Winners of the 2019 Halloween Ekphrastic Challenge

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We were delighted to read over 100 responses to our Halloween Ekphrastic Challenge.  We called for writers to respond to the painting above in a Halloween-esk manner!  Thank you to everyone who entered.  There were so many other pieces that we would have loved to have published if we could have.  Congratulations to everyone who made it into the top ten!

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Lying on the dark side: Brid McGinley 

 

Lily, the aptly named cat. So white she dissolves with daylight, slinks through her haunts, invisible, feeds well, makes offerings of mice and birds on her mistress’s doorstep. A good cat, dutiful, independent. But with the night, she becomes herself. Moonlight speckles her white fur, and as she glows, like a negative transparency, Lily’s dark side becomes manifest. She performs as she wishes, lies crescent shaped against the dark trees, legs batting fireflies, indifferent to judgment from wide-eyed owls and astonished cats. Lily sees only herself, her pleasure is all. Darkness becomes her theatre and she becomes it’s star.

 

Brid McGinley lives on the Inishowen Peninsula in Donegal. New to writing, she enjoys the challenge of flash fiction, and how a story can be revealed on a small canvas.

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Screecher of the Cemetery: Molly Twomey

 

I’m convinced each crack of a twig

is my neck, every caw of a crow, an omen.

While they chew shrooms,

hallucinate. They’ve eyes like scythes

but death does not scare them.

On their backs, they wiggle at the sky

as if to say, come get me,

and I am wasting my life.

 

Molly Twomey holds an MA of Creative Writing. She has been published by The Irish Times, Headstuff, Banshee, educate.ie and elsewhere.

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Jekyll and Hyde: David Braziel

 

They slink in from the night

leaving parcels of picked bones

secret death beneath the bushes

brittle blood in the borders.

 

Back into the kitchen

lapping up puddles

of purest white.

 

David Braziel is a poet and spoken word performer and not a cat person.

 

 

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When the veil between the worlds is thin: Pat Childerhouse

 

 

one owl’s wings folded back look like the arms

of a man who clasps his hands behind him

the better to survey a scene on which he must pass judgment.

 

 

But those round eyes give him away. He’s not impartial –

he’s shocked to see how cats relax yet still stare back,

unblinking, at whoever’s watching them.  It’s the full moon

that lets this man transmogrify. Next time, he’ll slant his eyes,

curl a cat-tail question mark and catch a firefly.

 

Pat is a great-grandmother and gardener, who lives in a city by the sea so she can swim in the summer and walk in Nature all year.  She has loved poetry all her life, but came late to writing it.

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The Night Allowance: Barbara McVeigh

 

If you wander lost on Halloween night, find us on the path that’s lit with the green pulse of fireflies. See, a bonfire already awaits. You spot us, a coil of women caressing the flames. As you approach, our hairs wisp away into smoke and we shrink into feathers and fur. We know you are here to witness our transgressions, child. That’s why you’ve come. Open your mouth. Let us hear your first howl or mew. Daylight only allows the ordinary ambitions of pearls. Move towards the threshold. Melt until you’re just a set of eyes gleaming in the dark.

 

Barbara McVeigh is a writer and teacher-librarian living in Canada, with occasional sojourns in County Down, Northern Ireland. Her most recent work has appeared in Pithead Chapel, Ellipsis Zine, and Unbroken Journal. Connect with her on Twitter @barbaramcveigh. 

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Luminesce: Kathryn Sadakierski

 

Sliding down the tree, in the whimsical way of a child,

He was a slice of moonlight itself,

As though the shadowy silver strands of a ghost had smiled.

Dancing by the light of stars and fairy dust,

The petals make their flight into the gossamer-edged turquoise sky,

Ringed with purple, the moon like a dandelion, free as a sprite,

They swirl towards that smile in the sky from whence they came,

The cratered rock that has observed many a Halloween,

By the tree, gold-tinged green like a gourd,

Under the song of owls, and the cats, those children of autumn nights.

 

Kathryn Sadakierski is both a creative writer and artist whose publications are forthcoming in Teachers of Vision Magazine and in a Zimbell House Publishing anthology. She graduated from Bay Path University in Longmeadow, Massachusetts summa cum laude with her Bachelor of Arts degree.

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Night Vision: Anna Murphy

 

If I had eyes to chase the dark

like Feisty-cat who hooks a moth —

hail mystic shine — tapetum lucidum.

 

See barn owl swoop from crooked branch,

scan woods where vole and field-mouse dance —

if I had eyes to chase the dark

 

I’d chase the ghosts of Halloween

faraway from children’s gleeful screams —

hail mystic shine — tapetum lucidum.

 

Anna Murphy loves poetry and is pleased to have a poem published this autumn in a new poetry anthology to raise funds for the Alzeimers Society.

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StrigiformesAmy Barnes

 
I

was cursed at birth. By my twelfth summer, my head turned 180 degrees. Only after midnight. First just a tiny spin past my shoulder. And then all the way around.

 
I

wanted to control it. I visited the ones who’d cursed me. Watched me born under a squall sky, my tiny neck already moving too far.

 
Their

eyes tried to hypnotize me, spinning circles of night.

 
“Turn

like this.” They taunted with flip of feathers.

 
They

didn’t know I’d learned the curse. Embraced it even.

 
They

fell from branches as midnight passed. I returned home triumphant, draped in feathers.

 

 

 

Amy Barnes has words at sites including McSweeney’s, The New Southern Fugitives, FlashBack Fiction, Flash Fiction Magazine, Lucent Dreaming and Lunate Fiction. She reads for CRAFT and Narratively and is Associate CNF Editor for Barren Magazine.

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Waiting to strike: Marie Studer

 

Under the cloak of milky moon

sprites frolic on cobalt canvas

luring nocturnals

content in the curve of lichen limbs.

 

A fleeting silhouette-

and all at once, they gaze at the baton

steered by the sorceress

and join the cacophony of toot, mewl and hoot

and wait the strike of witching hour

to prowl, avenge and scavenge.

 

Marie Studer lives Co. Limerick. She has had a short story published in the Limerick Writers Centre Anthology Opening Doors and has read her poetry at the Open-Mic in Limerick.

 

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The Owl and the Brexit Cats: Siobhan Twomey

 

His name is Boris you know, the white one,

lying on his back attempting to paw Faeries.

Sweet Faeries that lure him, cast sweet spells,

jumble his brain with bumblings, map directions

he should take. He does take.

From my mossy bough I watch Arlene

the female felidae. I shudder to see her

turn purple, my eyes enlarge

as I prowl for resolutions to transmit

at this veil thin transference time.

 

Siobhan Twomey is an acupuncturist living in Lismore, Co. Waterford, Ireland. She enjoys reading and writing poetry and has been published in Poetry Bus magazine.

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