The Cafe Cat

Past the garden gate  The jagged silhouette of a pipe Puffs soft chugs of steam That curl like the smoke From a trembling cigar...

  Last night I dreamt that you and I were swept away on a silent, deaf tide.  You, stricken, lit by the moon. I, in darkness, unheard...

Your morning memory  blooms in a huff of tea-steam;  soft, distorted and, rising, gone. The touch of sun...

The sky over the park is framed by naked trees standing stark to attention, upturned, as if a black network of nerves has taken root...

I love city ghosts.  Faintly feathering about their shimmering way, slipping through doorways, turning street corners, shuddering in re...

I hadn't planned to see you but knew that at some point, I would be drawn in your direction by an irresistible lull; the force of habit...

When travelling, you can navigate by map and itinerary or choose to just walk and see and it is often that I take the latter, winding mysel...

I’m the sentimental one in my family, clinging to nostalgia like a forgotten scent dancing anew on the nostrils; a sashaying, shim...

I remember a day. It was April, where I was dreaming on my bed, looking out to a sky that was neither cold nor warm, but soft-washed pi...