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
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
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
Three girls walk Swanston’s busy way,
Two masked to guard, in cautious sway.
A shadow lingers, unseen but near,
Yet friendship’s light shines bright and clear.
Through Melbourne’s streets, they move with care,
Aware, alert, a silent prayer.
In masks they wear, both shield and sign—
Of strength and hope through troubled time.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 843
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
On Swanston Street where city sounds swell,
An Indian man, mid-step, begins to tell
A story through static, phone to ear,
His laughter soft, but bright and clear.
On the other side, a cluster stands—
School kids with backpacks, restless hands.
Their eyes are lifted, faces aglow,
At something above they yearn to know.
Perhaps it’s a tram, or a statue’s grin,
Or clouds that dream where thoughts begin.
Each child still in a world so wide,
A marvel caught on the city’s side.
And in that frame, both calm and cheer,
Life strolls by in layers clear—
A street, a glance, a drifting tone,
Where moments meet but walk alone.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Check out Candid 841
A young woman drifts through the noon-lit stream,
Eyes aglow with a digital dream.
Her fingers dance on a glowing screen,
Unaware of the city's breathing scene.
A slender man with a luxury sway,
Carries brands like banners on display.
His coat is tailored, his pace refined,
Chasing desire by design.
An old man walks with eyes set far,
Past trams and shops and the coffee bar.
He sees the street as it used to be—
Before it buzzed with screens and spree.
The footpath hums beneath their feet,
Time unfolding on Swanston Street.
Past and present softly blend—
Strangers passing, end to end.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 840
A young man stood on Swanston Street,
With hopeful eyes and restless feet.
Magazines clutched in quiet plea,
A voice half-raised to beckon me.
I met his glance, then looked away,
A silent truth too sharp to say.
He saw it then—no words were said,
Just something gentle in the head.
A flicker passed across his face,
Not anger, just a touch of grace.
The kind that knows the world is wide,
And strangers often must decide.
The crowd flowed on, the trams rolled past,
Yet in that moment, time held fast.
A story paused, then moved once more—
A quiet echo from the core.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
Check out Candid 839
Down a classic lane off Swanston Street,
Where echoing steps and cobbles meet,
The ceiling arches, fine and grand,
Like lacework shaped by patient hand.
Soft light filters through the mellow air,
And whispers stir the café chair.
A few souls linger, cups in hand,
In no great rush, no strict demand.
They sip, they talk, or sometimes stare,
At passersby or simply air.
Each moment hangs in quiet grace,
A hidden world, a resting place.
While just beyond, the city swells,
With tram bells, calls, and market yells—
Here peace resides, a lane apart,
Where coffee warms both hands and heart.
Sony A7RV
FE 24mm 1.4 GM
Check out Candid 837
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
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
At Koko’s joint on Swanston Street,
Where sunny skies and warmth greet,
Two ladies work with steady grace,
Preparing joy in every place.
The chocolate melts in tender care,
A rich aroma fills the air.
Australian-owned, their craft refined,
A sweeter moment hard to find.
The sun shines bright on city lanes,
As cocoa swirls through summer’s veins.
In Koko’s hands, the cups are warm,
A perfect blend, a cozy charm.
Beneath the sun, the world moves fast,
But here, in peace, the moment lasts.
Hot chocolate served with care and cheer,
In Melbourne’s heart, it’s crystal clear.
Sony A7RV
FE 35mm f1.4 GM
Check out Candid 811
He walks where the city forgets to dream,
Off Swanston’s pulse, in a side-street seam.
An old man carved from dusk and ache,
Thin as memory, too brittle to break.
Beret tilted like a wounded crown,
Eyes cast low, like the heavens frown.
Each step a whisper, each breath a thread,
The living ghost of a life half-dead.
In his hand—O fate!—a paper curled,
Tight as secrets that once rocked the world.
Is it a letter? A map? A name?
A poem never read, or a war’s last flame?
The trams don’t pause for men like this,
Worn to the bone by what they miss.
Yet still he moves, through wind and grime,
Dragging behind the weight of time.
No one sees him—just a blur,
Of beret, bones, and something sirred.
But somewhere deep, the city knows,
He walks with all its buried prose.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Check out Candid 809 and FACE OFF
A young chap strides with a rhythm bold,
Curly hair wild, like stories untold.
Down Swanston Street where the city hums,
He walks to the beat of invisible drums.
Large earphones wrap his head in sound,
A private concert as feet meet ground.
Dock pants swish with a casual flair,
Swagger of youth, breeze in the air.
The trams roll by, the pigeons flee,
But he's lost in a world only he can see.
Basslines bounce through his steady pace,
A grin half-formed on his traveler's face.
Melbourne moves with its usual din,
But he’s wrapped in music, deep within.
Not chasing time, just catching a vibe,
A living pulse in the city's tribe.
Sony A7RV
FE 135mm f1.8 GM
Check out Candid 807
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
On Swanston Street, a scene unfolds,
A man with ear pods, a story untold,
Nibbling banquette, with focus keen,
A modern dance, where tech meets cuisine.
Two young men stroll with ease in tow,
Ear pods snug, as the world flows,
Lost in their rhythm, with nothing to say,
Just the pulse of the city, guiding their way.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Check out Candid 800
I had to turn on full moderation for comments now. I just received over 160 spams in my comments yesterday. This is really terrible.
He cuts through Swanston, sharp and fast,
A midday blur that’s built to last.
His blazer lifts, a sailing wing,
Caught in the city's bustling swing.
Lunch in hand—a humble prize,
Foam container, warm and wise.
Steam curls up like fleeting dreams,
Between the shops and tram bell screams.
The clock, it chases; he won't yield,
A soldier of the office field.
In every stride, a mission clear,
To beat the hour, to disappear.
Yet in that flight, a quiet grace,
A dance of motion, time, and place—
Where hunger meets the weekday grind,
And Swanston watches, half-aligned.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 GM
Check out Candid 799
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
