Thursday, August 2, 2012

a purge

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


8 comments:

  1. And one is all you need if it is pointing the right way. I love your poems, Ollie.

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  2. great one Ollie, awesome imagery.

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  3. Ah, at least ONE remained. You don't need more.

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  4. Old Ollie,

    It seems like the tired monk can be trusted to preserve the important things in life and to give direction.

    Eileen

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  5. ...makes me think the compass he kept is his heart. Loved this.

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  6. What on earth was a monk doing with ill-gotten stuff!
    Nice, though. Me like. Had to smile.

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  7. You really know how to paint a picture-- this is beautiful!

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  8. I like what's said without saying in that last portion. Well done!

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Thanks for helping with the development of Olsonomics.