i)
few quick j-strokes
keeping steady
on early lake waters
battered shoe box
rattles and slides
as the canoe leans
the tired monk
glides, slows, drifts
by the cliff side
they shear and plunge
cold water deep
night dark deep
the tired monk
shakes the box
over the side
ill gotten - ill made
compasses sink
into walleye depths
ii)
only one compass remains
wrapped in tired monk robes
And one is all you need if it is pointing the right way. I love your poems, Ollie.
ReplyDeletegreat one Ollie, awesome imagery.
ReplyDeleteAh, at least ONE remained. You don't need more.
ReplyDeleteOld Ollie,
ReplyDeleteIt seems like the tired monk can be trusted to preserve the important things in life and to give direction.
Eileen
...makes me think the compass he kept is his heart. Loved this.
ReplyDeleteWhat on earth was a monk doing with ill-gotten stuff!
ReplyDeleteNice, though. Me like. Had to smile.
You really know how to paint a picture-- this is beautiful!
ReplyDeleteI like what's said without saying in that last portion. Well done!
ReplyDelete