Wednesday, August 17, 2011

in your city


i'm in your city
but we don't meet

behind that desk or
on Conners Hill

crowd of thousands
dreadlock thick

across the street
guitar strapped back

passing unknown
like any tired monk

14 comments:

  1. Oh I can see the tired monk with his guitar starp over his shoulder, trudging along, anonymous among the masses. I love these glimpses, Ollie!

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  2. Impossible for me to grow tired of these poems. Nicely done.

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  3. It's the passing unknown that gets me.
    Seems like that's how you pass in a city.
    Nice one, Ollie!

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  4. Love this, "..crowd of thousands
    dreadlock thick.."

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  5. indeed sometimes in the city we are nameless and lifeless...

    lovely one ~

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  6. The more people around, the more invisible and unnoticed one become and vice versa: the less we notice others. You've managed to express the lonely feel of being in a crowd, may as well be on the mountains of Tibet, of course this would be opposite as the loneness comes from overwhelming numbers and noise, and not emptiness and quiet. Thanks for the poem.

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  7. nice imagining of the inconspicuous monk!

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  8. Great one Olie. Together alone. The life of a blues man monk.

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  9. I love ... 'crowd of thousands dreadlock thick'

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