End frame

I wrote a poem earlier today about the view from my window, which you can read here, but the scene has changed; it’s almost dark now, so here’s the new view. For dverse.

wild sunset

The frame is the same,

each moment captured, different;

wild colour, this, after windy day.


Each moment trembles

on the brink of the past,

clouds drift, changing shape,


sun sinks, night rises,

and when the dark hand

quenches the light, the day will be done,


the cow gone back to the barn,

and the hedges will rustle

with all the things we will never see.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

50 thoughts on “End frame”

  1. Oh, this is really lovely and beautifully depicted throughout your words. I absolutely love the transition from day to night, and of course, the in-between of the sun-set. It’s fascinating to see how the picture is translated in your poem; it’s like a splash of vibrancy and color. So evocative.

    What a beautiful take on the prompt. It’s amazing.

  2. Great piece Jane. I particularly liked the gothic elements – ‘the dark hand’ ‘all those things we’ll never see’ in the hedges. And ‘Each moment trembles / on the brink of the past’ perfectly captures the melancholy beauty of late evening – as in your photo. Lovely stuff. Thank you.

  3. I love the allusion to the rustles in the hedges! Dusk is one of my favorite times of day, and you’ve described it well.

  4. You had me at “when the dark hand quenches the light, the day will be done.” I did not read the earlier poem, but I certainly enjoyed this one.

  5. Love the framing of those moments, from day to night, with the changing clouds. I like the symmetry of these hands with:

    when the dark hand

    quenches the light

  6. I read the other poem first and loved it – this one is equally expressive and in the moment. One window could be enough for any number of poems and stories. I love the alliteration in β€˜wild colour, this, after windy day’, the lines:
    β€˜Each moment trembles
    on the brink of the past’,
    and the oh so quiet ending.

  7. I suppose there’s a house-building reason why it’s called a window frame. But it works as irony for what we behold through it, the art of outside. We get to engage other senses in addition to sight; we can smell, maybe taste, certainly hear what’s happening. I’m especially drawn to where we are at the end of the poem, pondering the sights and sounds we’ll never solve.

    1. Thank you. There are mysteries we obsess about like the Loch Ness monster and the Templars’ gold, and others, like what is moving through the hedge at midnight, that we don’t care about. Maybe it’s for the best.

  8. what a beautiful sunset and great words depicting this lovely transition between day and night!! i absolutely love this post! thank you for sharingπŸ’ž

    Follow @everythingtips for tips and recommendations if interested! It would mean a lot to me!πŸ₯ΊπŸ€

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