Poems by Brother Ollie: the Tired Monk
Oh, no wonder the monk gets tired! Those youngsters!
The first stanza is just charged. You can feel the brink of the fight.
To let them fight or not fight? Hmmm. I don't know the right answer, but I do know fights make nauseous. I never could seem to stomach them.
we are not the pristine peace lovers we would have us to be and so with this energy who is the hypocrite? let it flow sweet man. let it flow beyond us. and then, our moment...it's hard to accept. it's a bitter pill.xoerin
Thanks, Humbucker. I get the message. I have left the corner to fight somemore.SC
I could sense the tension in the opening lines. Great job!
These really are the existential questions. Always a boxing match nonetheless.
"lace gloves"...even though I know your metaphor is about boxing, I am flashing on Victorian ladies with parasols, sniping at each other while gazing serenely out to sea...
let them have at it, otherwise they may just wait, better youa re there to pick up the pieces of their folly...
Sorting out the fight is never easy, and everybody hates the referee, but it keeps things sane.
Thanks for helping with the development of Olsonomics.