Old Familiar Places

I tread on the second step

As curled on the first is

No cat

With refilled cup I sit with care
For on my warmed seat is
No cat

By the bedroom the carpet is scratched
But the door is shut, our sleep is disturbed by
No cat

Beside me when I dig
Or asleep on a pile of warm grass
No cat

In the lane at night*
White feet silent, grey back invisible
Not even the ghost of a cat

Socks used to go with me to post letters. In the dark all I could see was 4 white feet. Not a 'headless horsemen' but a bodyless cat

Gorse

"When the Gorse is out of bloom"

Kissing is out of season

Or so she learnt as they walked together

On hills bright with golden flowers

Across fields, over stiles, through kissing gates

 

Now she knows the prickles of gorse

Walks through kissing gates alone

But the herbal tells her

Gorse – a remedy for despair

Written at a workshop at Whitby Folk Week given by Angela Topping