Fantasy
sometimes
at odd times
seems so real-
at least for that moment
reason suspended
judgment abandoned
my legs tremble
my palms are cold
a flush appears
in my face
I feel dizzy
I can't think
lost and bewildered
eyes transfixed
feasting
on that face that appears
suddenly from nowhere
so exquisite
so angelic
so tender
so dreamy
(she is everything I want
she is perfection
personification
of beauty beyond the finest words
of the best poet
yes,  at this moment
it's only she
the world doesn't exist anymore)

this is not a dream
no, I am not dreaming
(I pinch my arm to be sure)

imagination takes its wild amorous leap
the heart pounds
in some strange anticipation
is it rapture?

if only she would look at me
give me a nod
a smile
send me a 'yes'
or 'who are you?' message
through her eyes

but she stands there
her eyes seem far away
(look at me--I am just a few yards away
standing opposite you)
she hardly moves
(I think she looks
somewhat sad-
has she been hurt by love
as I have been?
if that were so
we have a reason to tango..)

suddenly her face brightens up
she looks away
waves to someone

in seconds
her man appears
she rushes to him
cries our her heart-
'darling I've waited a long time
I thought you would never come'
then she kisses him
so passionately
as though that would be their last

I am a loser
a loner
one who lives
in fantasy

The wild side of life
I choose to walk
the commonplace
dulls my senses
stultifies and diminishes me
I would then be
no more than a shadow
a spectre
and count myself as waste
condemned to an uneasy oblivion-
a doomed, pitiful and failed figure

in the desert flowers do not blow
even the winds turn course
freedom to choose
birds lose their singing voices
in this wilderness
and stars hide away
from this desolation
even the lowly dust
longs to be blown away
to escape this monotony
this silence
unbearable

I must walk
on the wild side of life
to liberate
and find my true self
there is no turning back
I have no past
the past is dead

Miniatures
micro-pictures
win me over
the macro distracts
as too large a canvas it does cover
anything that's in excess
dulls the senses
in the menu of life
there's just too much to choose
why would I prefer ten dishes
when the best I have tasted?

I don't know why
some sunsets make me sad
I stare at the fading sun
as I had
done in times past-   memories
still linger on somehow
(what entered my feelings then-
why should they affect me now?)
this I can only surmise
evenings are hours that languish
as the heart that seeks comfort and rest
the day's troubles wishes to relinquish

what would I dream of tonight
in a realm hidden from human sight?

Could I be a writer?
only five in a hundred are so
am I a writer?
the honest answer is 'No'

but I am not quitting
I'll still keep my pen
the tears from my ink would some day
hopefully make me a better man

If you do come to Australia
don't think just of the kangaroo--also the dugong
the koala, the platypus, the wombat and the Tasmanian Devil
and learn to sing Waltzing Matilda the nation's most-loved song

far superior to  Advance Australia Fair (believe me)
our uninspiring national anthem (most Aussies would agree)
and the lyrics were so badly
written-- no wonder Aussies could never sing the song properly

If you told your story*
I would listen--attentively
every life is a mystery
your story would remind me of our common humanity

If you told your story
you are opening your heart to me
every life has its misery but also poignancy
through trials and tribulations we become what we want to be