Off Exhibition, the city’s hum,
Where lights command and footsteps drum.
A man in shades, like silver screen,
Stands with his boy, a tender scene.
They wait for green, the crossing’s call,
The child’s small hand enclosed in all.
Beside them stands, with comic air,
A hat askew, a traveller there.
He tugs his strap, adjusts his load,
A wanderer upon the road.
Two moments caught, yet worlds apart—
The star, the fool, both play their part.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 921
A man had his cheek supported by his right hand in front of apple laptop on collins st cafe looking beyond side way in melb
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 897
A bald waiter moves with silent grace,
Wiping down each coffee trace.
On the Causeway where footsteps blend,
He tends the tables end to end.
A flick of cloth, a tilted plate,
He works beneath the café's weight.
The city's hum, the clink of cups,
The morning slowly gathering up.
No spotlight shines, no curtain call,
Yet in his rhythm, dignity tall.
A quiet craft, no need for fame—
Just honest work beneath his name.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 895
On Little Lonsdale, under silver skies, he stands
A bald man in suit, with upturned eyes and hands.
A microphone clutched like a herald’s call,
Words poised to rise above city’s sprawl.
A leather strapbag hugs his side, worn deep,
Stories stitched in folds it’s sworn to keep.
The satchel slung with a scholar’s grace,
Heavy with maps of a wandering place.
He does not speak, but listens to air,
To trams that sing and the footfall’s prayer.
In the hush between towers’ glass and stone,
He finds a pulpit in being alone.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 891
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
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
From LaTrobe’s spine, a side street bends,
Where city’s edge and evening blends—
And there beneath the sodium light,
A gathering stirs the breath of night.
Outdoor tables, silver-clad,
Hold bowls half-full and glasses glad.
The diners speak in gentle rings,
Their laughter softened, fluttering wings.
But some have left their seats behind,
As if compelled by idle mind;
They drift among the chairs like breeze,
A loosened rhythm, aimless ease.
One lifts a glass, then walks away,
Another stands mid-thought, mid-sway—
As though the street itself might call
To taste the quiet in its thrall.
The waiters weave like ghosts through light,
Their trays afloat in charcoal night,
While overhead, the buildings lean
Like silent elders in between.
No haste, no hush—just human tide
That ebbs through Melbourne’s darker side.
A city’s pulse, low-lit, alive,
Where strangers sit, and stories thrive.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 870
Off LaTrobe Street, where trams glide past
And Melbourne hums its stories fast,
A window holds a quiet frame—
Two figures lit by candle flame.
Night presses soft against the glass,
As strangers in the dark hours pass,
But here, within this warm-lit cave,
A pause—the kind that silence gave.
He leans, his right hand props his face,
Time draped across him, slow and base.
Eyes half-lost in drifting thought,
In words unsaid or battles fought.
She bows her gaze toward the plate,
A woman caught in inward state.
The silver waits, the wine grows thin,
But she has turned somewhere within.
They do not speak; they do not smile—
They sit apart across the tile
Of linen white and shadows low,
Two souls in dinner's afterglow.
Outside, the city does not care,
It flickers, breathes, and fills the air.
But here—a stillness sharp and deep,
Like love that lingers, half-asleep.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 869
Beneath a bleached and silent sky,
LaTrobe Street hums a mournful sigh—
The past, half-laced with soot and steam,
Unfolds itself like some half-waking dream.
He walks alone, a ciphered man,
In coat of dusk and twilight’s span;
A brimmed hat veils his spectral gaze,
A face half-lost in London's haze.
He bears the shape of myth unwound,
Of orphaned tales on hallowed ground,
And though no wand adorns his hand,
He moves as though he might command
The dust to lift, the bricks to speak,
The ghosts that gather once a week.
Behind him leans a weathered place,
A structure smudged with time’s embrace—
Its windows dull with decades’ grime,
Its arches carved by soot and rhyme.
He does not pause, nor glance behind,
A pilgrim stitched from page and mind.
Not Harry, no—but someone born
From ink, from fog, from books well-worn.
And all around, the grayscale clings,
As if to quiet magic’s wings—
Yet still he walks, and still we yearn,
For spells to stir, and clocks to turn.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 868
On Latrobe Street, where night winds glide,
Three ladies sit on the porch outside.
Their laughter dances in the dusky air,
Beneath soft lamps with gentle stare.
By the bar, where windows breathe—
No glass to shield the night’s cool wreath—
Two ladies linger, drinks in hand,
Their voices hushed like ocean sand.
Melbourne hums a quiet tune,
Neon glow and silver moon.
Five souls in city’s evening gleam,
Framed in a poet’s fleeting dream.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 860
Through glass, I gaze where lights softly gleam,
A penthouse perch above the stream
Of La Trobe’s hum, where city sighs
Rise gently under dusking skies.
Inside, a hush before the flare—
The kitchen stirs with quiet care.
White coats move in a measured dance,
A prelude born of skill and chance.
Knives whisper, steam begins to climb,
Cocktails shimmer, caught in time.
Laughter waits in crystal’s ring,
As chefs and waiters, deft, unseen,
Prepare the night’s unfolding art—
Each plate a story, every start
A promise scented, warm, and bright,
Beneath the Melbourne evening light.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 858
A flicker, a blur in black and white,
LaTrobe Street hums with ghostly light.
Figures drift through evening’s haze,
Like dreams that walk in city’s maze.
Costumes swirl in shadowed gleam,
Half-seen faces from a fevered dream.
Masks and laughter, heels that glide,
Through the grayscale pulse of Melbourne’s side.
Sequins shimmer, then disappear,
Caught in headlight ghosts that veer.
A cape, a crown, a tangled wig —
Moments vanish, faint and big.
No color names the scene tonight,
Just monochrome and borrowed light.
A party spills from time and street,
Where strangers in disguise all meet.
The tram-line hums a distant song,
While blurred legs dance the night along.
And memory holds what lens can't keep —
A moving dream, half-lost in sleep.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 855
On Latrobe Street, where night chills bite,
A chap pulls on his jumper tight.
The breeze slips through the urban sprawl,
And winter whispers over all.
Beside him, in the lamplight's gleam,
Another sits, lost in his stream—
Of stories, laughs, a slanted grin,
A glass of spirit clutched within.
The clink of ice, the breath of gin,
The warmth that stirs somewhere within.
Though cold may creep through coat and bone,
He speaks as if he's not alone.
The city hums, the footfalls fade,
As if this moment's gently made—
Two friends, a street, the hour deep,
While Melbourne rocks itself to sleep.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 853
On Latrobe Street where the echoes fall,
A winter hush cloaks over all.
A lady stands in noir attire,
Her voice a flame, her breath a fire.
Beneath her coat, the world grows still,
Each note she casts bends time and will.
Beside her, fingers strum the night—
A guitar sings of loss and light.
The city's pulse slows to her song,
A whispered place where hearts belong.
Footsteps pause in drifting air,
Drawn to music soft and rare.
In shadows deep, her chorus blooms,
A velvet sound that clears the gloom.
On Latrobe Street, the cold and gray
Are warmed by what her voice can say.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 851
An alley off of Little Bourke,
Where silence wraps the city's murk,
The night breathes low in amber hue,
Street lamps cast their solemn view.
Their golden halos gently fall
On cobblestones, worn smooth and small,
Each stone a story, soft and old,
Of boots and dreams, of hands grown cold.
Shadows stretch along the lane,
In quiet rhythm, soft as rain.
The city's hum is far, then near—
A breath, a step, a whisper clear.
Here secrets cling to brick and wall,
Where time forgets to move at all.
In Melbourne's heart, in hush and gleam,
The alley hums a half-lost dream.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 580
Off Latrobe where city sighs,
a narrow shop in quiet lies.
The signs still blink, but softer now—
night has pressed its cooling brow.
Inside, two figures side by side
share sweet reflections, open-eyed.
A spoon dips slow through colors stacked:
green, red, gold beans gently packed.
"Three Traffic Lights," the menu said—
a playful name for what's been fed
through childhood lanes and summer's heat,
revived here on this quiet street.
The night leans in, the window's gloss
reflects them both in sugared loss,
as if the past had found a way
to join them in their glass parfait.
No need for talk, just taste and glance—
a small dessert, a brief romance
with memory, beneath the glow
of Melbourne’s hush and neon flow.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 849
Off Elizabeth, where neon hums
and tram-line dreams in silence come,
a storefront glows with muted grace,
its glass a veil, its light a face.
Inside, a stillness thick and bare—
few figures sit in twilight's care.
By tiled wall and table’s end,
they dine in hush, like time’s own friends.
Their shadows lean with gentle weight,
as if they’ve paused the hands of fate.
Steam curls soft from bowls held near,
warmth the only sound to hear.
No words disturb the breathing light,
just silhouettes against the night—
their stories hinted, not yet told,
in Melbourne’s chill, in silence bold.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 848
Latrobe Street Evenings
On Latrobe Street, beneath the night’s soft sigh,
Where city lights like fireflies fly,
Three ladies sit where stories steep—
Outside the café, no time for sleep.
Steam curls from mugs of cocoa warm,
Their laughter weaves through twilight’s charm.
In shawls and smiles, the news they share
Dances gently in the brisk night air.
The trams hum low, the streetlights gleam,
Their words float out like part of a dream.
Between sips and secrets, time slips slow—
In Melbourne’s heart, under lamplight’s glow.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 847 and FACE OFF
