Thursday, June 2, 2011

bell hill bench



a few scattered campers
climb
out of misty lake shores

towel bundled
sandy feet
quick wave

up past the
old cabins
full of slow sounds
as the others wake

one more hill
to that memorial bench
beside the oft rung bell

on that bench
a small plaque
with the fading name
of the previous tired monk

15 comments:

  1. Tremendously touching, Ollie...I love the last verse! And your words evoke a past time and place...took me back to warm, misty mornings in Ontario when we first emigrated and summer promised to stretch on forever...

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  2. aw. and ya know, you're supposed to do stuff to maintain these benches, they deteriorate. like a tired monk. or a tired mama.

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  3. i stole your tag on purpose. maybe i should link that part to here.

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  4. I love your philosophical tired monk poems, Ollie. There is a memorial bench in my town too, with someone's name fading away.......

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  5. This bench was put there for my friend Marc - he was also the topic of my first Blog...he was a truly awesome Tired Monk.

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  6. Actually...my 3rd...thanks Peeps.

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  7. It seems memorial plaques always wear away...oftentimes way too soon.

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  8. This reminds me of a memorial bench with my father in law's name on it by the NJ shore. I always wonder about who will maintain it because we live so far away. It's sad to see those benches with the fading names, sort of like fading memories...

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  9. Ollie, I love it and you have a plaque for the Old Monk, nicely done~! A tribute to the monk's life; reflection of nature's gifts! Nice job~

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  10. This is lovely. When sitting on a bench with a memorial plaque I often wonder of the history behind it.

    Anna :o]

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  11. and is that plaque made of moss
    and is that writing
    growth and death

    i love the slow unfolding of this
    as i love the slow unfolding of mornings near the lake

    xo
    erin

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  12. An empty bench, just sitting there waiting - love that image, Ollie.

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  13. your poems are always so crisp and apt and thought provoking. loved the image.

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  14. Old Ollie,

    Nothing less than respect for the bench and the memory attached to it.

    Eileen

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  15. Lovely. Finely observed, your poem - and of the picture as well. I completely missed the plaque there - and you made such a lovely poem out of it. Thanks.

    Richard

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