Upon Swanston Street, where footsteps meet,
A lone man walks in midday heat.
With earphones snug and singlet white,
He strides ahead, lost from all sight.
The city's hum fades to a tone,
For in his world, he walks alone.
Eyes widely shut, no glance is thrown—
This is his hour, he is the zone.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 889
In the sun, she moves with quiet grace,
A pram before her, steady pace.
Down Swanston Street where footsteps flow,
Through the city’s midday glow.
The crowd surges, a restless stream,
Shadows flit and windows gleam.
But she — a calm within the tide,
With a plaid of hair swung to one side.
The tram bell rings, the pigeons stir,
Yet all the world slows down for her.
A mother’s rhythm, firm yet light,
Carving day from neon light.
Melbourne pulses, grand and wide,
But still she walks, with time beside.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 888
A flash of lycra, vivid, tight,
A helmet gleams in morning light.
Down Elizabeth, swift and free,
A biker blurs like poetry.
The city hums, the pavement sings,
Wheels spin dreams on fleeting wings.
Steel and flesh in motion blend—
A rush, a roar, the street’s own friend.
Between the buildings tall and gray,
The cyclist carves a fleeting way.
With every pedal, swift and sure,
The pulse of Melbourne rides secure.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 887
Laughter on Bourke
He sat in sun, a man of years,
With laughter loud that chased the fears,
In sunglasses, his joy a flare
That split the noon with blazing care.
Beside him, quiet, his small young son,
A shadow short beneath the sun,
Looked up as if to catch the fire
That lit his father's brief desire.
The street around, a surging tide,
With trams and heels and time's long stride,
Yet in that pause the world stood still—
Just sun and blood, and love’s goodwill.
A city’s heart beat all around,
But sweeter was that human sound:
A father's laugh, deep-cut and real,
That spoke what mouths can’t always feel.
On Bourke they sat, mid noon’s wide sprawl,
Two lives adrift, yet held by all—
By sunlight, kinship, breath, and grace,
And joy that time cannot erase.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 886 This has been one of the top 10 favorite posted on my blog here
(Same poem as yesterday)
A youth with mullet trailing wild,
A cap hung low, the city’s child,
Stood firm where footsteps throng and blur,
His violin his saboteur.
With rosined bow and eyes cast low,
He summoned tunes both fast and slow,
Each note a cry, a silver thread
Unspooling dreams the street had shed.
Behind him flowed the tram’s refrain,
Its bell a chime through smoke and rain,
While cars crawled past in tangled streams,
Oblivious to his stitched dreams.
He played not for applause or coin,
But for the world he might rejoin—
Where echoes rise through autumn's breath,
And songs outlive the hush of death.
Bourke watched in greys and neon hue,
As music flared and nightfall grew.
The crowd passed by, then circled round—
A boy, a bow, defying sound.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out
A youth with mullet trailing wild,
A cap hung low, the city’s child,
Stood firm where footsteps throng and blur,
His violin his saboteur.
With rosined bow and eyes cast low,
He summoned tunes both fast and slow,
Each note a cry, a silver thread
Unspooling dreams the street had shed.
Behind him flowed the tram’s refrain,
Its bell a chime through smoke and rain,
While cars crawled past in tangled streams,
Oblivious to his stitched dreams.
He played not for applause or coin,
But for the world he might rejoin—
Where echoes rise through autumn's breath,
And songs outlive the hush of death.
Bourke watched in greys and neon hue,
As music flared and nightfall grew.
The crowd passed by, then circled round—
A boy, a bow, defying sound.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 885
A Lady on Bourke in Greying Light
Upon the cobbles of Bourke Street fair,
Where trams do hum through autumn air,
A lady passed in monochrome,
Her youth aglow though shades had grown.
She walked alone, yet not alone,
For in her ears sweet tunes had flown,
A Walkman played its whispered song,
A timeworn tape that sang along.
Her tresses curled like drifting flame,
Though black and white concealed her name,
She bore her spoils in papered grace,
From shops agleam in city’s face.
A bum bag slung with no pretense,
‘Twixt fashion’s flair and innocence,
She paused beneath the falling leaves,
As dusk drew in on gentle eves.
No winter yet, but chill in shade,
The light grew thin, yet undismayed,
She danced in step with music’s flow,
A fleeting ghost from long ago.
And though the years may swiftly pass,
Like tramlines threading panes of glass,
Still in that frame she softly stands—
A song, a stroll, two listening hands.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 884 and FACE OFF
In Hosier Lane where colours clash,
Where echoes bloom from spray can’s flash,
A man stood still with cap pulled low,
A camera poised, his eyes aglow.
The walls around were wild and loud,
A canvas shouting to the crowd—
Yet he, alone, in quiet stance,
Beheld it all as if in trance.
Each line, each stroke, each painted name,
To him was more than fleeting flame.
He sought the story, raw and true,
In every burst of red or blue.
No words he spoke, no sound he made,
Just shadows moved where light would fade.
The lens, an eye, both still and wise,
Caught truth in chaos, form in cries.
And though the world just walked on by,
He watched the wall like one who’d try
To read the soul of street and stone—
A man, a cap, a craft, alone.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 883
On Flinders Street in winter's breath,
Where light is low and still as death,
A family walked through morning's grey,
Their shapes cast long in soft decay.
One teenage boy stepped just ahead,
His gaze afar, thoughts loosely spread.
Behind, the father pushed the pram,
Its wheels in rhythm, slow and calm.
A younger child lay nestled deep,
Half-dreaming in a winter sleep.
The city's stir passed all around,
Yet peace within that pram was found.
The mother walked with silent grace,
Dark glasses veiled her watching face.
She turned to me—no smile, no frown,
Just knowing as she looked me down.
No need for words, no need for sound,
The tramline sang, the world spun round.
And in that frame of black and white,
They carried love through morning light.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 882
In Hosier Lane where shadows dwell,
And cobbled streets their secrets tell,
A man and woman paused their stride
To gaze into the sky wide-eyed.
Graffiti flared on every wall,
Yet they saw past the painted sprawl—
Not colours bold or rebel scrawl,
But something vast beyond it all.
Their heads were tilted, side by side,
Their breath a mist the cold supplied.
In black and white the moment stayed,
Two figures caught in light and shade.
What did they seek above the stone?
A passing bird, a world unknown?
The clouds perhaps, or trailing plane,
Or simply wonder, pure, unfeigned.
No words were said, no need to speak,
The silent sky was wide and bleak.
But in that hush, as time slipped by,
They touched the edge of winter’s sky.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 881
Upon a bench on Swanston bare,
Mid winter’s breath and biting air,
An elder woman took her place,
The chill wind tracing 'cross her face.
A cap drawn low o’er silver strands,
A phone held firm in gloved-up hands.
Her coat was thick, her posture sure,
She braved the cold with something pure.
Beside her sat, with polished grace,
A bag that spoke of wealth and place—
Its leather gleamed, its buckles shone,
A thing of means, yet she alone.
She spoke in murmurs, calm, composed,
As trams passed by and daylight dozed.
The city swirled in greys and blacks,
While frost clung tight to tramway tracks.
She seemed a relic, firm and still,
A monument of tempered will.
While winter wrapped the world in white,
She warmed the street with quiet might.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 880
Upon Swanston Street where tram bells chime,
In Melbourne’s heart and city’s prime,
A young chap stands in shirt and cap,
Beside his cart, a silver map.
His hands are quick, his manner keen,
He serves up swirls of cold and cream—
In cones like spires, in bowls like bells,
A moment’s joy his labour tells.
The footpath hums with boots and haste,
Yet here, they pause for sugared taste.
Beneath the clock, beneath the sky,
The city breathes, and time slips by.
A lady laughs, a child grins wide,
The chap with pride stands just beside.
No colours blaze—just black and white,
Yet in this frame, the world feels right.
The tram glides past with iron sigh,
A gull wheels low, then climbs the sky.
And still he stands, his trade the same—
A fleeting joy, a quiet flame.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 879
Beneath the sun on Swanston Street,
Where tramlines hum and footsteps meet,
A dad walks slow with steady hand,
His daughter close, a quiet stand.
Both clad in shirts of shadowed hue,
They thread the light the city threw.
The sun above, the world in gleam,
But in their clasp, a softer dream.
No words exchanged, no need for sound,
Their bond is stitched in steps and ground.
A fleeting glimpse, yet deeply spun—
Two shadows walking through the sun.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 878
On Bourke Street Mall where the city hums,
And midday light on pavement drums,
A young man stands with cap drawn low,
Beside an elder, moving slow.
She rests upon a striped bench, still,
Her hands upon the frame she fills—
A four-wheeled guide through time and pace,
While crowds pass by without a face.
He leans in close, a gentle grace,
Perhaps a word, perhaps embrace.
No need for praise or loud acclaim,
Just quiet care without a name.
Among the trams and hurried feet,
Two lives in stillness gently meet—
A moment soft, of silent art,
Drawn not in speech, but open heart.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 877 and FACE OFF
On Collins Street beneath the glare,
A man with short-cropped wind-tossed hair
Twists his body, leans askew,
As if the sun had split him through.
His eyes are shut, a fleeting shield
Against the blaze the noon revealed.
A T-shirt clings in summer’s heat,
A bag swings low with rhythmic beat.
Behind, the crowd flows like a stream,
Each face absorbed in its own dream.
But he, alone in this brief fight,
Moves through the shimmer, squints at light.
A moment caught—so strangely bright—
Of man and motion, sun and spite.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 877
Inside Collins Arcade, where shadows play,
A boutique glows in monochrome grey.
A gentleman stands, with a beard so neat,
In silence poised, his ritual complete.
Jars and flasks in orderly row,
Spices and oils with a fragrant flow.
His hands, like echoes of time gone past,
Move with care, deliberate and fast.
He measures, pours, then seals with grace,
As if each condiment held a trace
Of old-world charm and whispered lore,
Within that modest Melbourne store.
The arcade hums with ghostly tread,
Footsteps soft where dreams are fed.
And in that frame of black and white,
He works—a figure bathed in light.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 876
A moody lane off La Trobe’s line,
Where shadows stretch and wires entwine,
In monochrome the night is drawn,
A ghost of light before the dawn.
The cobbles slick with echoed rain,
Hold footsteps blurred, half lost in grain,
Each lamp a flicker, pale and stark,
Carves silver shapes into the dark.
No colour dares disturb the scene,
Just black and white and shades between—
A hush, a breath, the city bare,
As if the world forgot to care.
And yet, beneath that ghostly hue,
The night still whispers something true—
That even silence, dim and deep,
Can cradle dreams the dark must keep.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 875
Beneath soft glow of city light,
Four voices stir the gentle night,
Outside a café, tucked away,
Off La Trobe where shadows play.
Four women laugh with easy grace,
The warmth of friendship on each face,
Their stories drift like jasmine tea,
Infused with calm and memory.
A breeze curls past, the hour late,
Yet still they linger, hearts elate—
Their languages in laughter blend,
Where night and kinship never end.
The city hums its quiet tune,
A silver hush beneath the moon,
While in that moment, clear and true,
The world feels kind and fleeting too.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out
Beneath the dim of La Trobe’s light,
A man steps into Melbourne night,
His shadow long, his pace is slow,
Past rusted walls in lantern glow.
A weathered hat sits firm with grace,
Drawn low to guard his silent face,
The cobblestones echo his tread,
Like whispers from the days long dead.
The building stands with timbers worn,
Its frame of history cracked and torn,
A relic of some bygone year,
Still holding secrets no one hears.
He does not glance, nor turn around,
Just fades into the sleeping sound—
A figure draped in time’s own thread,
Alive with ghosts, yet half-way dead.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 873
A woman, smuck smile playing coy,
Threads the night on Latrobe’s ploy,
Beneath the argent veil of gloom,
She weaves through shadows, soft as bloom.
Her presence—ghostly chiaroscuro—
Etched in black and white’s soft furrow,
A fleeting waltz of light and shade,
Where time itself seems dimly swayed.
Behind her, silent, stilled in breath,
A man absorbs the night’s bequeath—
That sly curl, that knowing gleam,
A whispered riddle, half a dream.
On Melbourne’s street where darkness sighs,
She moves—a secret in his eyes.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 872
