I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

12 September 2014


Sitting at my desk,
I feel the gentle flick
of a furry tail brushing my leg.
Both cats have always liked
to get my attention that way.

But the one who is still alive
lies across the room
in front of the heater.
He hasn't stirred all evening.
So I know who.

As I clean the kitchen bench
close to the time for cat dinner,
right above the spot of floor
on which that dinner is served,
I hear behind me a tiny mew.

I recognise it. Enquiry.
Encouragement. The nightly 
reminder (as if I would forget).
'Yes, babe,' I say,
'But you're dead.'


  1. Beautiful words Rosemary. Didn't I tell you that she's still around. But then you already knew that. Glad to hear Freya is making her comforting presence felt, cats are very good at that, even from Spirit.

    1. Yes, and dogs too. They always seem to hang around for a while.

  2. Oh Rosemary, how i love this. I remember a morning soon after Pup died, when I felt his snout on the edge of my bed and heard him whuffing, the way he woke me every morning......I thought it was Jasmine, but when I opened my eyes, she was out in the living room. Floods of tears........I love that Freya is still around.

    1. Oh, thanks for sharing your own lovely story! It makes me smile.