3rd Halloween Poem Contest – 5th Group Of Submitted Poems —

 

 

 

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Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander

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Bless Wise Old Women by Martha Sullivan
Women, it’s true, had a gift so rare
for healing with herbs and plants and flare.
Folks would visit deep in the wood
where molds and mushrooms and gardens stood.
Some women were toothless, with humps on their backs,
aged and experienced; not useless, not lax.
They were trusted and honored by women and men,
who were healed by concoctions again and again.
But something did happen, the papacy stewed:
“Paying attention to women is nothing but rude.
All eyes to the Latin, all eyes here to Rome,
all eyes to the papal reach, wherever you call home.”
The pope did order, with a stroke of his pen,
in 1320 to banish herb-knowing women.
“Going forward it is listed, heresy is witchcraft,
a religion that is evil.   Those women are daft.”
“We must persecute them, devil worship they do,
and practice black magic, using poisons – it’s true!”
“Send out my Inquisitors to capture the hags,
and drowned those old women in rock-laden bags.”
“If they sink, they are innocent; if they rise up they are not.
But use rocks of the heaviest, damn those who we’ve got.”
So began “The Great Persecution” at a feverish pitch.
Not a single hag left – not a single old witch.
But in the recess of memory these women remain,
and yearly their honored though forgotten by name.
With a conical hat and a cape that is black,
joyful children renounce the papacy’s hack.
So bless wise, old, women, whose knowledge did heal.
Let’s honor those witches whose bodies did squeal,
with pain and horror at the hands of the few,
whose hatred of women they did viciously spew.

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On the Thirty First by Pamela S. Wight

Dark is night, night is just right

As I set my broom aside

with a thought so candle bright

My glowing eyes I can’t hide.

On the date of this fall month

I’m allowed to be my self

even eating my best lunch –

can of worm warts on the shelf.

But maybe I’ll surprise them

My witch cousins and witch friend

I’ll knock on doors because I can

Pretend to be a small human.

I’ll forget my nightly haunts

For this one special fun time

Neglect my night’s sky-filled jaunts

Instead listen for door chimes.

I’ll dress up like a robot

Or maybe a movie star

Collect yummy candy – lots

Walking sidewalks near and far.

Tonight I am not a witch

I switch roles and use my feet

hoping for no surprise glitch

as trick or treaters I meet.

I hide my twelve toes with shoes

Third eye is under a hat

My high shrill voice yells Boo BOO

Kids scream and so does a cat.

My bun of black hair escapes

And my pointy ears pop out

WITCH! someone yells with fear, hate

Suddenly I’m full of doubt

Guess I can’t be who I’m not

Not tied to the ground like them

I laugh and sprint past the tot

Glad I can fly like a wren.

“Boomer!” I yell and she flies

To my hands, my pal, my broom

I screech and scream out “good bye!”

As we fly toward the full moon.

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IT’S ALIVE by Susanne Leist

 

I wake from a deep sleep.

The pounding of my heart

Cuts through the stillness.

A sound hits my ears.

A creak that does not belong.

I am not alone.

I peek across the room.

To a shelf up high.

A puppet sits there.

Eyes glowing in the darkness.

Lifelike in its wooden body.

Evil in its demonic grin.

Then it speaks.

In a deep voice.

“Time to play,” it says.

I run to the door.

No!

It’s standing before me

In the hallway.

Arms reaching for me,

A gleam in its black eyes.

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

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Three little witches by Emily F. Seirup

 

The Sisters of The Light

Kindered souls burning bright,

with laughter and delight

and youthful grins and cheeping chirps,

nimble fingers and baby toesies,

the cutest baby burps

and the sweetest button noseies.

“Haiiiah, ay ya, ay ya, namma amma mamma”,

the little one did sing,

“Ayala, which sandwiches did you bring?”

Ayala, the oldest so calm so wise

for only eleven,

said “I brought turkey, and seven.

They’re little finger sandwiches

all three of us can share”,

as she pushed back her long blonde hair.

“What did the angels say

when you talked to the turkey my sister,

was she a she or was he a mister?”

“Halaya he was a happy little turkey

in love with a goat,

of all the silly things the turkey could dote,

he loved his life and had plenty of friends,

a beautiful bird who met his fate

at this glorious end,

to feed us and nourish us Sisters us three,

for fate has chosen our webs hand in hand,

a happy at last I’d agree!”

“Did he laugh at the goat

and have good food to eat,

because it’s important to us

when we choose our meat,

as Mommy always says, the future depends,

on healing through bonds

that love always mends,

for with love and with light

we accept each other in unity alright.”

“That’s right Taokoya, we’re here to heal,

to come together in life and love at every meal.”

“Aayyyaa, Ayala Ayala”, Halaya squealed

as they rounded the bend before the field,

“and the fruit, their records of yield unsealed?

The fruit She grows so high and mighty

from our Mother Aphrodite,

the sun the light encased so bright

and packed so tight

in fruit that bursts my bubbles

in flavor with sugars that shines in doubles

and rainbows galore,

I could eat fruit forever more and never bore.”

“The angels cry for you

Sweet Halaya sister so dear”,

Taokoya said as the field was near,

“at forests end we can’t pretend

that our food doesn’t count

so much for what to we amount

as we prepared our lunch

and our somethings to munch

for this amazing brunch,

we thank the heavens for all we have received,

as we give and are grateful to be relieved

by the universe so grand so divinely vast,

we thank the future and forgive the past

for whatever happened last,

to move on and unite in harmony and peace,

for these bodies, this lifetime,

this being is on lease.”

A moment of silence between the three witches,

as they thank the universe

for their own personal niches,

they seek out their spot for their picnic

while skipping and laughing all the way,

these wise little witches who have learned

the calm but love to run jump and play!

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‘Bout Hallow’s Eve by P.J. Enzman

 

Who? Who? Who?

The owl calls for you.

As shadows creep and flowers weep,

The frost crawls on the morning dew.

 

BOO BOO BOO

The ghost calls for you!

The doors creak and hauntings seep

Into graveyards, through and through…

 

Eek! Eek! Eek!

The trees are gray and bleak.

The bats have flown and crows condone

The Trick-or-Treat stuck in their beaks!

 

Shriek, shriek, shriek!

The witches spells are tweaked.

Beware the sight of dark at night,

And witch’s crafty sneak.

 

Moan…Moan…Moan…

Remember you’re not alone.

Ghouls and zombies lurking-

Hear their dire tone.

 

Groan, groan, groan…

It chills you to the bone.

The leave are falling and winter’s calling,

to the grave or depths unknown.

 

Shout! Shout! Shout!

Make sure there is not doubt!

Your costume shows you’re not afraid,

You know what Halloween’s about!

 

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This is the fifth group of submissions. In the meantime there won’t be any more poems accepted. The jury will decide on the winners soon. Thank you for your patience.
A. J. Alexander

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3rd Halloween Poem Contest – Hurry up! 1 Day Left!

 

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Deadline for the contest is

October 31, 2017 – 9 pm Central Standard Time

Hurry up!

 

Every author and poet are invited to participate and deliver a “Halloween-Poem” to my email address:

aurorajean.alexander@aol.com

together with their picture and a link to their website, a social media account or blog

1. Your poem needs a Halloween theme.
2. Your poem needs a minimum of 99 words.
3. Your poem has to be delivered to my email address until Halloween, October 31, 2015, 9 pm Central Standard Time.
4. Please avoid violence, bad language, and sexual content within the poems. It would be disqualified.

 

Thank you very much for participating and make it very hard for the jury to decide on the winners!

 

3rd Halloween Poem Contest – 4th Group Of Submitted Poems —

 

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Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander

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“Haunts the mind” written by Russell Holder

 

There has never been any odd sighs from Creaking
Woods…
the place of gnarled branches and rustling of
leaves,
this place despised for the discourse of dank
boundaries,
a place to disturb childish fears on All Hallows
Eve,
there a space of shadow’s refraction, of darkness
and light,
where the slightest sounds magnified from forest’s
canopied eaves,
the lights of sullen spirits of past in the present
to moan-
the sudden chill dampens the living of warmth,
a stillness to relieve,
goose-bumps to linger, bristled hairs does it raise…
along with tales of the dead, bemoaned and
buggered spirits,
the skin which would crawl from mere mention to
flinch and then pucker,
no odd sighs but sure shrieks and taunt nipples
as flits,
stealthy, the spectral beings dance fro and to
disembodied music,
the scene is of one that haunts the mind prone
to such fits…
this where bark rubs bark, to sound echoes of
tree’d hollow drums,
this merging medley to fears of both natural
and unnatural wonder,
the senses overwhelmed… set on heel to this
odd bounty of soul,
so we would revel in these things… things that
can’t hurt us by blunder,
ghosts may pierce our bodies and would yet
then fly through,
it is the lightening we see but then shake
from the thunder,
contain not the child but the fears that we
have of our past…
no stolen youth, misspent, it is that which
yields to tricks,
nature is a fine trickster herself… the simple
made marvelous at our feet,
the bones as they’re scared… don’t they rattle
and we hear creaks,
no… the hung man still sits there conducting
the symphony,
and it is from those thoughts… our fears, our
mind and our ticks.

I wish you all a safe Halloween. This was originally written for
Halloween 2013. Also a reblog, from LinkedIn, in a group of two,
called “Poe Moments.”
https://www.linkedin.com/groups/6606022/6606022-5931485117657657344

 

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The Whistlers by Ellen Best

 

I catch a noise before I sleep

The whistlers skulk about

Spreading fear skin deep.

Chirruping secret calls,

Hiding behind garden walls.

Disturbing young girls dreams

I wake with terrifying screams.

I pull a quilt over my head,

Hide a torch beneath the bed.

Prepare to fight for my life

I take Mum’s vegetable knife.

It’s old and blunt, bent a bit

She stabs at spuds in the pot

To ascertain if they are hot.

Armed, I squeeze Emma tight,

Her yellow suit warm and bright

She comforts me as I hum

a lulluby learned from Mum.

Doll and me are doing fine

Until music starts keeping time.

Through the crack, behind the bed

I hear the tune, inside my head,

Sweet and soft hardly heard.

Matching me word for word.

Spuriously stuffing notes in a sack

My sleep is wrestled into the black.

Sheets tangle around my legs,

Like on a line round Mummy’s pegs.

I can’t escape, I scream at last,

Sodden sheets and whitened mask.

Tapping her foot beside my bed

Mummy glares, shakes her head.

washed and clean no longer soiled

Tea is made

Once the

whistling kettle’s

boiled.

 

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This is only the fourth group of submissions. Please, keep them coming and make it really hard for the jury to decide on the winners!
A. J. Alexander

3rd Halloween Poem Contest – 3rd Group Of Submitted Poems —

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Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
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All Hallows by Raymond Walker

 

Dark and frost prich’t, on this cold nich’t, Witches did rumble.
Sprites and bumpkins, nipp’d ankles, and spakles, nipp’d noses.
Hoar on trees, ice on the burn’s, on which faeries tumble
And laugh, and caper, winter approaches, creatures creep from loaches
Hedgerows, and crypts, Duns, barrows and Cysts, Frich’t, and humble,
alike take tail and bridle and scramble away as true evil approaches.

Each jigsaw cow and horned ram, no matter how old, cries for their mam,
Each rutting boar and pregnant sow cowers.
Each antlered stag, snuffling badger, fierce wildcat and shivering Lamb,
Slink away and hide themselves in dark windswept bowers.

The faerie fair and capricious are, the sprites and bumpkins calm
As night grows deep o’er the faerie realm.
Nymphs, Dryads, all manner of faerie folk shudder and quake, as doors slam
Closed upon the dreaming night, as awakens Helm.

The god of the night, the god of the storm, of the darkness.
The god of the trees, of the hunt, of madness,
Shakes his dark head, his horns, churning the clouds,
Even the yearning dead know his wrath through their shrouds.

2.
Maeve, weeping lying there,
Cannot celebrate this night,
A death, a dire warning, bereft.
She lies, in her weeping, dreaming, plight.
From beneath the mouldering stones an ancient creature
Watches, her husband walked upon it’s grave and it sees her light.
Her beauty and truth, her plight
Even old evil can love.

Unholy night, unholy life, the veil between the two worlds grows thin.
The between time,
The remaking.
Unholy life and a sight of light, Samhain is here, I am a reborn Djinn.
A stone moved,
a life taken.

Maeve prays.
My holy father who art in heaven.
The gods hear, helm awakes, it is Samhain.
An unholy spirit wakes beneath the damp sod of the Argyll hills

 

3.
Into the dark Depths of a Scots winter,
A pale shadow creeps,
Bereft of life but barely dead
Through ancient stones it seeps
An unmade thing, no veins, no red,
Coursing through the deeps,
Nothing but hatred needing to be fed.

From its tomb of stones and broken bones the pale shadow creeps.
Rising into the cold and forsaken night.
From its slumber and desiccation, dark dreams and haunts, it seeps.
Forming, gaining substance on this dark night.

 

4.
Helm stalks the land, thunder and fury,
And all quake under his might.
The shadow creeps silently, terrifying by presence
rather than sight.
The humans gone hidden in beds,
the thinkers quailing in their own head’s,
the faerie gone and hiding,
the monster’s awaiting, abiding,
their time till the sun comes again.
No one wants to be out
On this braw Brich’t moonlit nich’t
This all hallows e’een.
Each has a soul to take and each wishes the same one.
Poor sad Maeve.

5.

I ran from the house, ripped apart,
My true love dead and gone,
I ran from the house seeking death for myself.
Spirits, faerie, consoled me and wept with me.
Darker presences also thought of me.
I was not wholesome. Spoiled dark and difficult.
A shadow talked with me as I sat on a felled log,
a god asked me why I was sad.

There is a clearing,
Quiet, moonlit and beautiful on a night such as this.
There is a clearing,
Dark and quiet, shaded from all around, where one would be cast,
Under, into the abyss, the unceasing, pestilence of hell
From which one rose, the other gained.
The god and daemon will do battle for their right to the souls of the living.

Tear and rend, rend and tear
The old god and demon fought
Rip and tear, Tear and rip
Until everything will stop.
Flesh and bone, eyes and nose,
Tear and score, score and tear,
Hands and feet fingers and toes,
Legs and hands and talons or claws
Rend and rip, slash and rip
for the right to
their bodies and their souls.

They battled one against the other,
Until the sun rose on All Hallows and were banished again,
Ripped and torn, wounded and bereft,
one to the ancient crypt the other to the depths of the forest.

We crept quietly, limbs shaking, into the chilly dawn.
We crept quietly into the quiet Morn.
Shaken, assured,
Worried, Wakeful,
Wishful.
Can we now make our own destiny?

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All Hallows Eve, is an old Scot’s tradition where, it is thought that the walls between the faerie and the human realm grow thin. Old gods again walk the earth and the creatures of Darkness again stalk the night looking for souls to inhabit. We re-join our tale as the humans have retired for the night. Baskets filled with candy, fruit and nuts. Costumes discarded upon the floor or folded away neatly and the Fae have all slunk away into their bowers, den’s and mounds, before the truly frightening ones appear.

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Glowing In The Night by Marjory Mallon

Glowing in the night,
A sugar bonbon tease,
Candyfloss critter,
Tennis ball,
Lying in the grass.

Hidden amongst gravestones,
It implores me – Pick me up,
Roll me, throw me, catch me!
Join the dead who come to play,
Cemetery games.

Wicked trees carve possibilities,
Gnarled branches twist,
Hush, Whisper,
Freeze frame this moment,
Temptation on a knife edge.

I resist!
The ancient ball gleams anew,
Rainbows of magical colours entice.
I weaken. It candy pops,
An imaginary snack in my hand.

I stagger, fall back,
Words whizzing, powerful,
First serves, my opponent,
Wins Game Set and Match,
There is no Facebook funny – Simon’s Cat.

Instead a demon Cheshire cat,
With sharpened fangs,
Devours my imagination,
Savouring me, the delicacy,
It grins, its tummy full of my thoughts.

It licks its greedy lips,
Sits in the tree,
Hoping a writer will pass by soon,
Too curious to walk away,
Another Halloween victim.

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Russian Pumpkin Basket by Annie Yoon

Here comes my basket full of joyous candies
covered with autumn generosity.
Let’s appetize with classic candy corns.
Sugary orangey mundane gulosity.

Next is this marshmellow —
apparition-like fluffy delight. Sticky honey
inside thaws like early October snow.
Perhaps give a shot saying “chubby bunny”?

What’s this sugar-coated one?
Oh, a vampire teeth gummy!
Chewy Dracula incizor in my
gaping mouth so frighteningly yummy.

What I already have in my mouth is
fourth — an eyeball chocolate. The acute pussy-
eyed darkness unleashes its spherical form to envelope
my teeth. Too bad it isn’t popping juicy.

Almond nail of this pretzel witch finger being crushed
between two molars. The cannibal’s well-
made confection piques my macabre drive. Might as well
cast a munchy wicked spell.

“Last but not leas-” the moment of mastication, a
a tiny metallic shard scythes my overjoyed tongue.
Now drenched with peanut butter and blood — enough
to gargle the saccharine sanguine syrup.
The sixth bullet — oh no, candy is dead wrong.
“Trick-or-treat!” Children’s voice echoed in my cerebrum.
I smiled with teeth wide-open — splattered with crimson bonbons!

 

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SAMHAIN by V. M. Sang

Don’t go near the graveyard, darling,
Samain is tonight.
Don’t go near the graveyard, darling,
The dead will walk this night.

Keep your candle burning, darling,
Keep it glowing bright.
Keep your candle burning , darling,
Be sure it gives you light.

The bonfires have been lit, darling,
To fill the dark with light.
The bonfires have been lit, darling,
Their flames reach such a height.

Put your home fires out, darling.
Be sure to do it right.
Put your home fires out, darling.
From bonfires we’ll relight.

Put food by the door, darling.
Leave it in plain sight.
Put food by the door, darling.
For our own to have a bite.

Do not be afraid, darling,
They see that we’re alright.
Do not be afraid, darling,
no harm from them tonight.

But evil spirits come, darling.
We must put them to flight.
Nut evil spirits come, darling;
Them we must try to fight.

Go and watch the bonfires, darling.
Stand in their bright light.
Go and watch the bonfires, darling,
To keep us safe this night.

 

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This is only the third group of submissions. Please, keep them coming and make it really hard for the jury to decide on the winners!
A. J. Alexander

CreateSpace eStore is Closing Effective October 31, 2017

Chris Mullen informs us about CreateSpace closing their e-store. Thank you very much for sharing the news!

chrismcmullen

Image from ShutterStock.

CREATESPACE ESTORE IS CLOSING

Beginning October 31, 2017, customers will no longer be able to purchase paperbacks directly from the CreateSpace eStore.

If you have a link to your CreateSpace eStore and a customer clicks on it, the customer will be redirected to the corresponding page at Amazon.com.

According to CreateSpace, the reasons behind the change include:

  • It’s much easier to search for books across Amazon’s site than it is to search for books on CreateSpace.
  • Amazon offers a much better checkout process than CreateSpace does.
  • Amazon offers better shipping options, including Amazon Prime.
  • Amazon sends out tracking notifications for orders placed through Amazon.
  • Amazon’s storefront is a much more familiar interface for customers.
  • Several customers have requested the features described above.

Unfortunately, when a customer clicks on a link to a CreateSpace eStore and is redirected to Amazon, authors will earn Amazon.com royalties (not eStore…

View original post 774 more words

As a Writer, What Inspires You?

Don Massenzio published an article about inspiration.

Author Don Massenzio

insp1

How many of you can relate to the sentiment in this graphic? Do you wake up every morning excited about writing? Is writing a natural part of your life?

If so, what inspires you to embrace this obsession? The purpose of this post is to attempt to determine the things that drive us to write and to not give up. Many of us our independent authors (I prefer this term over self-published). We outsource our publishing to platforms like Amazon, CreateSpace and others. We use cover designers and editors just as a traditional publisher would or perform these services on our own.

Why do we do this without a guarantee that anyone will read our work? Here are some of my reasons.

GoalWriting has been a lifelong goal Since my childhood I have been enthralled with books. I read everything I could get my hands on and wrote…

View original post 628 more words