Page 1: Poems 1-12


     (1)  Kylie Burge

     My gorgeous darling Kylie Burge,
     Who used to swirl and leap on stage
     As nimble Sugar Plum Fairy,
     Forever youthful, never weary.

     Like a good wine, she's now mature.
     One look at her one can be sure
     In her fineries she looks no less
     Than a glorious heavenly goddess.     

     (2)  To Kylie

     Against the wintry Melbourne evening sky,
     Steely grey and dim with fading light,
     Your glistening golden hair, a second sun,
     Shines bright and fills my world with warmth.

     Basking in this spell-bound world of delight,
     All my worldly cares are dispelled, and
     The stage is cleared for the graceful entry
     Of Kylie, the most beautiful swan of them all.

     As you dance across the floor, the music plays,
     Conveying heavenly messages to my heart.
     You are my angel of light to save my soul
     From the arid digital world of zeros and ones.

     (3)   Our World

     In a world of chaos, changes and caprice,
     You are my beacon on the stormy seas.

     In a world full of conflict, war and disease,
     You provide a sanctuary of harmony and peace.

     In a world of money, greed and market chart,
     You're poetry in motion, my work of art.   

     In a world of punk, wrap and discotheque,
     You are my serenade and string quartet.

     In a world where evil darkness reigns supreme,
     You shield me with shining visions, screens of dream.
     In a world where nothing can be taken for granted,
     I'll gather your sweetness from what I've arduously planted.

     In a world made for the strong and wise.
     I'll be both,; my laurels are for your eyes. 

     I'll sail unchartered waters with my fleet,
     And lay the rarest treasures at your feet.

     (4) Kylie's Fabulous Wardrobe
     Amidst of her fabulous wardrobe’s 
     Silk blouses, dresses, flowing robes,
     Hand bags and many a fancy hat,
     She matches this with these and that.

     As she tries out her fine plumage,
     All heads are turned, all eyes engage.
     While woman envies, man admires.
     Unassuming, she sees not their fires.

     There’re knights in shining armour galore,
     Who court her, woo her and adore.
     But heavenly beings have heavenly dreams,
     Mere earthlings can’t win her, it seems.

     On one of those bright sunny days
     That fills your world with balmy rays,
     A prince charming will, at Heaven’s call,
     Make Kylie the happiest girl of them all.

     You think this story’s trifle tall?
     You have seen nothing yet at all.
     Watch the scenic vista extend,
     To lead her to the rainbow’s end.

     (5)  My Everyday Life
     Before my laptop, I face my daily grind,                   
     Configuring bits and bytes within my mind,
     My nemesis with temper short and hot
     Would shout and yell to spoil my half-laid plot.

     So I look over green hills and winding roads
     To regain composure and refocus on codes.
      Somehow the ones and zeros won’t stay still;
     They twist and turn and spin around like a mill.

     They form a collage first, then a human face,
     A faint reminder of Kylie’s beauty and grace.
     Enhance the image and edit with every tool,
     But cannot reconstruct your likeness to the full.

     Technologies can never imitate
     What God has taken great care to create.
     Imagination comes to the aid of me,,
     And fills in the lively details for me to see.

     And thus your perfect image fills my heart,
     A rare, intangible piece of living art.
     The devil may scream and curse, spoiling for a fight,,
     But a vision so strong can’t be sent to flight.

     And thus though IT owns my mind and head,
     My heart and soul belong to you instead.
     Yet love and high tech oft in harmony merge.
     Hark, message alert: a text from Kylie Burge!

      (6)  Narcissus versus Venus 

     Narcissus loved his reflection in the stream.
     But he would not have in his wildest dream
     Envisaged a female modern counterpart,
     Who has turned self-love to a form of art.

     The concrete jungle a myriad mirrors shows;
     She admires her image anywhere she goes.
     When they display a blemish or a spot,
     Her fury is such, she wants to smash the lot.

     For remedies she rushes to Vanity Fair
     To snatches up jewels, clothes and takes great care
     To select skin products, facial and laser too,
     And for good measure a Botox shot or two.

     Repaired, rearmed her confidence to install,
     She checks it out before her mirror on the wall,
     Whose stern, judicious voice has this to say:
     There’s a princess surpassing you in every way.

     In nearby Toorak lives a lady fair,
     Reincarnation of Venus, and her heir,
     A statue erect, in flesh and blood. With ease
     And grace she moves, a fresh and gentle breeze.

     She’s beauty personified, and favourite child
     Of Nature and Art, endowed with temper mild
     And sweet, and a heart from which love over-flows
     To touch the hearts of all, even her foes.

     Such knowledge fills Narcissus’ heart with rage,
     Now even self-love must concede the stage.
     The more she tries, the closer is her defeat,
     As loving Venus in triumph stands on her feet.     
     Thus in the midst of this mortal combat ring,
     To feed her insatiable needs, she’d fiercely cling
     To my purse, whereas her rival has my heart.       
     And with it, my soul, my world, my every part.      

     (7) Contemplation on a Star

     The ancient mariners used to navigate
     By the stars that do diurnally rotate.
     There was no compass, radar or even a chart,
     And even now some islanders follow this art.

     Now in the age of computer, satellite,
     Space shuttle, guided missile and unmanned flight,
     A bullet can hit a target over a mile.
     Think bullets have no eyes? I wonder and smile.
     And one can steer a car through a kaleidoscope
     Of images, shapes, and colours, and easily cope
     With meteor clouds of cars while enjoying fine
     Soft music, mobile phone at the risk of a fine.

     Our inner landscapes remain much the same,
     If not darker and murkier than our forebears’ dream.
     Can experience take the place of star guide? Nope,
     One remains unchanged, the other us would dope:

     Yesterday’s experience may not repeat today,
     Projecting the past into the future’s a children’s play.
     Will Shirley or Byron win a beauty’s heart?
     Who’d dreamed discord and chaos could become art?
     Ah, sensual pleasures delusive whirlpools!
     Intellectual prowess a world of abstract tools
     Of facts and figures that at best interfaces
     With the material world, but not the soul’s dark places.

     Yes, contemplation calms a stormy sea.
     Is peace of mind an end? Serenity
     Adrift without a destination in sight?
     So how to find your island in the sun at night?

     One needs a star bright as a sun from afar,
     And fixed in a heavenly position, a polar star.
     And you’re that bright star showing me the way.
     So clearly visible in the light of day.

     (8) What Is Love?

     Ask what is love? You’ll different answers get.
     The priest says: Love is God, don’t you forget!
     And to the hippy love is a peaceful dove.
     The hedonist: sex is what the world calls love.
     Aristotle, Plato and other wise men all
     Churned out metaphysics enough to fill a hall.
     And love-sick lovers assert love, hetero
     Or homo, is bigger than life itself, and more.
     To parents love’s a child, their fresh and blood.
     Such love is shared by beasts and birds for their brood.
     Electra found her greatest love in her dad,
     And Oedipus’ mother the best lover he had.
     And animal lovers believe the truest love’s a lick
     On the face by their dog or a peck by their pet chick.

     To me love is all these and a lot more.
     You want me to count them? I know not the score.
     Shall I compare love to a telescope?
     Look from the big end: all your love and hope
     Become so distant and small and, when you try
     To catch, you quash them like a butterfly.
     I see my love from the smaller end: her face
     Draws close, revealing her natural beauty and grace,
     Behind which a caring heart and a gentle soul,
     And around, the endless landscape and universe whole.
     Happy or sad, she looks so perfectly right.
     Is winter’s sun better than summer’s night?
     Small flaws unnoticeable in such a vast design.
     Such is my love for you, a true love of mine.

      (9) Spring

     When spring returns, it brings excitement and hope
     To the young and impressionable. Every dew drop
     And burgeoning flower is a miracle to youthful eyes
     Peeking from the pond, grass, tree tops and the skies.
     And fledglings with soft beaks stretched wide as a tub,
     Wings flapping desperately, for the first morsel of grub.

     While Nature puts on her fresh new garbs, the city
     Is filled with its own excitement and fresh gaiety.
     Oaks Day at Flemginton and fashion parade,
     The young stroll hand-in-hand down the Esplanade,
     Or cruise ‘round boulevards in an open hard top.
     Street artists improvise new tricks on the hop.

     To men of the world this spring is nothing new;
     A calendar revisit, scenarios déjà vu.
     Money and profit their mercenary minds have filled,
     Unaware of spring across their windows spilled.
     Is Nature for jaded taste and arid heart?
     Nope, to them money-making’s the highest art.

     Ah, for me this spring is different from those of old,
     A new beginning, a new dawn, behold!
     Breaking out of my emotional shell,
     Marveling at the new world under a spell,
     A hatchling, struggling to free its awkward wing,
     To embrace your light and shade, my first spring.

     (10) Summer    

     Summer fills the sky with dazzling light,
     And splash the hills and hills with colours bright.
     The warm air carries a rhapsody, a serenade
     Of raptuous blossoms and leafs of jade,                                                      
     And water surface’s turned to liquid gold.
     And all is drenched in wine as the long eve unfold.

     Fish feeding frantically in currents soft and warm,
     To catch them, anglers use a lure or worm,
     On river banks, piers, estuaries and lakes.
     How many fish are bagged, how short it takes.
     And eagles soar on hot air, gracefully glide.
     Dogs puff like concertinas made of hide

     Relentless sun bakes tanned oiled bodies on the sand.
     By nightfall, discos with its deafening band
     And grog and drug provide a pleasure dome
     For delinquents, addicts and louts without a home..
     For the old and rich, Moet by the pool,
     Nude babes in both arms to pamper a drunken fool.

     All this is no country for me. My place in the sun
     Is far away in imagination spun
     With soft silk of feeling and golden thread of thought.
     Your form and visage with light and shadow wrought.
     In sultry weather I feel cool with ease.
     As you pass there’s faint perfume and gentle breeze.

     (11) Autumn

     This is the season when Nature amends her screen
     By changing the code of pixels, increasing the green
     And red, reducing the blue to repaint the landscape
     With brown background against a colorful map.
     Dry petals drift silently on fallen leafs,
     And Mother Earth their tired bodies receive.

     The autumn night sky seems to be higher and
     The stars farther away but the moon’s silver band
     Is closer than ever, an irony familiar to me:
     Whenever you are closer and clear to see,
     All others recede. The imaginary, the real
     And the mysterious such crystal nights reveal.

     Fish, birds, mud crabs and even ruminant beasts
     Are fattening, while gluttons recklessly feasts.
     While joggers cut through early morning breeze,
     Car fumes weave gauze to form a net of haze.
     The shops display new autumn and winter wear,
     While the homeless worry when the big chill’s near.

     It’s a season for reflection, contrast and change,
     Inspiring my mind to review an extended range
     Of ideas, visions, feelings and dreams, to reap
     The harvest of wisdom and insight, clear and deep.
     But my heart clings to your lush green foliage;
     My soul’s a prisoner in your imaginary cage.

     (12) Winter

     The Melbourne winter is cold with steely sky,
     But there’s no snow except on mountains high,
     Where skiers cut figures on snowy tracks or leap
     From ramps in swallow style. Footballers are deep
     In battle for a spot on Grand Final Day.
     Yes, this is the season for sports, mate you can say.

     While ladies are wrapped in cashmere or furs,
     Street dwellers shiver in the night like strayed curs.
     More food consumed to keep the body warm.
     Beluga caviar, while chefs cook up a storm,
     While starvelings queue up for a cup of soup.
     Thus winter widens the gap, merci beaucoup.
     There is no Yule Tide in the antipodean cold,
     Though enthusiasts celebrate, so I was told,
     Anachronistically with candles and cakes;
     Most others wait for summer with fake snow flakes.
     Yet, it’s the end of financial year; just look:
     How businessmen are busy cooking the book.

     The fact is winter’s cold and summer’s hot.
     I experience all seasons at once on the same spot:
     Your every mood a new season, while everyone
     Else only changes seasons as time moves on.
     Right now in bitter winter I’m enjoying the cool,
     Soft breeze and warmth of your seasons in my soul.


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