Here are the last Drabbles we have from Rollo Waite, that splendid creator of such powerful and enchanting small jewels in words…    How on earth does he do it?  Such a strong image in so few words?  Ah well, here they are for your delectation.

Blue poppy afternoon.

There she stood, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun streaming  through room 27’s window—proud, statuesque, aware of her beauty—almost posing for me. She was Nepalese beauty, so close on a Brisbane hospital afternoon. She basked in her grandeur, Himalayan style–but without a touch of iciness.

I told her, “You must be just about the most beautiful girl in Nepal.”

She smiled alluringly, basking in her afternoon of beauty like some mountain flower from where she came

Then I apologised for making a sexist remark.

“Not sexist—pure,’ she replied.

She was so breathtaking— a Himalayan   blue poppy.


Quantum thought.

In the latter half of Century 37, Spiros The Great—the Grand Leader of the Church of Quantum—was intrigued. “Look at these ancient folklore documents from the period the Ancients, called “The bible era.”

Prudence The Cosmic Mother smiled indulgently. “Your delving into such matters is anathematic in this age of enlightenment. Go into the thought defecator and purify your head space.”

Spiros, aware of his ethnic heritage, “What about Plato and the other Greek thinkers?”

“There you go again, so-called Great One, harking back to ethnicities, even though such sick thinking almost destroyed this fragment of cosmic reality.



All those dreams were getting better, although more bizarre than they should. He wasn’t into dreams normally, but these weren’t normal times. His mind was like a worthless sieve, profiting him with mostly shiny tinsel coloured bits of nostalgia which he chose to record in his little notebook of “The past glories. “

Now he wondered if this past, so full of sweet smells and sunshine ever really existed. Was it just an illusion, for now all he was capable of doing was dreaming.

Ah! The worthlessness of dreaming as in a morning sunrise. He woke up and started living.

See what I mean?  Fun to read, and I suspect, fun to compose as well..

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