Andrew James Whalan

Poet Blogger Writer

Category: People

Never Unknown Again

You know I'm staring at you
Though you won't look at me
Your head is bowed low
Over Candy Crush or TV

I can wait with my empty cup
You'll remember, you'll see
You'll bob your head up
And stare full back at me

And when our eyes meet yet again
We'll create our own serenity
Only for another three seconds
That last another eternity

Never unknown again.


Light, Inspiration and Chocolate : Vivid Sydney 2016

On a reluctant impulse, I went to Vivid Sydney on a Sunday night (29th May 2016). I would have preferred to stay home. I would have preferred a movie. In either case I was too tired for both and decided against falling asleep for money at the Dendy Cinemas.

Rather than feeling sorry for myself too much, I took the train to Vivid.  Once the sun departed, Vivid announced itself as a post sunset dance of light. The Harbour Bridge lit from end to end glowing and flashing to a new rhythm.

The Opera House patterned in colours and pictures. I managed a sideways glimpse.

Crane your neck to see Vivid at the Opera House

Crane your neck to see Vivid at the Opera House

I managed to take two photos before my phone ran out of battery. Worse, than that, I checked my pockets and I had left my spare charger behind me. Fate was against me that night it seemed.

Which meant I had to watch Vivid without a camera. Which meant too that I was in the minority. Most people were snapping and selfieing? and I thought to myself ruefully, they are welcome to it.

Which meant I had to knuckle down and enjoy the experience. And have fun.  So  I had fun, though reluctantly at first.

I first noticed the parents oohing and aahing over the light shows to their children. They had put aside their cameras and phones to create a moment instead of capturing one. Then I noticed the cathedral in the Botanic Gardens! It was beautiful and mesmerising.

I retraced my steps and watched the people queue up for a mini sound light show. And noted their bemused expressions as they exited. And children playing music by foot at an interactive exhibit.

And then I recalled randomly a house-sit I did for an artist. Her house was that eclectic mix of colour and shapes that attaches itself to an artist rather than the other way around. It had an ambience that flowed through to me. And Vivid was doing that to me now.

I wasn’t tired anymore. I wasn’t reluctant anymore. I didn’t want to go home.

Martin Place : Gotham City to the Bat Cave

And in the midst of that new atmosphere, it happened. While walking from the Botanic Gardens to Martin Place, a story I had sent away returned to me.

I had attempted to expand this story. But I was dissatisfied with every possibility and have given up. All that was left were some pages of scribbled lines.

As I’m walking up Macquarie Street, it is now being told to me in its entirety. Which annoys me somewhat as it is too much to remember. I have neither phone nor pad nor pen to record it. Luckily I find a convenience store and buy what I need.

Yes that’s me crouched over a pad, scribbling furiously while eating a Drumstick : inspired by chocolate and Vivid.

Waiting for The Sequel

A Not So Crowded TrainOn a not-so-crowded train. She is the only one standing. Back pressed against the only space that is neither seat nor door. Light brown curly but wiry hair, clear open face, same colour eyes (my best guess as far as I can see), all fully engrossed and engaged.

The bumps and lurches of the train don’t bother her. She just doesn’t lose balance. She sways slightly to the rhythm of the carriage. She is not dancing though. Perhaps inwardly.

Her head is bowed. As if in prayer or contemplation.  And her forehead is smooth. Her face serene. And I watch to see if she will raise her head. It’s not just to look at her face.  For I’m curious as to her quiet calm and innate peace. Now she is even more fully engrossed and engaged. With her hands held up in front of her.

Not a newspaper. Not a smart phone. Not a magazine. Not even one of those slate-sized flickering whispering mini TVs.

For a second, time stops and everything around her is removed. So much so that I stop and wonder and look again.  Yes, now I know what it is. It’s like she’s behind a lectern. She’s reading. A tattered dog-eared hardback with yellow threads fraying the red cover. No title that I can see. The Story

I wait to see if she’ll read what holds her so aloud.

For the last person that held out a book like that let me read it.

And I wanted to read it aloud : it was that good…a children’s book too…

Perhaps I’m waiting for the sequel.

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