Katie got a hint from one of the top angelic chefs in the warrior’s kitchens. With his help, she cooked an unusual kind of casserole in European style. Needless to say, the entire Council Of Twelve enjoyed that particular dinner enormously. Zachariel even went as far as to smirk and say: “This doesn’t taste half bad. Maybe there’s hope for your wife, Rafe.”
The pot:
This recipe needs a very particular European style pot, the so-called “Romertopf”. The pot can be ordered on Amazon. It isn’t a cheap product. But it’s a fantastic way to cook healthy and collect the food’s own taste.
Take the pot: read its instructions carefully: if it’s a pure clay pot, water it sufficiently before starting to cook. If it’s glazed, like mine, just butter it with the tablespoon of butter. It’s easy to clean. (But NOT dishwasher-proof!!)
2. Prepare the potatoes. Wash them, peel them and cut them into cubes. (or do it as I did with the baby potatoes, which I didn’t peel and cut them into 4 to 6 pieces. Cut the tomatoes into pieces, peel the scallions, or peel and cut the onion into small pieces. Prepare the cup of chicken broth.
3. Prepare the chicken drumsticks, unpack them, wash them, dab them dry and season them with only a bit of salt, pepper, and paprika, on both sides. You can also buy a whole chicken and cut it into 4 – 6 pieces. (I decided on drumsticks because, as much as I like chicken, I’m not a doctor and autopsies aren’t my favorite thing to do.)
4. Fill the bottom of your pot with the small cut onion, the potatoes, the dried apricots, and the broth. On top put the drumsticks. Cover the pot and put it into the cold oven. Heat it up to 425 degrees F and leave it for 50 minutes.
5. After these 50 minutes, add the tomatoes to the pot, cover it again and leave it for another 15 – 20 minutes.
6. Remove the lid of the pot and leave it for about 10 minutes in the oven, uncovered.
7. Remove it from the oven, prepare a few plates and serve it. Enjoy.
Pleaserespect 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
goblins and ghouls shrieking all night
it’s halloween! the witches dance and sing
haunting humanity with terror and fright
vampire bats wake and take flight
tender young necks a delicious thing
goblins and ghouls shrieking all night
gravediggers shovel dirt; sneering with delight
human spare and found parts they fling
haunting humanity with terror and fright
the boogeyman tall, fearsome and might
terror and dread his shadow will bring
goblins and ghouls shrieking all night
zombies moan in the bright moonlight
out of the grave and wandering
haunting humanity with terror and fright
the graveyard bathed in an eerie green light
it’s halloween! the witches dance and sing
goblins and ghouls shrieking all night
haunting humanity with terror and fright
Curvaceous candy stick girl
Her brash hair is pink
Her nails are too
She sashays by and disappears.
A tickled pink apparition
of rainbow stripy stockings.
She teases with her lipstick smile
Twirls by too darn quick
Like champagne bubbles
Blinking through false lashes. See
a passerby’s hair is now lollipop blue.
Nails a pretty sky hue
Captured joining sweetest nibbles!
She sighs, candy-lipped
As sensual silks sway
in symphonies of sweet organza.
Come bubblegum hearts
Sugar sweet babes,
Licorice all-sorts.
Let’s sashay away marshmallows,
tempting.
Trick or Treat, sugar-tipped
Coins, gum, pick and mixes
Chewy, jelly, sherbet fixes
Candy cone bites mingle
as Joker snatches bonbon handfuls.
Devils desire red chilli sweets
Vampire fangs dip in space dust
Pumpkins gobstopper around
Addams family – Cousin Itt
who sits with VIP scary magic minx’s,
Witches, and sugar twitches
Cocktail umbrellas and alcohol pitchers
The party heightens and revels
Trick or tricksters tumble
trapped In sugar-coated ditches.
Ghostly gatecrasher’s senses tremble
One chocolate heart’s never enough!
Skeletons, please… die, resuscitate
Join us for one last fizzing bite!
A hooting owl
Sits on a bare branched yew,
While shadows from the moon
Creep across the tombs.
Fog rolls in from the east
And the churchyard sleeps.
The chiming of midnight
Is a doleful sound.
It wakes up the corpses
Who live down in the ground.
One by one
They moan and taunt,
And go a-haunting
As is their want.
They rattle their chains
And scream with all their might,
The living hear them and fear
All things going bump in the night.
No one is safe
Until daylight seeps through
The bare branches
Of the aforementioned yew.
The rusty, creaky iron door
Welcomes you in to the land of the dead
Where, to Hades’ ravenous earth,
Bodies of the dead are fed.
The chilling wind and moonless night
Are a reminder of their last moments-
How their body went cold and eyes lost light,
How they took a last wheezy breath.
The gravestones stand like sentries
On the battlefield of the graveyard,
Each guarding its own;
For who knows when claustrophobia might strike ’em.
Each one with a different epitaph-uniform
Like the shortest biographies in the world,
A whole life crammed in a couple lines
Just like the body in the coffin inside.
Some moss-covered, some cracked
Some’s uniform so worn,
You can’t even decipher the engravings
A whole life, forgotten.
Flowers, once red, but now so withered
They crumble into dust at the slightest touch,
Their bond with the living plane broken
Dead, like the subjects of the tombstones.
Here and there you might see a snake
Come to guard the dead from the living,
To see that no one crosses the Styx alive
Lending a hand to the boatman.
The oaks and pines are grave,
Just like the yard they grow in
Realising that none but the gods are immortal
Thanatos will come for them one day.
One day this graveyard will grow so vast
That it covers the entire Earth,
One day no one will be left to give
Living roses to the dead.
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 was Halloween night, the full moon was bright,
why did you choose the witching hour
to explore this old house, where not even a mouse,
would eat any food, it would be sour.
Then a spooky sound, echoes around.
Claws, clickety, clacking on the floor.
You look all about, and know without doubt.
They’re coming from just outside the door.
Suddenly … silence … there can be no more pretence.
You know, that they know, where you are.
The window is open, but is that just a token?
Are there others waiting by your car?
The choice is stark, to go out in the dark,
and take the chance it’s all clear.
The handle starts turning, your stomach is churning,
Is it one, or two, or all … Oh Dear.
No time to plead, you must take the lead,
through the window and drop to the ground.
Get onto your feet, run fast and fleet,
over the hedge you bound.
Use all your cunning and keep on running,
The river is near, flowing water they won’t cross.
You reach the bank, the water smells rank.
Time to swim like a Boss.
You gasp and wallow, find the river is shallow,
so you splash to the other side.
Climb out, look about,
there must be somewhere to hide.
The moon is still high, no clouds in the sky,
There’s a light you can see up ahead.
Safety at last? Is the danger passed?
But then, to your uttermost dread.
Howling has started, you feel faint hearted.
They’d found a bridge and had crossed.
To the light you race, without trying for grace.
Then suddenly, the light is lost.
You sink to your knees, your breathing a wheeze.
They found you lying prostrate.
Their fangs were bare, as they grin and stare.
“Good game Mistress, really first rate.”
Your three dogs leap about, as if to shout,
”We won again, fair and square”
Without further ado, with some barks and a BOO,
all head for home, they for treats, you to have a shower.
Whispered to me, on the holy Wiccan hour.
Fool’s searching answers from the Page of swords. The crucible in his poison-lips. My hands turn cold.
Poised for the lovers to show me the mystic.
Eyes so sad, desperate for the eternal witness.
He tasted of a street corner- malice curiosity,
birthed with the caul, with foresight he led.
My body performing for him. He will never want me deeper.
Drink my offering – pray in threes: have me, have me, have me.
Tongs dance with serpents in figure eights.
Hands nailed open, from the past I asked for.
Fingernails chewed to the wick- a warning of fouls profits.
Blistered saws- snubbed out black candlesticks.
He tore away flesh as I fastened my grip.
Powdered salt lips- gently playing to contort.
Bulling out the needle, not thinking of the scare.
Obscurity startled the black ally cat.
Talking in tongs of a lover that meant more.
Standing mute. Under the harvest full moon.
Inspecting my entrails for answers to leave.
I gave thanks to the sacrifice that tended my needs.
The body crumbled, as he revealed his true vengeance.
The spell, broken. I saw behind the seven veils.
This creature of the night. Christened by spite.
Hands over eyes- I was left dancing in crop circles.
On one hallows eve
The text said meet me
In the graveyard
By the guards
Of the iron gate.
It said there’ll be a date.
Though I must say
It was weird in a way
My Vampiric sensors alarmed
I’m not easily charmed.
My sarcophagus quietly opened
I went into the unknowing
The full moon showed the dirt trail
Found the gate without fail
Arrows led me to a stone.
Its familiar name glowed.
The one from the text,
Now had me perplexed.
The dirt began to move,
“Hello, my love, do you approve?”
I felt a pain in my right arm
My blood had been farmed
She and I had become one
“My love, what have you done?
For it cannot be reversed.”
“You are forever cursed.”
“We’ll be together forever,” she exclaimed.
I should feel ashamed
“My love, together forever it will be.”
On one hallows eve.
Once you open the door
it can be hard to tell
under feathers and masks
swan from princess
prince from frog
because so often
they are both
The bedsheet ghosts
can be bribed to go haunt
the neighbors but
once the door is open
your own phantoms appear
an invisible few
you know who
They won’t go away and
never stop talking about
what should have been different
despite now knowing it all
could only have been what it was
which is why they’re dead
and you’re not
1st Day of the 5th Halloween Poem Contest, here on ‘Writer’s Treasure Chest’.
It has started! *************************************************************
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 and/or blog.
There are a few rules to follow:
Your poem needs a Halloween theme.
Your poem needs a minimum of 99 words.
Your poem has to be delivered to my email address between October 10 and Halloween, October 31, 2019, at 9 pm Pacific Time.
Your poem has to be delivered together with your picture and a link to your blog/page.
Please avoid violence, bad language, and sexual content within the poems. It would be disqualified.
Every poem that meets the rules and is delivered within the deadline will be published here on “Writer’s Treasure Chest” together with the provided picture and link.
The contest starts October 10, 2019 06.00 am and ends October 31, 2019 09.00 pm Pacific Time!!
Please, deliver your poem and your picture to my email address within this time frame, neither earlier, nor later. Poems arriving outside these 3 weeks will be disqualified.
When I started off as a writer, I decided my purse needs to get bigger. Next to all the necessary stuff we women consider indispensable to be carried around in our purse, like Makeup, nail files, Kleenex, wallet, checkbook, credit cards, membership cards, half a dozen receipts, hand sanitizers, headphones, emergency phone chargers, phones, pens, notepads, nail polish, knitting stuff and the last edition of the ‘Cosmopolitan’… I felt the need of carrying my WIP with me at all times. And with the WIP comes a big paper notebook and pens, pens and more pens…
Instead of a ‘regular’ purse, I got myself a tote and then changed to a laptop purse. The bags I carried around got bigger and bigger.
The ones familiar with my writing process know that I draft the first version of every book by hand and later on will type it into the computer. It is easier to carry a paper notebook around than a laptop at all times.
Still… my paper notebooks got bigger too. At times it seemed to me I was constantly on the edge of traveling somewhere. I loved the opportunity to write whenever I had the chance to… be it at the doctor’s waiting room, a library, waiting for someone in a restaurant or anywhere else… an hour in the park or wherever else possible.
But lately, about six months ago, I had to re-think. I’m not talking about my writing process, I’m talking about the fact that I felt a huge relief every single time I set my purse down. My back finally got some rest, and there were moments I was almost scared to pick it up again and swing it over my shoulder.
That was the moment I knew I had to change something. I was getting older, and I couldn’t take the weight of all that stuff in my purse anymore. Of course, I didn’t want to accept the truth. I don’t want to see my age. Letting anyone see that I was suffering under the weight of my own purse would be humiliating.
That’s why I finally, heavy-heartedly took a few steps to make the changes that were necessary for quite some time.
I still have the laptop purses – but I keep them for the rare opportunities I really travel and have to take my laptop.
The knitting work (which I was basically kidding about), stayed home, I reduced the number of pens, shrunk the necessary notepad to a mini-version. I reduced the makeup bag by half, removed the nail polish, decided to read the Cosmo at home and bought a couple smaller purses.
In the meantime, I got used to a much lighter ‘baggage.’ I also learned to carefully plan my appointments and only take my WIP, in a separate tote, if it’s really necessary, or if I plan to write anyway.
I love my writing, I love my work, I love being a writer. But I also love my health and the health of my spine and back.
As hard as it is to admit: I’m not a vampire and I age, like everyone else. No matter what I do, no matter how much I love writing. If I want to do what I love, I need to keep myself healthy.
And so should every woman with a purse. Apparently, there had been bad injuries done to women’s backs and necks with far too heavy purses. Who knows, maybe after this post, more women are clearing out their purses and decide to go smaller?
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 and/or blog.
There are a few rules to follow:
Your poem needs a Halloween theme.
Your poem needs a minimum of 99 words.
Your poem has to be delivered to my email address between October 10 and Halloween, October 31, 2019, 9 pm Central Standard Time.
Your poem has to be delivered together with your picture and a link to your blog/page.
Please avoid violence, bad language, and sexual content within the poems. It would be disqualified.
Every poem that meets the rules and is delivered within the deadline will be published here on “Writer’s Treasure Chest” together with the provided picture and link.
The contest starts October 10, 2019, 06.00 am and ends October 31, 2019, 09.00 pm Central Standard Time!!
Please, deliver your poem and your picture to my email address within this time frame, neither earlier, nor later. Poems arriving outside these 3 weeks will be disqualified.
