A loft of pigeons
attacks a handful of bones
the way the dusk
falls, no less softly,
around a soundless silhouette.
Such silence severs what links remained,
all but that between a foot and greying moss.
The remnants of sunshine,
calling lightly at closed lids,
go largely ignored.
She knows that opening those lead-weighted traps
will reveal no slice of moon.
Dusk is just the boundary between light and darkness. It is a point where we choose to linger on the wonders of the day or to enjoy the restfulness of the night. All of us will be there, maybe not too soon, but will be. Enjoy the day! Night will come soon.
The sun was slowly falling as she ran through the trees. Beneath them, it was as if dusk was gone and replaced by night. She tripped over roots, branches lashed at her face, but she couldn’t stop. She had to get away from the human monsters who were killing her family. A howl made her panic as she swerved to one side. Dusk was when the wolves came out.
Ah, this time, this place of half-eaten fruit where the sun is ripe and prepared to be plucked into night darkness by the clouds fringing on black by the fingers of stars reaching so boldly. It is a transient world of illuminated things, objects and silhouettes outlined in black-framed bodies of in-between being, where anything is possible by deformation of shape in the shadows.
I watched a leaf fall from a bridge above me, to land beside me this night, and I wondered at the temporal quality of it’s shape. Who else would know when it had fallen?
Is love so akin to such small things? Who can say where and when things truly occur than those half-lit witnesses seeing in such dim and obvious foreground where moving bodies seem to slow, to pause in time, to make sense to such a fragment of life?
A time of magic, of happening, of circumstance chanced by peripheral vision. I hear the sounds of creatures awakening at their dawn of my dusk, at their greeting of my goodbye, and see eyes opening as mine blink ever the more slowly at a soft acknowledgment of opportunity, of reflections seen in a briefly shining puddle in passing.
I seek solace in these moments, and send gratitude to the Gods that I am awake or dreaming to notice such things.
the stars are just showing themselves in the sky and the sun is fading on the horizon.
birds are going to sleep while the owls and bats are waking up. the wind is dying down to give way to the crickets making their beautiful noise.
brian
Dusk is that moment when the day is finally closing, a time to look at the sky and the shadows its casting on the once bright world, reflecting on the events of the day. In contract to dawn, its a time of unrelenting questions, wondering if the decisions made during the day will lead us to the places we’re supposed to be.
Nicole Watts
Under a dusk sky, we laid down on patches of greenery, hands in hands. Just watching the stars shining so brightly in the dark, dancing so gracefully. Why can’t this last forever?
alyssa rae
It wasn’t even dusk and his eyes had begun to sag. It had been a busy day; he hadn’t left the house at all, he hadn’t done any manual labor, but what he had done was much more intensive. He had spent the entire day in awe of God, and in those moments of great joy and great pain he grew tired.
there’s a lot of dusk somewhere. I don’t know where. Well maybe I do, dusk is everywhere. Or is it like the sunset?.. haha, but yeah, dusk.. is that the thing that floats around? I’m saying this word so much that it keeps sounding so weird. dusk dusk dusk dusk dusk. sounds like desk. or duck. i like ducks. ducks are cool.
Vy Le
there was a wolf howling in the wind
and the light from the moon showed shadows of dancing creatures in the night
ian
Of dusk, I left a sadness etched behind for night to find again. The sun died in loving arms. I walked away with brisk.
Myona
It was a beautiful dusk. The sun just falling below the mountain tops to the west. The winter air crisp and cold, with a light snow fall. As the wind blew snow through the tree tops, I saw the promise of a new beginning, and a better tomorrow.
Justin
The sun easily rose into the sky, like a lotus flower blooming after a long rest. She cupped the warm and piping coffee mug closer to her chest, smiling as the bitter smell of her morning brew mixed with the morning smell of a new day. She watches as the colors–pink, orange, and gold–mingle together in the sky. Yes; it will be a marvelous new day as dusk becomes day.
It all seems so different after that. The final peek from under the cover of light is so unique. Those final moments that you seek when moving toward unfailing darkness with an ever clenching hand on the corner of the day.
The dusk of everything that we ever could have hoped for.
Your hopes and dreams
Everything you ever pursued
Fading away with the sunset.
Any sanity I had left
Beckoning for the dark
To show some release.
We are a mess
You and I.
The torn flesh reminders
That this just isn’t fair.
She sat at the table and looked out the window into the garden. It was dusk now, four hours after she had sat down in the first place to work on a story that would now seemingly never get finished. She was completely stumped as to what to write about. What could any person want to read about that was not already written?
Molly Martin
there was grass in his hair and on his clothes. his palms were as dirty as his feet but i guess that’s what nature does when you grasp it with both hands.
Dusk is a great time of day to go outside and take photographs. As the shadows lengthen with the sun low on the horizon, some lovely light whisks through leaves and over faces.
It was dusk. I looked out over the horizon, and jumped when I saw what was lying before the falling sun: the Dangercar. I ran towards it to find no one inside. What was happening? Where were the Four?
i sat at dusk pondering
it was a ponder to challenge other ponders
i don’t remember what i was pondering
but i pondered until i couldn’t ponder no more
eventually i became pondered out.
and stopped pondering
Aaron
Dusk. Such a word. Such associations. With so many summers. So many dangers. So many ways of happiness. And with so much luck.
Lauren
It’s the cusp of the new year. Almost midnight, but not quite. The dusk of the day, of the year, is near. The time to make those last minute decisions, that time when we aren’t quite letting go and we aren’t quite starting anew. That time between the new and old, that time where all colors blend beautifully into the dark.
dusk it is the end of day and the start of night it is often used in horror stories as it has a red angry sunset that can look evil or spooky it is a nice time of day when its not too hot and yet its not too dark
kevin
Ever since Eric inherited the estate he determined to kneel each evening at dusk to say a little prayer of thanksgiving fo his great uncles thoughtfulness. He is now one of the richest persons in Barberton.
If you listen close you can hear them. Catch them out of the corner of your eye – swooping, diving. They’re beautiful. Grandpa’s gliding over the house. The air is warm and there’s the glow of a bonfire behind me. It’s that time of year – the bats are back.
And the sun sets on another day. The light fades. Shadows replace. A darkness overcomes her face. A tear rolls down her cheek. A single glistening tear lit by the glimmer of her shiny blue eyes against a pale, empty face.
Trying to get the fire lit now that dusk has fallen. I can’t wait to warm ourselves together while watching the embers float into the air
Bryan Green
it was dusk when she saw the body. not body, bodies. the sun just setting over the hill. what to do? run? hide? stay? help? bodies lay. nothing more to do but be a body. at dusk. best time of the day to be a body. nothing more than the fog setting on the moist ground.
Adrianna
I watched him as he walked away, into the shadows of the trees. Dusk was supposed to be a romantic moment between lovers, was it not? So why did he walk away from me, with only a simple goodbye? Why did he not do his part, say his lines? Why was I standing all alone?
delilah
From dusk till dawn. Till dawn to dusk. What shall happen in between I wonder. Love? Anger? Resentment? Supreme joy? Dreaming dreams of everything, but doing nothing to achieve them.
shady smoky slip along the horizon, bleeding into the velvety night. a blush tinging the night and welcoming or maybe, perhaps coaxing with a muted rumble of laughter. orange black purple yellow stark stiff shadows. beautiful statues and skeletal trees, deer outlined like stencils against the pale dark sky.
Sarah
Night i love the night imagine running free during the night not bound by any laws you just have utter and complete Freedom.
Damien looked up at the sky, shivering.
“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked himself. “Eternal pain, eternal suffering.”
“You lived a different life once,” pointed out a voice, and Damien turned to see Shaun standing there. “Where you let power ruin you. This is your punishment.” Damien sat up straighter from his slumped position. Shaun sighed. “Once upon a time, you were called Dusk…”
When the dusk had shrugged off its rosy cowl and nestled itself within the blue beard of night, I rode my motorcycle to the corner of Park and Baker and waited by the small general store sitting by the intersection.
It was cold and I drew my coat closer to me, my breath freezing on my visor. My father was meant to meet me here, ragged and gray and just as I expected him to. But it had been six minutes already past nine and he was nowhere to be seen.
Belinda Roddie
Dusk was upon us, ending the perfect day.
Oh, how I wish this day would go on forever.
Perfectly.
Raahs
Just wishful thinking, I know. There are no indicators heralding the dawn of a new time. I feel like I’m awake and scared and can’t find the door in the dark night of corporate existence. And yes, tomorrow is another day, and another and another. Dusk, the time of winding down and kicking of the shoes approaches, I was hoping.
a metamorphosis
your saliva
emollient on my skin.
nostalgia from
another world,
the false intimacy of
a
lost
heart.
fumbling hands
and refraction of light off
a stippled ceiling.
A loft of pigeons
attacks a handful of bones
the way the dusk
falls, no less softly,
around a soundless silhouette.
Such silence severs what links remained,
all but that between a foot and greying moss.
The remnants of sunshine,
calling lightly at closed lids,
go largely ignored.
She knows that opening those lead-weighted traps
will reveal no slice of moon.
Dusk is just the boundary between light and darkness. It is a point where we choose to linger on the wonders of the day or to enjoy the restfulness of the night. All of us will be there, maybe not too soon, but will be. Enjoy the day! Night will come soon.
The sun was slowly falling as she ran through the trees. Beneath them, it was as if dusk was gone and replaced by night. She tripped over roots, branches lashed at her face, but she couldn’t stop. She had to get away from the human monsters who were killing her family. A howl made her panic as she swerved to one side. Dusk was when the wolves came out.
Ah, this time, this place of half-eaten fruit where the sun is ripe and prepared to be plucked into night darkness by the clouds fringing on black by the fingers of stars reaching so boldly. It is a transient world of illuminated things, objects and silhouettes outlined in black-framed bodies of in-between being, where anything is possible by deformation of shape in the shadows.
I watched a leaf fall from a bridge above me, to land beside me this night, and I wondered at the temporal quality of it’s shape. Who else would know when it had fallen?
Is love so akin to such small things? Who can say where and when things truly occur than those half-lit witnesses seeing in such dim and obvious foreground where moving bodies seem to slow, to pause in time, to make sense to such a fragment of life?
A time of magic, of happening, of circumstance chanced by peripheral vision. I hear the sounds of creatures awakening at their dawn of my dusk, at their greeting of my goodbye, and see eyes opening as mine blink ever the more slowly at a soft acknowledgment of opportunity, of reflections seen in a briefly shining puddle in passing.
I seek solace in these moments, and send gratitude to the Gods that I am awake or dreaming to notice such things.
the stars are just showing themselves in the sky and the sun is fading on the horizon.
birds are going to sleep while the owls and bats are waking up. the wind is dying down to give way to the crickets making their beautiful noise.
Dusk is that moment when the day is finally closing, a time to look at the sky and the shadows its casting on the once bright world, reflecting on the events of the day. In contract to dawn, its a time of unrelenting questions, wondering if the decisions made during the day will lead us to the places we’re supposed to be.
Under a dusk sky, we laid down on patches of greenery, hands in hands. Just watching the stars shining so brightly in the dark, dancing so gracefully. Why can’t this last forever?
It wasn’t even dusk and his eyes had begun to sag. It had been a busy day; he hadn’t left the house at all, he hadn’t done any manual labor, but what he had done was much more intensive. He had spent the entire day in awe of God, and in those moments of great joy and great pain he grew tired.
there’s a lot of dusk somewhere. I don’t know where. Well maybe I do, dusk is everywhere. Or is it like the sunset?.. haha, but yeah, dusk.. is that the thing that floats around? I’m saying this word so much that it keeps sounding so weird. dusk dusk dusk dusk dusk. sounds like desk. or duck. i like ducks. ducks are cool.
there was a wolf howling in the wind
and the light from the moon showed shadows of dancing creatures in the night
Of dusk, I left a sadness etched behind for night to find again. The sun died in loving arms. I walked away with brisk.
It was a beautiful dusk. The sun just falling below the mountain tops to the west. The winter air crisp and cold, with a light snow fall. As the wind blew snow through the tree tops, I saw the promise of a new beginning, and a better tomorrow.
The sun easily rose into the sky, like a lotus flower blooming after a long rest. She cupped the warm and piping coffee mug closer to her chest, smiling as the bitter smell of her morning brew mixed with the morning smell of a new day. She watches as the colors–pink, orange, and gold–mingle together in the sky. Yes; it will be a marvelous new day as dusk becomes day.
It all seems so different after that. The final peek from under the cover of light is so unique. Those final moments that you seek when moving toward unfailing darkness with an ever clenching hand on the corner of the day.
The dusk of everything that we ever could have hoped for.
Your hopes and dreams
Everything you ever pursued
Fading away with the sunset.
Any sanity I had left
Beckoning for the dark
To show some release.
We are a mess
You and I.
The torn flesh reminders
That this just isn’t fair.
She sat at the table and looked out the window into the garden. It was dusk now, four hours after she had sat down in the first place to work on a story that would now seemingly never get finished. She was completely stumped as to what to write about. What could any person want to read about that was not already written?
there was grass in his hair and on his clothes. his palms were as dirty as his feet but i guess that’s what nature does when you grasp it with both hands.
The dusk leaked in the windows like spilled ink saturating the air with moldering indigo bruised at the edges.
Dusk
Dusk is a great time of day to go outside and take photographs. As the shadows lengthen with the sun low on the horizon, some lovely light whisks through leaves and over faces.
I would always call your attention to the sky at dusk. I knew you needed it.
It was dusk. I looked out over the horizon, and jumped when I saw what was lying before the falling sun: the Dangercar. I ran towards it to find no one inside. What was happening? Where were the Four?
i sat at dusk pondering
it was a ponder to challenge other ponders
i don’t remember what i was pondering
but i pondered until i couldn’t ponder no more
eventually i became pondered out.
and stopped pondering
Dusk. Such a word. Such associations. With so many summers. So many dangers. So many ways of happiness. And with so much luck.
It’s the cusp of the new year. Almost midnight, but not quite. The dusk of the day, of the year, is near. The time to make those last minute decisions, that time when we aren’t quite letting go and we aren’t quite starting anew. That time between the new and old, that time where all colors blend beautifully into the dark.
dusk it is the end of day and the start of night it is often used in horror stories as it has a red angry sunset that can look evil or spooky it is a nice time of day when its not too hot and yet its not too dark
Ever since Eric inherited the estate he determined to kneel each evening at dusk to say a little prayer of thanksgiving fo his great uncles thoughtfulness. He is now one of the richest persons in Barberton.
If you listen close you can hear them. Catch them out of the corner of your eye – swooping, diving. They’re beautiful. Grandpa’s gliding over the house. The air is warm and there’s the glow of a bonfire behind me. It’s that time of year – the bats are back.
dawn to dusk. from the moment i open my eyes to the moment i close them, all i see is you. sometimes i love that and sometimes i hate it.
And the sun sets on another day. The light fades. Shadows replace. A darkness overcomes her face. A tear rolls down her cheek. A single glistening tear lit by the glimmer of her shiny blue eyes against a pale, empty face.
Trying to get the fire lit now that dusk has fallen. I can’t wait to warm ourselves together while watching the embers float into the air
it was dusk when she saw the body. not body, bodies. the sun just setting over the hill. what to do? run? hide? stay? help? bodies lay. nothing more to do but be a body. at dusk. best time of the day to be a body. nothing more than the fog setting on the moist ground.
I watched him as he walked away, into the shadows of the trees. Dusk was supposed to be a romantic moment between lovers, was it not? So why did he walk away from me, with only a simple goodbye? Why did he not do his part, say his lines? Why was I standing all alone?
From dusk till dawn. Till dawn to dusk. What shall happen in between I wonder. Love? Anger? Resentment? Supreme joy? Dreaming dreams of everything, but doing nothing to achieve them.
shady smoky slip along the horizon, bleeding into the velvety night. a blush tinging the night and welcoming or maybe, perhaps coaxing with a muted rumble of laughter. orange black purple yellow stark stiff shadows. beautiful statues and skeletal trees, deer outlined like stencils against the pale dark sky.
Night i love the night imagine running free during the night not bound by any laws you just have utter and complete Freedom.
Damien looked up at the sky, shivering.
“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked himself. “Eternal pain, eternal suffering.”
“You lived a different life once,” pointed out a voice, and Damien turned to see Shaun standing there. “Where you let power ruin you. This is your punishment.” Damien sat up straighter from his slumped position. Shaun sighed. “Once upon a time, you were called Dusk…”
When the dusk had shrugged off its rosy cowl and nestled itself within the blue beard of night, I rode my motorcycle to the corner of Park and Baker and waited by the small general store sitting by the intersection.
It was cold and I drew my coat closer to me, my breath freezing on my visor. My father was meant to meet me here, ragged and gray and just as I expected him to. But it had been six minutes already past nine and he was nowhere to be seen.
Dusk was upon us, ending the perfect day.
Oh, how I wish this day would go on forever.
Perfectly.
Just wishful thinking, I know. There are no indicators heralding the dawn of a new time. I feel like I’m awake and scared and can’t find the door in the dark night of corporate existence. And yes, tomorrow is another day, and another and another. Dusk, the time of winding down and kicking of the shoes approaches, I was hoping.
a metamorphosis
your saliva
emollient on my skin.
nostalgia from
another world,
the false intimacy of
a
lost
heart.
fumbling hands
and refraction of light off
a stippled ceiling.