In the shadows of predawn, I’m woken
by companions of past and present,
hunting my dreams until they’re broken.
My ghostly bedfellows curiously hunt,
purring, kneading, butting, knowing
I will fill their dishes in the morning.
They hunt me through the night
but, once fed, they lick their lips,
clean their paws and slip
out to disappear into a bright
new day, off to haunt a sun-kissed butterfly
or chase a field mouse wandering by.
Kim M. Russell, 19th April 2024
On the nineteenth day of Na/GloPoWriMo, it’s Friday again and the prompt at NaPoWriMo has us writing poems about haunts us and then changing the word ‘haunt’ to ‘hunt’. I’ve reworked and retitled an old poem that was long-listed in a Globe Soup competition about cats of my past and present. In the penultimate line I changed the word ‘hunt’ to ‘haunt’.
writing in north norfolk 
tender.
I like it.
How wrong I was to think I was to write something like horror–and me, and horror–oh my!
Yours sings. beautiful how after being fed they go out into the day to hunt things sun-kissed and gorgeous. Thanks. I enjoyed it, Kim.
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That makes me very happy on this rainy Friday morning, Selma. Thank you!
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Cats do haunt. I don’t think they ever go away. The hunting is just a sideline xx
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I know!
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Wow, a lovely poem, Kim. Having lived with cats, I completely resonate with this. 🙂
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Thank you, Kitty!
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Beautiful, flowing work, Kim. Thanks.
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Thank you, Ron.
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A pleasure to read, Kim, reminds me of our old cat, her ways so similar, so missed.
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Thank you, Kim!
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