Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed 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
From beneath the earth a sound appears.
like the sound of finger’s frantic movement,
confined under the ground for countless years
rest the souls of those in endless torment.
On one special day on the midnight chime
their spirits are released from death’s dark hold
they may rise again for one last time
and wreak their vengeance on all they behold.
The putrid bodies stripped of flesh and hair
their bones bleached white by cold, dank soil
as they lie shrouded in wood coffins bare
trailing mildewed ribbons of skin like oil.
For just one night their souls are free
then condemned to rest for eternity
This Halloween Poem is published on behalf of Larry sells and is not part of the Halloween Poem Contest, since Larry has already participated with another poem. But I like it very much and couldn’t resist to publish it with Larry’s permission. (Please be kind and respect Larry’s copyright!)
FANGS
The wind bites flesh with invisible fangs.
Blood flows making vampires hungry. They
Swope on their human prey sinking their
long fangs into their bare throats. Adults
and children scream their fear as they die
on the streets and sidewalks. The werewolves
won’t be denied, for they smell the blood flowing
from the victims onto the ground. A multitude
of howls fills the night announcing the arrival
of the werewolves. The crunching of bones
and the sounds of lapping of blood
from the streets, sidewalks, and grounds spread fear
among the people who were handing out candy
away from the doors and windows. They called the police
and watch their heroes eaten before their eyes. Blood soaked
torn uniforms littered the streets. Tears fill candy bowls
as hope dissolves as vampires and werewolves enter homes
to quench their growing appetite. Then, the moon turns
the color of silver announcing the end of the slaughter.
A black hole opens taking all of the werewolves and vampires.
The bodies turn to ashes and the wind blows them away.
Technological progress and development is faster than the development of humankin. Seriously. By the time a baby is received, carried and delivered the latest i-Pad is already outdated.
I don’t mind progress and development. I’m very much someone who tries to keep up with it as good as possible, without getting lost, drowned, addicted or dependent on that very same technology.
To me, social contact is still an important thing to survive. I heard, others say the same thing, but what I see occasionally, really belongs to the most awkward things I’ve seen in a long time.
Today, for example. Thank Heavens I’m in a good mood, which means, I didn’t get up to tell them exactly what I had been seeing by watching them. I only watched, asked myself if two smileheads like these should actually be permitted to spread their genes, and smirked – like I always do.
I saw these two men (both in brown shoes)… meeting at the Panera Coffeehouse in Madison October 30, 2018. They get coffee and a sandwich each and seem pleased to meet for this ‘breakfast meeting’.
While the one in the blue jacket picks up the sandwiches, the man in the white shirt hangs on the cell phone, apparently flirting into the phone.
As soon as he hangs up, the man in the blue jacket gets a call and the man in the white shirt wolfs down his sandwich, and I’m talking about literally inhaling it with two, maximum three bites. The man in the blue jackets ends his call and the man in the white shirt makes a phone call while the ‘Blue Jacket’ almost ‘drinks’ his own Sandwich.
Finally, the meeting can start. The ‘White Shirt’ pulls out an outdated iPad and starts demonstrating, where the tablet falls down twice, once onto the table, once onto the floor. – So… extremely PROFESSIONAL!!
During that ‘meeting’, both men get or make additional calls. At the end, they decide, it was a good meeting, after the “Blue Jacket’ was on the phone six times and the ‘White Shirt’ four times, each of them ran off the table at least twice.
Now they’re sitting here, at the next table, each of them staring into his own tablet or typing on the phone. On of them has his feet on the chair next to him. They really are rude!
Yes, that pic below is them. (Of course, I’m a very discrete person and according to the law I had to make sure the faces of all guests are hidden and unrecognizable. But it’s going to be Halloween tomorrow, what am I supposed to do?) ROFL
I have watched people before: you know, people who really spiritually and intellectually were actually using up the entire available capacity of their brains and manners. But these two really were the new Tuesday knuckleheads.
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed 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
The ghosts were residents
in the attic of
Grandma Murray’s house
for years.
Each Halloween she
would go and party
with the ghosts,
knew all their names,
met the new residents
over drinks and toffee apples
each year.
Halloween 2018 arrived
and Grandma Murray
joined the ghosts in the attic
permanently.
She wasn’t nervous when the time came,
her best friend ghost Geraldine held her
fragile, frail bones and helped her
descend from her body
up to the attic.
This year they continue
to dance, drink and be happily spooky
together.
The ghosts in the attic,
friends in death.
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed 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
It’s strange about humans
At this time of year
It’s supposed to be scary
But I have no fear
The days of the month do not matter to me
But sometimes it’s strange
The odd things that I see.
Like this thing on the floor
And what’s on the TV
It’s orange and it’s huge
Almost bigger than me.
I don’t have a clue as to why is it here
The same things appear
At the same time each year
Whatever it’s good for is far beyond me
In a couple more months they will bring in a tree.
Full moon smiles at night
waiting for us to go to sleep
so, he can bare his fangs and
sink them into our necks for
a red liquid meal. We die
a dry fleshly shell. A shell
people cry over and place
into the ground. Their tears
water the plants, which grow.pas
Four faces of the moon attract
his victims. During harvest
season when the vampires, werewolves,
and humans hunt for meat and blood.
Moon gorges itself until it grows
into a huge full moon, which turns dark red.
Harvest Moon, blood moon comes around Halloween
when spirits and other monsters can gather blood
for the full moon, so it can get full
enough to reach Harvest Moon, when the moon becomes full
of blood from people who sleeping or past out fangs
enter the neck either way. The full moon feeds without noise.
The moon rests on the new moon
so, it can feed again on the full moon.
Yippee! A new interview with me. I’m very honored to be interviewed by Fiona Mcvie on “authorsinterviews”. This is exciting! Thank you very much Fiona!
Let’s get you introduced to everyone, shall we? Tell us your name. What is your age?
Hello Fiona, My name is Aurora Jean Alexander, AJ in short. As of my age: I’m like so many other women and don’t like to talk about it. Let’s say, I’m a bit older than I look like but young enough to consider everyone else my age looking a lot older than me. LOL
Fiona: Where are you from?
I’m from South East, preparing to move to the West.
Fiona: A little about your self (ie, your education, family life, etc.).
I grew up in a family involved into politics and was blessed with an excellent education in several countries, holding a Bachelor’s Degree in BA. I was very lucky. I’m living by myself with three cats, working a full time job and I am an author.
Fiona: Tell us your latest news.
I’m working on a Paranormal Romance series of thirteen books and just completed book number 6. All books are in different states of “complete”. My first book is currently with my copyright lawyer and I hope he’s got good news for me. I would very much like to publish it.
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed 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
A rustling of the yew in October’s breeze,
While over her grave it sheds a few leaves.
They rot in the soil with what’s left of her corpse,
Rain drenches the ground where once she had walked.
Burned at the stake in seventeen-o-two,
Jane looks down from the top of the yew.
She wasn’t a witch, and it wasn’t a trick,
She’d learned from her mother how to heal the sick.
Potions, plants, leaves and herbs,
She’d known of their use since she was a girl.
Jane looks to the left at her father’s grave,
After eating the yew leaves nothing could save
An evil man from his just desserts,
She’d felt so relieved as her handful of dirt
Mixed in with her mother’s and banished the hurt.
But as the flames did engulf Jane’s red hair,
The ghost of her father was standing there.
“Like me, in hell you will reside,
I’ll be waiting for you on the other side”.
Plastic skeletons of varied size,
Pumpkins of sundry hue, with permanent artificial grins
And lights in their eyes,
Rubber bats on string and flocked ravens perching,
Tinsel cats and wired-sheeted ghosts all implore-
Is it time to come out and play?
Little monsters of every style,
Fairy princesses bedecked in their finest and pirates
Clutching fake swords,
Movie heroes and villains poised for action,
Pint-sized demons and Jedi together plead-
Is today the day?
Werewolves prowling under the moon,
Ghouls howling in the attic and goblins
Lurking under bridges,
Vampires slinking in the shadows and
Boogeymen hiding underneath the bed all beseech-
Is it Halloween yet?
London Heathrow… the biggest mess since aiports exist. It is horrible! There is not even one second a tiny bit of piece and silence, not even in the restrooms, since whenever and wherever I use them, you can be sure, exactly there and then the cleaning staff is going to show up. There is a lounge you can pay to use… of course everyone who can afford to fly can afford that particular lounge which means, it’s as loud and messy as it is outside.
Using London Heathrow as a transit airport, I had to undergo another round of security. Generally I don’t have problems with that since they’re also trying to make sure I am going to be safe. I appreciate that, unless of course, I clearly realize and understand they have not the slightest clue what exactly they’re doing.
The front lady says: Only laptop need to be removed, Kindle reader, cell phones, tablets can stay in the bags. The back lady says: “Who told you that? Of course you have to remove everything! That can’t be true! – Christina – Christiiiiiinnnaaaa!” – and takes off leaving me there with a dumbstruck look on my face. (Not that I don’t always look like that, but that story is for another blog post.)
After this pretty demoralizing demonstration of London Heathrow safety, you try to find the tiniest spot for you to relax, but there is none. London Heathrow is literally as busy as an anthill. It’s frustrating… you’re actually trying to get somewhere, but there’s no chance. So you’re just flowing with the stream and hope it’s getting you somewhere. And it does. You’re ending up in front of that black-orange board where they display when exactly they’ll inform the passengers about their next flight gate. Of course they’re waiting with that until the last few seconds before boarding, and then you have to run.
While waiting for the gate announcement you end up at Starbucks, waiting area, Terminal 5. There I found out something very interesting: I think someone screwed me over. I’m not in London Heathrow… I’m outer Galaxy somewhere. Because all over the world, I mean, whenever and wherever I checked they serve Mocha Frappuccino. But not at that particular place I’m currently waiting for my flight. Here they serve “Café”-Frappuccino.
When you order a Venti Café Frappuccino you get a staff member in a really bad mood – ordering for you the smallest possible cup – and, GOD BEWARE don’t even THINK to tell them your name is AJ. Because if you do, you’ll get that:
At least I got on the plane. The flight was okay, the food was acceptable, the movies quite good, the flight attendants a little arrogant… but it took me where I needed to go. Mission accomplished.
Writer's Treasure Chest 
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