
An out-of-place nightstand,
June bugs aimlessly run into
Stacked boxes and
Heartbroken drywall wink
At my knuckles,
Only tangibility could express the
Scattered personality of this garage
But somehow I feel at home,
Unplugged freezers,
Shop brooms drenched in sawdust,
Broken hockey sticks,
Half stained 2x4's
Clout my memories with
Wanting to be young again,
Shooting pucks with dad,
Having laughs roll
Off my tongue again,
Sweeping grass off
The driveway, and watching
My sister fail at riding a bike,
Now she's going to university
And I'm sweeping up
Cigarette butts in this garage,
I still see the skateboard
I broke my wrist on and I
Have to work in the morning,
At 1: 53 I'm rolling up news papers
And hitting curve balled
June bugs and I have
To cut this short cause
My girlfriend called and she needs
A ride home from the bar //

3: 17

commonplace,  evening.

Author: Mitch Nihilist
Date: 07/04/2020


Thursday Evening at Church

I shivered in the quiet
Late winter evening
When some days feel like spring.
This was not a spring time poseur.
It was late winter
Through and through.
I wrapped my coat tighter
As I walked down the cracked sidewalk
In my old white chucks,
Jeans, and a lumpy blue sweater.

The church wasn't quiet
That Thursday evening
There was a fundraising dinner for missions
And we hadn't quite finished setting up.
The wealthy mingled
With the middle-class and the homeless.
No one knew or cared for the difference.
We were putting forks, and spoons, and knives
On the round tables

I followed the old lady in charge
As she told me to get this, get that,
Find something or another
In the chaotic decorating closet, 105.
Room one-oh-five.
That old lady is something else.
Short of stature,
But not lacking in attitude,
A penchant for wreaking havoc,
And one of the most wonderful people I know.

She was there, with her gray-blue eyes
And slow Southern drawl,
Talking to another lady.
Visibly uncomfortable,
Out of place.
Wiry black hair,
Turning gray around her face,
Eyes fretful and brow
Creased with worry.

I hadn't seen her before.
Her name was written in
Scratchy script on a laniard
Which means that she is homeless.

I said hello, introduced myself,
And went about my work.
She worked alongside me,
As we were given tasks
In hasty preparation
For the dinner.

We worked in silence
For some time, not awkward,
Just busy.
She began to talk.
I wasn't paying close attention at first.
But I quickly realized she was telling me her story.

That's all we have, you know?
Our story is the only thing people can't take away.
They can't take away who we are,
In the narrow confines of our skull,
And whatever else there may be.

I had a hunch she was new to being homeless.
A hunch that she confirmed.
The seasoned and practiced have a look to them,
And the new have a look to them,
And you get accustomed to it
After some time.

Her husband abused her
And she couldn't take it anymore
She had two kids,
Both in a local high school.
I don't know where they are.
She doesn't know how she's going to pay for college
When she's out on the streets.
She doesn't know what to do
Where to go
How to work the system just to get by.

This is what I know:
These people I've come to love
Just want to be useful
To have a purpose.

We're all going to be big stars one day, right?
What about them?
We all want to change the world.
But we can't do it with our eyes only looking in the mirror
And our hearts cold.

All of us.
Every single one of us.

church,  evening,  thursday.

Author: Sibyl Vane
Date: 05/04/2020


Evening descends upon them...

Evening descends upon them
And romance falls
Amusement park kissing
Adolescent waves crash
Love soaring through young skies

descends,  evening.

Author: Matthew Goff
Date: 04/04/2020


Evening Out 1974

He had brought
The Mahler 5th
And a bottle of wine.

He sat in her
Dim lit lounge
On her white sofa.

She put the Mahler
On her hi-fi, poured
Two glasses of wine.

He gazed around the room:
The paintings, low brow,
A few photos of her family.

She entered
With the glasses of wine
And put them down
On the table.

The music unfolded
In the room.

She sat beside him
Picking up a glass.

He sipped his wine.

They lay back together
And kissed.

She talked of her son
A police officer.

He talked of the psychology
Of Reich and the sexual revolution.

They drained their glasses.
She drew the curtains.

They undressed
Ready for bed.

The third movement
Of the symphony began;
The theme familiar
Inside his head.


Author: Terry Collett
Date: 03/04/2020


Late in the evening

People ask why I'm so tired when it's around the time of 10 in the morning.
I say that it's because I just couldn't sleep...
That's only partially true, because late in the evening what I think about is blue, actually it isn't that color but this is what people say I'm like when I feel this way.
Late in the evening my life is being clouded by the blue that people say is the true color of sadness.
My sadness doesn't have a true color it's a tie dye of all my old memories because it seems like they don't exist anymore. All it seems like anymore is the grey tint of the skin around my eyes when I look into the mirror.
Late in the evening my sadness is an illness that makes my whole body ache, it's like an earthquake went through my heart and the waves of destruction afterwards never went away.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that late in the evening I'm just hoping that the tie dye of my memories will slowly fade away and become the echoes of my sadness that would not be surrounding me any longer, but I guess for now I will just have to wait.

evening,  late.

Author: Marlow
Date: 31/03/2020


Went up a year this evening!


Went up a year this evening!
I recollect it well!
Amid no bells nor bravoes
The bystanders will tell!
Cheerful—as to the village—
Tranquil—as to repose—
Chastened—as to the Chapel
This humble Tourist rose!
Did not talk of returning!
Alluded to no time
When, were the gales propitious—
We might look for him!
Was grateful for the Roses
In life's diverse bouquet—
Talked softly of new species
To pick another day;
Beguiling thus the wonder
The wondrous nearer drew—
Hands bustled at the moorings—
The crown respectful grew—
Ascended from our vision
To Countenances new!
A Difference—A Daisy—
Is all the rest I knew!

evening,  year.

Author: Emily Dickinson
Date: 29/03/2020


Evening (haiku)

Silence of forest
Unbroken save for robins
Sweet evening song

evening,  haiku.

Author: David
Date: 28/03/2020


Evening Routines

As the other kids traipsed off to bed,
You held me on your knee,
I watched the cricket, next to him,
As they made history

The crack of the bat against the ball,
The cheering of the crowd,
I didn't understand it then,
And neither do I now

But his room would always smell the same,
Of mothballs, damp and sweets,
The three of us would all sit around,
In pyjamas with bare feet

The taste of garlic lingering,
The best food in the world,
And I knew what it meant to him,
To be next to his favourite little girl.

evening,  routines.

Author: Tommy
Date: 26/03/2020