Author Archives: Cate Anderson

Refuge

Posted on 7 March 2023 by Cate Anderson

1971, England. Marriage is the highpoint of a woman’s life and a man’s home is his castle. But for some the front door doesn’t keep danger out. It keeps it in. Half a century ago a battering on the street … Continue reading →

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THE CLOUTIE TREE

Posted on 8 February 2022 by Cate Anderson

THE CLOUTIE TREE Madron Well Cornwall She wakes, May day. Checks her phone, sees summer comes at last. Leaves sleeping houses Take the inland road, through greening landscapes strewn with granite quoit and capstone shadows – black against the salmon … Continue reading →

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MONEY

Posted on 23 June 2021 by Cate Anderson

I park the car, turn off the wipers, stand in the rain a while to get my bearings, then collect a trolley. You look up and nod your head half hidden in your parka’s sodden fur as the automatic doors … Continue reading →

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In Yorkshire (a rondeau)

Posted on 28 March 2021 by Cate Anderson

In Yorkshire – to the North York Moors – its heather, dales and rugged shores. Backdrop to those telly dramas – Heartbeat and that soap ‘bout farmers – destinations for fans’ coach tours. They’re queuing up – the more mature … Continue reading →

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WHEATFIELD WITH CROWS – Vincent van Gogh 10 July 1890

Posted on 27 January 2021 by Cate Anderson

A day of throbbing heat. A storm simmers in the raging sky – a brooding sky. It swirls and eddies against the coruscating wheat like a storm wracked sea on rocks. A wreckers sky. The promise of forgetfulness in its … Continue reading →

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BLUE

Posted on 29 September 2020 by Cate Anderson

A haibun – two poems, a prose poem and haiku. The haiku supporting the prose poem. I pass through the hawthorn hedge, from darkness into light – dazzled by the summer sun. Stand ankle deep in grasses as damselflies flick … Continue reading →

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World Music

Posted on 21 June 2020 by Cate Anderson

I will go to Spain – the heat won’t worry me – to sit in cantinas with gypsies playing frenetic guitars. The clap and stamp of their hands and heels will make frills and flounces flash and flick. I’ll ache … Continue reading →

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Convent School Memory

Posted on 7 April 2020 by Cate Anderson

Among the pea sticks and neat rows of veg A nun stoops low to tend the shooting plants. A girl looks on, unseen beyond the edge Of this bucolic scene, caught in the slant Of late spring sunlight glancing through … Continue reading →

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Memento Mori

Posted on 23 March 2020 by Cate Anderson

A prose poem performed at the Leeds Lit Fest in March 2020. Inspired by a photograph of an abandoned house, the piece is about ageing. How, when we are old our memories become our sanctuary. Walk with me through this … Continue reading →

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