I jotted down these few words in response to Lizardin who, I must say, sounds about as cheerful as I do. But it is (I hope obviously) not directed at her and I’m not even sure if this is what she is talking about. So I post it on its own.

****

I didn’t drop by for a chat

For platitudes of this and that

*

I didn’t need to hear you cry

Or reminisce of days gone by

Or hear you speak of matters trite

Or tell of dreams you had last night

*

I didn’t need to touch your skin

Or what it is you hide within

I didn’t need to hear your call

I’ve never needed you at all

*

Don’t think that I am judging you

Not that I’m bothered if you do

For that is why I am not there

The fact is that I just don’t care

*

So kindly do not think me rude

If I prefer my solitude

It was only a sketch. Unfinished. To which he had intended a return with the aim of providing detail and a sense of perspective. But now it remained a rudimentary representation of her face and the rebellious strands of blonde hair that seemed always to have found a way of partially covering her eyes.

Somehow, though, a few lazy pencil strokes had conspired together to reveal in those eyes a sense of regret that he had always suspected but had previously chosen not to recognise.

Now that she was gone he realised that some things must remain forever incomplete. 

June 28, 2018,  Carrot Ranch prompt:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that is a sketch or about a sketch. It can be “A Sketch of a Romance”  Go where the prompt leads you to scribble

The Three things challenge took on an Oz theme this week with the words ‘mozzie’ ‘garbo’ and ‘bogan’. I chose to add a few more.

Many of you may have no idea of what I am talking about.

I hope not, anyway.

**********************

I’m living somewhere

Back of Bourke

Pissed as a fart

I’m out of work

Nowhere to go

Nothing to do

Outnumbered by

The kangaroo

Where crocs and spiders

Hunt in packs

Where mozzies bite through

Underdacks

No Nancy-boys

No poofters here

Just long hot days

And ice cold beer

I love me dog

I love me ute

I’d love a jillaroo

To root

But since she’s gone

On walkabout

I think it’s me

That’s missing out

For though that shiela’s gone

I’m sure

She’s banging like

A dunny door

A tragedy

Of bogan life

The garbo ran off

With me wife

Lacking the energy to post anything of worth but feeling a need to do something, even if unworthy, nonetheless, I offer a few short lines of rhyme that I wrote in response, a little while ago, to Cyranny’s Prompt but via Kate, but never bothered to post. I hope it is taken in the lighthearted manner that is intended.

A hint of hope
A glimpse of chance
A little fling
A dalliance
A bold request
To touch, to dance
To find a way
Into your pants