A little boy rides his scooter slow,
Wheels whisper soft on streets below.
Across Exhibition, bold and wide,
He glides with wonder, dad by his side.
Monochrome holds the city still,
Time in grayscale bends to will.
Shadows stretch, the tram bells chime,
They move as if outside of time.
His father’s hand, a steady guide,
Through crosswalks where the moments bide.
A boy, a scooter, a world to claim—
In black and white, he writes his name.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 894
On Hosier Lane where the murals breathe,
A man walks uphill with sunlight sheathed—
Gleaming shades on his silent face,
Each step wrapped in the lane’s embrace.
His wife beside, her hand in his own,
Two shadows stretching on cobblestone.
She leans like memory, soft and near,
He leads like time with nothing to fear.
The walls around burst wild with hue,
But they move quiet, just passing through—
A moment framed in a painted land,
Love uphill, hand in hand.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 892 and FACE OFF
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
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 and FACE OFF
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
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 city hums and glows,
A lady walks, her footsteps soft and slow.
Her back to us, a bag swung by her side,
She moves with grace where bustling crowds reside.
Through glass and light of Melbourne’s evening gleam,
She enters in, a quiet, fleeting dream.
The restaurant’s warm doors part wide and clear,
Inviting her to moments held sincere.
In urban pulse where stories intertwine,
She walks unseen, a figure by design.
A glimpse, a step — the city’s gentle beat,
A dance of life where strangers and paths meet.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 862
Thick jumper wraps a weary frame,
A middle-aged man, no rush, no aim.
Down Swanston Street he drifts alone,
Among the crowds, yet still unknown.
The city hums, the footsteps blend,
Each step a story, no clear end.
In worn threads wrapped against the chill,
He moves through life, steadfast and still.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 842 and FACE OFF
Parade in Luoyang
In Luoyang’s heart, where ages sleep,
The cobbled streets their secrets keep;
And through the gate of ancient stone,
The echoes stir, the past is shown.
Men in robes of crimson thread,
With phoenix crowns upon their head,
Move proud beneath the lantern light—
A river flowing, bold and bright.
Their footsteps speak of kings and clay,
Of dynasties long passed away;
Yet here they march, in rhythm deep,
As if the land itself would weep.
Old town awakes in silk and song,
And time itself walks slow, and long.
Fujifilm Pro2
16-55mm f2.8
Check out Candid 829 and FACE OFF
Beneath the sunless Melbourne sky, he stood,
A crew-cut crown above his collar’s hood.
In monochrome, the city stilled its breath,
As lens and light danced near the edge of death.
He held a phone—his compass, guiding grace—
Among the stone and steel, he found his place.
Little Collins hummed with hurried feet,
While ghostly echoes marched in blur and beat.
To left, the buildings bowed in warped delight,
Their edges twisted, bending out of sight.
No architect had dreamt such curving lines—
It was the shutter’s spell, not man's designs.
A fastened eye, wide-open to the day,
Had caught the moment men would drift away.
The sensor’s speed, in chasing fleeting form,
Distorted calm, reshaped the city’s norm.
To right, a Coles truck idled, humming low,
Its crimson name now cloaked in shadow's glow.
Behind the man, a tide of life did swell—
A straddled bag, a story yet to tell.
And in this frame of fleeting time and grace,
A world unmeant found stillness in its place.
The camera wept what eyes could never keep:
The dream of day now locked in grayscale sleep.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 821
His face is split by the camera’s frame,
Caught side-on, unnamed, a flicker, a flame.
He walks too fast, a ghost in flight,
Slipping through the edge of sight.
Behind him, Hosier hums and calls,
Graffiti and murals crowd the walls—
A riot of colour, a frozen shout,
As he blurs past, fading out.
Sony A7RV
FE 35mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 820
Morning spills on Swanston Street,
Shadows stretch where footsteps meet.
Golden light, a soft ballet,
Across the tiles in quiet display.
Pedestrians pass in restless streams,
Drawn by duties, hopes, and dreams.
An elder moves with practiced grace,
Time etched deep upon his face.
To the right, his steady pace—
A calm within the urban race.
Opposite, young and still, a man,
Hair in a bun, lost in his plan.
They share a stage of tiled stone,
Together, yet each walks alone.
Two eras pause, the morning hums—
And city life in silence drums.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 816
On Russell Street where broths arise,
Steam curls beneath the dusky skies.
Each door a portal, warm and wide,
To ramen dreams that boil inside.
A gentleman in sweater thread,
With thoughtful steps and quiet tread,
Descends the lane in twilight's art,
And bites into a humble tart.
Its filling sweet, its crust so fine,
A subtle dance of fruit and brine.
While savory scents around him float,
He savors both—what shops promote,
And sweetness crumbling at his throat.
So moves he through that evening fair,
With tart in hand and ramen air—
A fusion walk of taste and time,
On Russell’s road, half prose, half rhyme.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 814
He strolls beneath the Southern sun,
An overseas son,
Tinted shades veiling his gaze,
As trams hum past in Swanston haze.
Before the Town Hall's solemn face,
He drifts, a stranger in this place—
Half in thought, half in scene,
Lost between what might have been.
Beside the curb, in floral rows,
The plastic petals primly pose,
Ever-blooming, never real,
Mocking time with cheap appeal.
Tax-fed blossoms, oddly proud,
Rootless beauty drawing crowd—
He walks by, unfazed, alone,
In a city never quite his own.
Sony A7RV
FE 35mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 813
On Swanston Street beneath the sky,
A young man scrolls as strangers pass by.
His eyes are fixed on a glowing screen,
Lost in a world that can't be seen.
Behind him stands a quiet gaze,
An Asian man in the city's haze.
He looks ahead with steady grace,
Unmoved by time, in his own place.
A delivery bike rests by the wall,
Wheels stilled in the evening sprawl.
Moments pause in the city’s hum—
Stories unfold, then swiftly come undone.
Sony A7RV
FE 35mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 812 and FACE OFF
A young man walks with quiet grace,
Uphill he climbs, a steady pace.
Through Hosier Lane, where colors speak,
A canvas worn, where walls are sleek.
His sneakers tap on pavement old,
Among the spray of stories bold.
Each step he takes, a thought untold,
As graffiti whispers secrets cold.
Eyes lost in dreams, not bound by time,
In this wild world, he seeks a rhyme.
The street is loud, yet calm his soul,
A part of art, yet still whole.
His journey’s steep, but in his mind,
The answers wait, the peace he’ll find.
And through the walls, with hues so bright,
He walks, untangling day from night.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 810
A tall, slender man in a suit so neat,
Glides down Swanston with echoing feet.
His coat catches wind like a fleeting thought,
A figure of grace the morning forgot.
Phone in his hand, face lit by the screen,
Eyes on the glow, lost in the sheen.
Among the crowd, yet utterly lone,
Each soul adrift in a world of their own.
Trams hum past with a city’s refrain,
Umbrellas bloom in a whisper of rain.
The old stones watch with quiet delight,
At men made of flesh but minds made of light.
So he walks, like the rest—plugged and apart—
A shadow of steel with a fast-beating heart.
In the dance of the modern, the digital stream,
Reality bends like a half-faded dream.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 806
Down Little Bourke, mid city’s hum,
A man walks on, his fingers numb.
His hairline fades with time’s embrace,
Yet focus lights his solemn face.
Eyes fixed upon the glowing screen,
Unmoved by all the urban scene,
He drifts through crowds in silent zone,
A world away, yet not alone.
Sony A7RV
FE 35mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 805
Upon Lonsdale Street, in twilight's shade,
A weary man, mid-years and grey,
With bottle dark in hand he strayed,
Its label long since peeled away.
A heavy sack upon his arm,
With secrets cloaked in cloth and thread,
He moved with neither haste nor charm,
Where quiet city footsteps led.
His beard was worn by time’s slow tide,
Now streaked with ash, with silver lined,
And through a strolling pair he tried
To weave his path, as if inclined—
By purpose strange, or whims unknown,
He wandered on, yet not alone.
Sony A7RV
FE 35mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 803
Amid the rush on Swanston Street,
Where countless footsteps rise and meet,
A thousand faces glance and stray,
All chasing time, then swept away.
But through the tide of shifting heads,
Two walkers move like silver threads.
Their gaze is fixed, their posture proud,
Alone in focus, through the crowd.
No screens, no signs to draw their eyes,
They walk beneath the Melbourne skies,
As if they see a distant shore,
A quiet truth, a something more.
While city hums in scattered thought,
Their silent stride says all it ought—
In chaos, calm; in drift, direction,
Two souls in step with introspection.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Check out Candid 798
