Today my week started with a wonderful surprise. Writer’s Treasure Chest got 100,000 views!
I am so very honored and grateful to all of you! Thank you so very much to everyone who ever visited ‘Writer’s Treasure Chest’, accidentally surfed on the page, is a follower and regular reader, friend and family member.
Writer’s Treasure Chest has grown enormously since I celebrated my last anniversary:
I’m so lucky to be part of the blogging world with all your help. Without guests, friends, followers, supporters, and people encouraging me again and again this blogging adventure would not have been progressing at this pace and wouldn’t have been as successful as it is.
2020 was an eventful and extremely challenging year for me. However, I decided to use December, the last month of the year, to calm my soul, concentrate on what’s important, on what’s in my heart, and on one emotion in particular:
Writer’s Treasure Chest grew again and I have to thank you all, my Followers, Friends, and Readers!
Thank you so much for making my writing adventure a pleasant one!
progressed immensely in my writing, had my first book signing, I’m open to author visits, did some promotion, blogged…
Writer’s Chest developed too and I have to thank you all for that!
Thank you very much for being a part of my writing adventure and for making my writing life interesting, happy and enjoyable.
However, not everything worked out as smoothly as I hoped it would! 2019 was a particularly eventful, but also difficult year in many ways! Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers and hope that in 2020 there will be more progress in my life. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers now and every moment I can.
The coming Holidays are important to me as they are to you!
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!
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
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
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,
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.
out of the night.
Dark mystery arousing
(When will I ever learn
to let these heartbreaks
in the making
pass me by?)
Voodoo of attraction,
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
arose in my heart.
So adept at her art
mocks nocturnal fantasies.
Yet, swept up in delight,
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.