The bird shown in the figure on the right is a rosella. These birds are fairly common on the east coast of Australia, where I used to live once upon a time, and its bright colours have become symbolic of the country.
If you have a problem with any of my documents or programs -- give me a tingle on the number shown above.
If you have no problems at all, call me urgently: I'd like to know how you do this.
The symbol on the left is referred to as Queensland, Queensland über Alles. The shape of the state is reminiscent of a hammer. The blue globe behind it symbolises Earth with reddish rays of setting sun trying to get out from behind like moving legs of a cockroach squashed with a firm action of a thumb. The size of Queensland compared to the size of Earth is just about right.
This delightful little symbol of our secret aims was artfully drawn by Ms Lynette Bennett, whose parameters I am unworthy to calculate.
I have not been very productive lately. This is because something has crashed on my computer.
I can scratch, I can yowl,
I can purr, I can growl,
I can jump, I can fight,
All is mine, day and night.
Mine's the house, mine's the bed,
Watch your tail as you tread,
Watch your tongue as you preen,
Cat be good, I'm your queen.
© 23rd of July 2003 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
This poem won the Editor's Choice Award presented by the International Library of Poetry, November 2003. Published in "The Colors of Life", Howard Ely, Editor, The International Library of Poetry, January 2004, ISBN 0-7951-5239-6
Oh how can girl not sing and wink,
How can she not roll on the floor,
If her own fur is soft like mink,
If she's been lonely heretofore.
How can she not dance, swing and prance,
How can she not lick, scratch and kick,
If her love life lacks sustenance,
If her youth burns like candlestick.
Alas, in vain she sobs and yowls,
In vain she chants her lullaby,
The only person she enthralls,
Is sterile cat who passes by.
© 30th of July 2003 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
This morning Bambi came to me
And asked for breakfast. Well, you see,
He puked too much, and so I hid
His food bowl in a pyramid.
There lies his bowl entombed and all,
My cat will lack the wherewithal,
And so I went to kitchen clean
And served him food in a tureen
And served him water in a glass
And hoped his hunger would soon pass.
My Bambi ate his meal and then
He licked his paw and puked again.
© 21st of August 2003 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
Of all the treasures in the world,
About which Scottish bagpipes skirled,
About which poets often chat,
None is as lovely as my cat.
Of all the rivers, brooks and drains,
Meandering amidst moraines,
About which poets often drool,
None as my cat is beautiful.
Of all the fish in turquoise seas,
That flow in sparkling cadencies,
About which poets often yap,
None can stretch happy in my lap.
© 22nd of August 2003 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
Do not eat grass, my scrumptious boy,
For grass will make you ill.
With snake and tortoise you may toy,
But let green grass stand still.
Do not consume the grassy blade,
In cellulose so rich.
You may tap dance and serenade,
But grass you'd rather ditch.
Do not, my bumptious child, eat grass
That grows by winding brook.
The other cats you may outclass,
But at grass cock a snook.
Remember this: as day grows hot,
And mouse seeks mouse to breed,
And gently smells forget-me-not,
On grass thou shall not feed.
© 3rd of September 2003 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
Published in "Colors of the Heart", Noble House, New York, 2004
Your honour, I saw running mouse
That hid away in mound of hay.
He zigzagged then towards the house
Where on the porch in shade I lay.
Your honour, I stretched tail and paw,
As it was close to dinner time.
I saw the mouse trip on a straw
And fall head down on bed of thyme.
Your honour, I could not but help.
I went to see if mouse was well.
I heard behind a young whelp yelp
And tendered mouse to sentinel.
Your honour, I did all I could
To stop the whelp and honking grouse.
The mouse was pale, and faint he would
Were I not give him mouth to mouse.
Your honour, I plead no ill will.
The mouse was wrong to flee in fright.
For mouth to mouse is common drill,
And I was not about to bite.
© 5th of September 2003 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
This poem won the Editor's Choice Award presented by The International Library of Poetry, November 2004. Published in "Touch of Tomorrow", The International Library of Poetry, ed. Howard Ely, Watermark Press, 2004.
For hunting mouse and shrew and rat
is not all that a cat is at.
A cat, the pride amongst the breeds,
has more sophisticated needs.
To sing and chirp and dance the night
away is cats' foremost delight.
To climb lace curtains and the door
is what the tabby cats pray for.
To shred a pillow and a hat
is what exults the feline brat.
To rip a wingchair's back apart
is what a cat does when she's smart.
But all these pleasures easily pale
compared to chasing one's own tail,
for hunting mouse and shrew and rat
is not all that a cat is at.
© 24th of February 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
Hark! There croaks a frog.
Slinky storks stretch necks agog.
Breakfast in the bog.
© 3rd of March 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
My friend, to you I humbly bow,
for "sow"'s pronounced same way as "cow".
Let needless disagreements thaw,
for "saw"'s pronounced same way as "law".
As long as English rivers flow
is "sew" pronounced same way as "grow".
Together we shall see it through
that "sou"'s pronounced same way as "true".
© 20th of March 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
This poem won the Editor's Choice Award presented by The International Library of Poetry, January 2006. Published in "The Best Poems and Poets of 2004", The International Library of Poetry, ed. Howard Ely, Watermark Press, 2005.
And like a chorus line the waves all turn
their foamy heads away from north-east breeze
and coat with salt a bubbling sandy burn
that flows into the ocean's vast valise.
I walked along the shore and gazed across
the Skirmish Passage waters deep and blue
at Moreton Island forests soft like moss
above which laughing kookaburras flew.
Beyond the island and beyond the sea,
beyond the ocean and high mountains' snow,
beyond the prairie took me fantasy
to meadows warm where wooly leadplants grow.
Today I look the other way and chart
the beach where foolishly I left my heart.
© 29th of September 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
I stalked a lyrebird that raked with claws
through moldy litter of yarrawa brush
in search of worms and snails. I had to pause
and rest against a gum. No need to rush.
I heard the lyrebird's melodious song
unfold a scene of busy country farm
then saw a blur, for something must've gone wrong,
the bird ran shrieking loudly in alarm.
I followed it through perfumed wattle grove,
through thicket full of banksia's fluffy buds,
I saw it dodge a tea tree, then it dove
and flew above the Barrengarry floods.
Above the canyon's unforgiving walls
I saw a silver thread of Belmore falls.
© 16th of October 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
The night was cool and dark. No moon. The clock
ticktocked the telescope across the sky.
I pulled the ropes and swung its tube to lock
the view of Jupiter's enormous eye.
I moved to Saturn afterwards, its rings
shone brightly in the light of distant Sun,
then switched to Magellanic Clouds whose wings
unfolded countless stars - enough to stun.
Around the dome a troop of kangaroos
grazed on Mount Stromlo juicy winter grass.
The wind soughed spells exotic and abstruse
and carried fragrance of dry sassafras.
I felt the mountain gently stir and rise,
a giant, alien starship in disguise.
© 21st of October 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
A scorching torrent poured ablaze on world
and filled with roar and dust its burning sky,
Its mountains, rivers, deserts shook and swirled.
In minutes all its oceans were left dry.
The shock went on engulfing planets, moons,
destroying ancient tombs, abandoned shrines.
There will be no more mornings, evenings, noons
as these worlds' sun recoils and declines.
I watched it happen from great distance, safe,
on green Swan River banks in gusty squall
that swayed palm fronds and made boats dully chafe
against the docks in lazy rock and roll.
A wedge of swans soared high in silent flight
as eucalyptus scent infused the night.
© 24th of October 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki
Published in "Songs of Honour", Noble House, New York, 2006
Dedicated to Martha Stewart
Behold the snow on towering Mount Rainier.
See how strained branches barely sustain its weight.
Its frozen flows like glassy pennants
sparkle and glisten in scarlet twilight.
Disperse the cold by feeding more logs to flame
and make some cocoa. There on the shelf you'll find
a large old can of Ghirardelli.
Four bloody years it has been, Thalia!
To hell with sorrows. Let busybodies deal
with winds and storms that menace and scar their lives.
The winds shall die, the storms abate and
calm shall return to ravines and ridges.
You have, I hope, attended your dancing class
yet stayed away from arms of enticing boys.
In slammer every day flows slowly -
plenty of time to devise sweet vengeance.
The time will come when promises often said,
in whispered moments, nightly attacks of rage,
assume their ghostly figure. Balanced
will be account of my dwindling fortune.
As night draws on and laughter besprinkles shades
my hand shall clasp my bookkeeper's lying throat.
I'll drag his limp, lackluster body
with Halloween variegated rabble.
© 31st of October 2004 by Zdzislaw Meglicki