P O E T R Y  |

On the Road from Siglavik
- H. RogueRaiders aka Helma

On the road from Siglavik,
great grey owl starles me
flashing through the beam.

Eagle soars at Willow creek & Siglavik,
the one we call Fisch Adler and
you bald eagle head.

Crowned white  tail feathers  a
bright fan, huge beak,  wing span
ultralights talons keen.

Eagle flies at Willow Creek & Siglavik,
great grey owl navigates oaks on
my property.
Lands on a hydro pole
she perches square, her back to us, ears pricked.
Owl eagle stalk our neighbourhoods
for rabbits kittens moles.

Today I Laundered a Mouse 
- H.RogueRaiders aka Helma

Today I laundered a mouse, 
all three inches with tail. 
Some nasty smell from the laundry
alarmed me could be the
honey wagon going by and 
sort the linen by colour.  
Let the automatic do her thing. 

At my desk I resume the task setting 
words to rhyme syntax meter & tone, 
while sewer odor lingers in my nose.
Spin cycle on uneven load.
Down into the basement I spring 
to fetch the laundered whites, 
for sun is on the washing line.

What’s that all over my clothes?

Black clumps, and think my cat
with feathered prey into the dirty 
laundry basket she had crept.
Still, it is my clean wash that stinks like
meat hung long passed its tender mark.
I gag once, gag twice at this putrid offense.
The pink body of mouse nestles
between white sheets bras panties.

Poor wee thing stripped clean of all hair.
A baby’s rosy bum comes to mind 
3-inch mouse all bare.
One glance I dare,
my eyes screwed shut. 
Reach for the rubber glove arm
stretch out. Head turned from 
this thing I killed unwittingly. 
A decent burial it needs under the old 
apple tree, with all the other mice birds moles 
who succumbed to cat’s play innocent
but deadly.

 In June The Cat Hunts Again

- H.RogueRaiders aka Helma

Cindy the cat hunts again, she stalks kills  
then eats in the morning.
We find the little tell tales of gall bladder kidneys
and furry tails,
it makes me sad. I try to to reach her - no don’t hunt
my cat -  no need for you to prey.  
There’s plenty of catfood in your dish

She mieuxs and wakes me from deep sleep.
She drops her prey right by my bed.  I get
wildly mad.  
Take that still warm creature in my hand to hide outside, intent to bury it under the apple tree.
At daylight to join the many little souls already
buried there

What then if nights at full moon they
all as ghosts rise up and dance with limbs
A circle to music not heard by you and me,  
but dance they will.
All lit by silver blue.   
The little rabbits - birds, mice, moles,
with cats Chantal and Sammy in the lead.