Poems by Brother Ollie: the Tired Monk
Yes. Me, too. The heavy wet monk's robe speaks to me. The weight of it. Yet we keep on.
Yes me too...something's going on...I'm picking up on it and aint good !
You were so right, when you said that your poem would fit the theme of the Pantry. I, too, understand that heaviness, that dragging... I'm so ready for light.
That heaviness. Like a soul made of stone. Like time as an anchor. Monk will rise again with a breaking sun.
Time to be still, rest – and gird the loins for whatever comes next?
Time for R&R and come back refreshed for the coming day.
Back for another read, Ollie. Still tired, too.
The heaviness of a wet robe—what an apt description.
Thanks for helping with the development of Olsonomics.
Yes. Me, too. The heavy wet monk's robe speaks to me. The weight of it. Yet we keep on.
ReplyDeleteYes me too...something's going on...I'm picking up on it and aint good !
ReplyDeleteYou were so right, when you said that your poem would fit the theme of the Pantry. I, too, understand that heaviness, that dragging... I'm so ready for light.
ReplyDeleteThat heaviness. Like a soul made of stone. Like time as an anchor. Monk will rise again with a breaking sun.
ReplyDeleteTime to be still, rest – and gird the loins for whatever comes next?
ReplyDeleteTime for R&R and come back refreshed for the coming day.
ReplyDeleteBack for another read, Ollie. Still tired, too.
ReplyDeleteThe heaviness of a wet robe—what an apt description.
ReplyDelete