Demon Tracker Blog Tour – DAY 6 – Raymond Walker’s Blog

Raymond Walker is a long year author friend of mine who was immediately there when I called for help for this Blog Tour. He’s a talented writer and great to work with. Thank you for your amazing Blog Tour post for the Demon Tracker Tour! I value your friendship!


I do not often participate in such things as “blog tours” but on occasion a writer will catch my attention for all the right reasons. One such is A.J. Alexander. A.J. Is a Fantasy author from across the pond, you can easily find her blog “Writers treasure chest” and she has a new novel out, so I decided to host her here on my blog tonight. I think that many of you will enjoy her works.

A.J. Is a very different writer from me even if we often share a genre, her style straightforward clean and easy to follow. I think you would find her books a pleasant change from my arty Dickensian monstrosities.

CONTINUE READING HERE

 

 

Demon Tracker Blog Tour – May 2, 2020 – May 14, 2020


I’m very proud to present the ‘Demon Tracker’ Blog Tour

from May 2 – May 14, 2020

supported by the following participants:

 

May 02, 2020                 The Story Reading Ape

May 03, 2020                 Vivienne Sang

May 04, 2020                 KM Jenkins

May 05, 2020                  Sue Vincent

May 06, 2020                  Laura Sansom

May 07, 2020                  Raymond Walker

May 08, 2020                  Allan Krummenacker

May 09, 2020                  Jenanita

May 10, 2020                  Nicholas Rossis and Nicholas Rossis

May 11, 2020                   JoHawkTheWriter

May 12, 2020                  Unexpectedly neglected

May 13, 2020                  Don Massenzio

May 14, 2020                  The Paranormal Romance Guild

 

THANK YOU ALL, SUPPORTERS!!

 

Check out the Demon Tracker Trailer and read the Tour posts to find out about the 3rd book in ‘The Council Of Twelve’ series.

 

 

Author Spotlight – Raymond Walker

Hello, please introduce yourself.

Hi, My name is Raymond Walker and I am a writer. I write under a few aliases as well as my own name so some of you may know me as “Ray T Walker”, Maeve O’Connell, Robert Anderson, June Rutherford and Elijah Plane but most of my books are written under my own name; Raymond Walker.

1. When did you start writing?

I started writing, way back in the mists of time, the seventies, little more than a child, I was raised on a farm in the middle of nowhere and there was little to do other than work study and read. A village lay close by; Peninver (Pro peneever) and it was there I attended school. As is the case with most writers they were raised a reader. I started reading for myself at a rather young age but no more so than many others. I was no savant, rather just a young boy with little other to do than read.
I remember reading Alan Garner’s, “Weirdstone of Brisingammen, Jack London’s “Call of the wild” and White Fang” My very first of the, sagas, “Njals saga”, “Lord of the Rings”, “Watership down” when I was barely into double figures.

I started writing in my teens but most of the tales told were not worthy of notice. A country boy from a farm in the middle of nowhere, I had to travel across the country to College and ended up in the capital. Beautiful, filled with history, the site of the new renaissance, the Athens of the North, I was only Fifteen when I picked up sticks and headed east. University took up some time, but I think that I learned more from the people and streets of Edinburgh than I did from my tutors. I was studying Polymer Process Technology under some of the luminaries of the age but the ancient hoariness, the Gothic spires and dreadful history of Scotland’s capital seeped into my lonely country bones. Already imbued with a taste for the “Horror” story, the dark and unusual, the environment, the dark wynds, the overwhelming mystery, could not help but fuel my taste for the macabre.

I qualified with no problem but was disappointed with the course even as I was studying it. Science was never to be for me I thought at the time.
Whilst in Edinburgh I found “The Science Fiction bookshop” and met some cool people and through them I started working for the magazine “Uncanny Tales” part time, whilst still studying Polymer process technology and later, Mechanical engineering.

My first published story “A Shiver” appeared in “Astounding stories, Amazing Tales” and “Wondrous Tales” in 1980. In 82’ “Nut Brown Eyes” was published as a novella and serialized in “Uncanny Tales”. A version of the same tale appeared later in the noted mystery magazine; “Tales of mystery and imagination”. I wrote for many mag’s at the time and was regularly published but only earned a little. Married, and then with children I put writing aside and looked to earn a living and so entered the business world. The less said about that the better.

2. What motivates you to write?

I have very little motivation to write. I enjoy the creation of something new and original but have not the impetus of those wishing to “make it” or “write the great novel” rather I just like telling a good tale that others appreciate. Generally I write because it is in my nature to do so. (be glad of a short answer) The idea sits in my head, it hatches and I try to write it. Sometimes that is easily done, at others it is a dreadful misery and I do not get it right.

3. What genre do you write in and what made you chose this particular genre?

I am never drawn to genres, I always think; that is to my detriment. My very first novel, as you may expect, was a tale of the unexpected. “Nut Brown Eyes” a narrative tale set around the wild woods of Northern Scotland. My Second “My Peculiar Guinevere” a fantastical historical piece done in snippets of each of the characters lives. I have written historical fact, historical fiction, fantasy, contemporary romance, faerie tales, generic fantasy, Ghost stories, Science fiction, horror and even political comment over the years. Genre matters little to me. I always think that a good story will be a good story wither it is of birds in the sky or dragons in the mist. I have never found a genre I do not enjoy reading in.

There are some genres I prefer more than others, as Is the case with all readers but I have read fantasy that has fascinated me, Erotica, that has aroused me, Science fiction that sent me in deep stasis, thinking, others that have bid me soar.
Crime fiction that has assaulted my senses, Philosophy that has made me understand a little more of what I am and so on. I shall pause there, I may be assaulting your senses and ability to be bothered listening to me for much longer. Lol- but I have much more to say. I shall just finish his by saying that there is little difference between Hard Sci-fi and a bodice ripper. The good writer will tell the tale well no matter what it is; the bad……..

4. What is your goal in writing? Do you have dreams where your writing should take you?

Many of my peers have ambitions. once I also had the same dream, the great writer, the bestseller, the Nobel prize (lol), writing the perfect novel. To be honest, I am aware of my abilities, I am a good writer (not great) many enjoy my tales, and hopefully always will. I look to make each one better than the one before. I sell a few books here and there. I no longer look forward to the bestseller, the great book. I keep writing because it is now a habit like smoking or drinking, it courses through my blood and I suspect that it will until my blood and internal organs are replaced with formaldehyde. Something that I suspect will happen in the not too distant future.

 

5. Do you ever suffer from writer’s block and if yes, how do you deal with it?

I have never suffered from writers block, I cannot imagine anyone so afflicted. I have a large ring bound book into which I place ideas for new books, new stories, short or long, That book is not only filled but there are many other sheets of paper, folded and added with outlines and Ideas I will not live long enough to tell. It does not really matter wither your struggle is writing the next tale or deciding which tale to write next. Just get on with it. Others may disagree. The big thing is telling what tale you wish others to read. As often you will get this wrong. I know I have, Often.

Those that I wish others to read, may one day be written but I suspect that I will complete few of them, and perhaps not even the ones that I wish to before my demise.
Each day I come up with ideas for new books, still untold. Some I will write, others will die with me. I hope however, to tell many more tales over the years remaining to me.

6.  What advice would you like to give new, hopeful authors?

To new Authors I would offer only two pieces of advice; Learn your trade.

Write short pieces first, write for newspapers, magazines, periodicals and even business papers. With a little ability and a great deal of reading even the most mundane of us can become great writers.

The Second piece of advice, I know, Seems to contradict the first. Spend time writing your best work, let the world pass by and do not rush. Wait for the right words at the right time. When those words are not coming, write something else. On Facebook, an article, a newspaper story, for the printed press, a column, a contradictory piece, a short tale for a magazine. It is difficult to make your living as a writer. You need to be hard-working, capable and clever. Of Course your cool novel may suddenly make you rich but In my experience it rarely does. So you spread yourself and work and if willing to put the effort in and talented enough (and I am not that good) you make a living.
Then you have the time to wait and see if people like your books.
Some will. Some will not. No book is wonderful to everyone.

7.  Please, tell us about your work. 

I enjoy writing, even when it is difficult and you review what you have just produced and decide that it is terrible, unworthy of what you imagined when you set out to write whatever, whichever tale you imagined.
Yet the opposite also applies.
I recently started putting together a collection of tales and realized that it was a little short. So I thought to add a tale from a little read book to complete the collection. This tale I found delightful, well written and approaching wondrous. So I know that I can produce a great work.

Thank you very much for being my guest. It was such a pleasure to have you here. Please come back anytime!


Connect with Raymond:

Main author site; www.raytwalker.com

The new Novel website; http://sheweptblacktears.yolasite.com/

Another author site; http://www.raytwalker.wixsite.com/raymond-walker

Online Presence for the Wondrous Tales and Mercurial Tales magazines (under construction though visible); www.mercurialtales.com
For Horror tales only go to; http://raynayday.weebly.com
For Fantasy Tales only go to; http://raymondwalker.weebly.com
To read my blog go to; http://www.raytwalker.wixsite.com/stories

Amazon Authors page go to; https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raymond-Walker/e/B002CB59VA/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1

E-mail; raytwalker@googlemail.com


Raymond’s books:

Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazon

 

 

 

 

Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazon

5th Halloween Poem Contest – And The Winners Are…

Picture courtesy of https://northernnatalcourier.co.za

Picture courtesy of: http://preventioncdnndg.org/

The jury has decided!

Today I’m writing representing the Jury of the 5th Halloween Poem Contest 2019.

The winners of the contest are:

Halloween by Donna Matthews

Don’t let them in by MacKenzie Tastan

The Witching Hour by Valerie Cruz

(The winners are listed in order of their submissions)

Thank you so much for your amazing poems, winners! You will get an email today.
______________________________________________

Our three winners of the contest can choose one of the offered e-books.

Signed Paperbacks with a T-Shirt of Hiding from the Light – OR – Winter’s Ghost – OR – The Painting written by Raymond Walker
E-book of A Horse by Any Other Name: A Doctor Butterbaugh Mystery – OR – E-book of A Girl and Her Dog: A Short Story – OR – At the End of the Rainbow – OR – What you wished for, written by Sherry Perkins
E-book of “Soul Taker” – OR – ‘Sundance‘ written by Aurora Jean Alexander

CONGRATULATIONS!

It was a difficult decision for the jury. But we had a lot of fun and want to thank all poets for their wonderful poems.

______________________________________________

Thank you, Raymond Walker and Sherry Perkins for their jury work and offering one of their books to the winners. I appreciate your help and support!


Now, please permit me a word on my own account:

The Halloween-Poem Contest has brought us all a lot of work and fun and many wonderful Halloween poems, showing how much talent there is around.

However, it also showed us, with this year having the lowest number of participants, that our poets have shown all their skills within the Halloween theme. 

After five years of organizing the Annual Halloween-Poem Contest and hosting it on ‘Writer’s Treasure Chest,’ I think it is time for something new.

It was five years of fun and I wanted to thank everyone, all participants, and in particular all jury members from the first to the last contest, for making this a wonderful experience for me! Thanks so much for all your work, your help, your support – and the wonderful books you offered as prizes in the five years! You all are amazing, not only as authors but also as wonderful friends!

Good Bye Halloween-Poem Contest. It was great.

A. J. Alexander

5th Halloween Poem Contest – 4th And Last Group Of Submitted Poems —

Picture courtesy of http://preventioncdnndg.org/

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 Witching Hour

by

Valerie Cruz

When willows arch their backs in reverence,
bowing toward the earth below.
When evening breezes messenger the coming of the moon’s pale glow.

When night birds telegraph their omens,
fresh from lunar heights, foretold and hearth sides showcase flames emblazoned,
burnished embers edged in gold.

From deep in silent, grassy places sodden with late-evening air.
Ambivalent to strange embraces,
lilies bring their buds to bear.

Amidst the stony tributaries built to those no sound may reach.
To evidence impermanence,
engraved with lessons, yet to teach.

Here begets the Witching Hour, slivered apex of the night.
All at once, begun and ended,
metaphor for mortal plight.

Taunts all life with fear and splendor,
dreams of flying, long since lost.
Tempts the grave with memories tender.
Glimpse the light, whatever cost.

Coiled within the misty shadow,
serpentine and poised to strike, lay the horrid reckoning
feared by both chaste and foul alike.


Graveyard Speed Dating

by

Chris Meredith

The cold and misty air contains a deathly musk
A stench that hovers over the graves
Stirring from the ground of depth
Lost souls looking upwards to be saved

Bony hands clutch their invitation
Tight to their skeletal chest
They hope to attract a new dead mate
One they can touch and maybe caress

Darkness is their familiar friend
As they sit beside their first date
Beauty is in the socket of the beholder
As a specialty, their head rotates

Stripped of flesh and brains
They now judge on spirit alone
They talk about previous lives
And reminisce about earthly homes

The church bell sounds its tune
Its time to swap around
The truth is they will never find new love
While they all sleep six feet underground


NIGHTMARES

by

Agnieszka Filipek

1.

it’s night
the avenues burning
in moonlight
the death of a child
jumping
from a roof

horses with iron hooves
pulling the corpse
the skull slamming
on the curb
ghouls fighting
over the remains

dawn startled
escaping into the trees
and his coat
caught by rain
dragging
blooded

2.

finding
my mauled body
damp in a ditch
darkness
stretches its arms
threatens to embrace

even my kitten of hope
is falling off
the fence
and a roadside scarecrow
is gouging out
his eyes

3.

I cannot sleep
close my wet eyes
with your hand
with your lips cover
the gates of nightmares
sit beside me


 

5th Halloween Poem Contest – 1 Day Left – Hurry Up!

Picture courtesy of http://preventioncdnndg.org/

 

Deadline for the contest is

October 31, 2019 – 9 pm Pacific 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

  • 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.

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

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

Picture courtesy of: http://preventioncdnndg.org/

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


Halloween Halls

by

Ashley R. Clayton

 

There is a being, you see, upon this evening’s brow;
two stories up, where the night’s extinguished candle was used to enshroud.
Over the flame she turned, over their breath she heard, their pensive dishes of gruel and meat,
their spoons clashing, bread ripping, as they spoke of things without understanding;
without understanding at all.

Notes of music spilt onto the wooden floors; clanging mouths and spit soon sealed every door.
A rush away, chains soon met.
Truth was heard whispering nevermore;
it was beckoned back through the Hall’s front doors.

Now with violence ripped and pages fell,
Darkened calendars and lighted gold,
the lady of the manor haunts her lonely, ever darkened but discreet,
Halloween Halls.


Don’t Let Them In

By

MacKenzie Tastan

A party had gathered the night of Samhain
When a stranger arrived. “Won’t you please let me in?”
He was no acquaintance; his horse threw a shoe.
With the rain, might he stay and enjoy the fun, too?
His hair, black as pitch; his frame, mighty tall:
The ladies were swooning all over the hall.

In this golden era when Victoria was queen,
By turns they told ghost stories each Halloween.
The house master waited. He told his tale last.
His guests scarcely breathed till the story had passed.

His ancestor conquered this manor by siege
And ousted the king who had long been its liege.
But people still loved him. For full victory
The conqueror lashed the old king to a tree.
In public he severed the fingers and toes
Of the king one by one. Then he lopped off his nose.

The dying man gave his last curse to the land:
“You may prosper today. You may think your luck grand.
But I promise you this: Nuada shall return!
My torture and murder will be overturned
When I visit on you what you’ve given to me.
Not even your children will ever be free!”

The master’s eyes gleamed as he warned the hushed hall,
“One night he’ll come back here to murder us all!”

By now, all the house guests were too scared for bed.
As midnight approached, the house mistress said,
“It’s time to tell fortunes. Who wants to go first?”
They fled to the parlor from thoughts of the curse.

They each took an apple and sliced it nine ways
In front of the mirror. They’d find true love’s gaze
By eating eight pieces, then tossing the last
Over shoulder by candlelight. Inside the glass
Some claimed to see friends or that gleam in the eyes
Of the one they loved best, like young Lydia’s prize:
The stranger in darkness who stole her first kiss
While the guests, rapt with stories, saw nothing amiss.
At last her turn came, but her lover had gone:
Vanished into the night with the horse he rode on.

Young Lydia, pretty, the house’s last daughter,
Saw gilded glass ripple like midnight water.
Her love’s noseless visage grinned wide like a skull:
“King Nuada’s back! Now your family line’s null!”

Nine months, and poor Lydia brought forth a son.
Her father’s grim gaze knew whose battle was won.
In the boy shone the stranger. No fingers or toes.
The most frightening thing was his lack of a nose.

Now Lydia nurses her babe by the hour,
Guarding his life from her family’s power.
No mere mortal child will inherit the land:
One look at his face shows King Nuada’s brand.

On Samhain, the veil between worlds grows too thin.
Be wary of strangers and don’t let them in.


A Father’s Hallowe’en message.

By

V. M. Sang

 

I Died.
I didn’t want to go.
I left my wife and daughter so
I cried.

I thought
I could no longer see
All their future without me.
I fought.

I found
That each All Hallows Eve,
I could return—I need not grieve.
Not bound.

I come
On to them each Hallowe’en.
They do not know. I am not seen.
I’m dumb.

They live
And I surround them both
With all my love. I am not loath
To give.

Here ends my tale.
I will be filled with endless glee
When they come to dwell with me
Beyond the veil.


Picture courtesy of https://www.rmusentrymedia.com/

 

A Little Night Music

by

Laurie Corzett

She appeared
out of the night.
Dark mystery arousing
curiosity,
distraction, concern.
(When will I ever learn
to let these heartbreaks
in the making
pass me by?)

Voodoo of attraction,
sacrosanct intimacy.
Impelled to submit in throes
of flagrant ecstasy.
Do what you will with me
in our secret rendezvous.
Then relinquish me to go
back to my wastrel ways.

She grabbed me with such force
I felt I could die.
And that was just her eye
pulling me close
to continue
our conversation.
Great conflagration
arose in my heart.
So adept at her art
of igniting
imagination.

Cruel fate
mocks nocturnal fantasies.
Yet, swept up in delight,
facing dualities,
the wrong and the right,
I too easily sell my immortal soul
for her eternal night.

She tastes my sin
drip laughing from my skin.
I freely forswear my life.
Fierce pierce and suck
lunge in the for kill.
There’s no greater thrill.
We descend into dark fall.
Fade into shadow before approach of light.


 

5th Halloween Poem Contest – 1 Week Left!

Picture courtesy of http://preventioncdnndg.org/

Deadline for the contest is

October 31, 2019 – 9 pm Pacific 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

  • 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.

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

5th Halloween Poem Contest – 2nd Group Of Submitted Poems —

Picture courtesy of: http://preventioncdnndg.org/

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


Halloween

by

Donna Matthews

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


All Hallow’s eve Candy Girl

By

Marjory Mallon

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!


 

The Churchyard at Night

by

Stevie Turner

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.


Necropolis

by

Anisha Jain

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.


5th Halloween Poem Contest – 1st Group Of Submitted Poems —

Picture courtesy of: http://preventioncdnndg.org/

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 Hunt…

By

Christopher Graham

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.


You Glow

by

Sleeping In Bed With Jumpers On

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.


Halloween Poem

by

Catherine Ross

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.


SONY DSC

October 31st

by

James Gaynor

 

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

And that’s life
once you open the door