Knowledge Management, a poem

On Swanston Street, at lunch time, I asked Angelina for a poem …

NSW 2015

Katoomba 2780

New Year's Day, the Clarendon Hotel, Katoomba

the place hung over from last night’s Fire and Ice ball, the numbers at breakfast have swelled

newspapers parade New Year firework extravaganzas, positive messages and exhortations -

please let there be no more planes swallowed whole by the sea,

no more reporting of the frantic searches and family anguish,

set aside these grizzly details

as we pause over breakfast, and thoughtfully sip our teas.

we pack the car and leave, for coffee and gifts in Leura

Bundeena 2230

we drive through a national park with poodle, mother, and step-father back seat

the rent-a-bomb fearless on the hot sticky roads

to the beach which is crowded, 

I rush into the water and sink under, the sand suddenly gives way

washed up

plunge back

into the waves

Marrickville 2204

we pick up a bag of ice and return to Marrickville,

to drink on the balcony,

and watch 20,000 Days on Earth on the laptop -

Nick on memory - Nick on love

I can't remember anything at all, flame trees line the streets

we fall into bed, another sticky night's sleep

Sydney 2000

we brave the train and head into town to swim by the docks,

the pool is crowded, lap-swimmers, families and couples idling the day

beside us an aircraft carrier berthed, no sailors, the winches and cranes abandoned,

the harbour entrance just visible, day boats turn in to look, then head out again.

I swim lengths, the salt water stings,

we buy a salad roll and head up to the gallery on the hill,

to meet Nelia at 1.30, beautiful the way the sandstone carves,

the names etched along the facade, Michael Angelo, here?

Warhol offers no surprise, nor the Barbra Krueger,

a spinning siren sings out Brett Whitley in New York,

a collage, a dead bird, the scratched and lyrical words -

the world is brilliant, and painful,

it must be honoured, and anaesthetised

eventually we dawdle, home

Newtown 2042

meditation at 9, a simple breathing exercise for 1 hour,

afterwards we visit the bookstore,

then ice cold frappes: banana, berry and passion fruit,

it melts quickly as my hot hands wrap around the plastic cup

then into the blessed cool of the theatre,

darkness, early Victorian England, to see Mr Turner,

his trick with light, and his own spit -

the way the world looks when you are warm inside,

when we love without asking for anything back

Bronte 2024

is full of brash young things, women swimming in bras and undies,

sitting by the side of the road,

big boys in big cars.

Melinda malingers but I plunge in, free, as the ocean sweeps over, and into the pool

watching the waves, inhaling the mussels as they cling to the rocks,

the moon appears over Bronte, and Bondi beyond

the birds in the bay,

circle, soundless from here

Amanda Surrey, 2015

So much depends

poem by William Carlos Williams
stamping by me