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Happy Day

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This poem was inspired by a prompt I read about writing a happy poem. 
Your smile is sunshine, Fills the whole room. It's beam so bright  It touches the moon. 
Your jokes bring joy  To those who don't laugh. Your friendliness  Brightens everyone's path.   By Evelyn Creon

Blanket lost

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To all the people who understand what it's like when you lose your blanket at night. 
Tossing and turning, Around I wrapped A big thick blanket Behind my back.
It got so hot, I wiggled and thrashed Kicking the blanket Off my bed.
As I slept hours past, Then midnight's roar Scared me half to death, And my body felt frore.
I bolted straight up And fumbled around In search of my blanket Blue and round.
Yet I felt nothing.  Reaching out my hand It gripped only air, I was getting mad.
I got out of bed I stumbled and fell Crashing to the floor How fatal it felt.
that's when I felt it So soft and torn It felt so nice though it was old and worn.
To tired to move Broken and sore  I fell asleep On the floor. by By Evelyn Creon

Mixed within

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let's take a deeper look into a writer's mind. 
Passion and death, Two combined  Mixed within  A writer's mind. 
Short on time, And endless visions
That assemble together,
Cast expositions. By Evelyn Creon

Is it a dream?

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Inspired by the picture I am using for this blog post. I have never experienced dreaming about my own death but I know people who have. It raises the question what is the reason for people to dream about their death?  
The waves tossed and turned throwing walls of water continually over my head.  I could barely breath. Every time my head emerged to the surface in was pushed under again in to a swell of water. The swell would spin me around which to me seemed to be forever. Then it would spit me out and the cycle would happen again. I wanted to get away from all the water, but there was no land or boats in sight. I felt hopeless and as time passed I didn't fight for a breath of air. I became so tired that eventually I felt my body start to sink down.  I looked up. Light was shinning through the water as I went down, down, and down. There was a thud on the ocean floor where my body laid to rest.
I booted up straight as a door nail and ripped of my blankets. "It wasn't real.…

Glenwood Canyon Colorado

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Yesterday I had the opportunity to drive through Glenwood Canyon with my family. It was beautifu. the beauty of the canyon inspired me, and so I wrote a poem about my experience there. 
The canyon walls towered high above  us. Beautiful rock formations lined it's walls. The Colorado river's
murky water lies below,
Seventy was the speed limit  A freeway both ways.  Twelve miles mostly of bridge we drove on, Four tunnels passed we through. 
Orange cones lined the center line, Preventing you from driving in the left lane.   Electrical construction made one way traffic, For both ways.  
A train track was built  on the south side of the river.   if it is still in use,  I wouldn't know. 
Rest stops were placed about every three miles, Throughout the cannon.  They were small, clean, and green;  with ramps to the river. 
Rafters floated down the river through swells and rapids. If you looked past the car windows, You could watch the rafts toss too and for. 
Glenwood canyon Colorad…

Fields of gold

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Inspired by a road trip to the Rocky mountains. One of the many scenes of an exciting road trip. 
Fields of gold  Fly past my Windows.  Fence posts of the thousands, Line the sides of the roads.  Farm house scattered Throughout the fields of gold. No sight of a town  For hundreds of miles.  Trees a rare thing to see  In the sea of gold.  Tumbleweeds, flying through the air  landing here and there.  Fields of gold meet the sky  As far as one can see.  Bright blue and fluffy white  Colors the sky. Over head the sun beats down Upon the earth with waves of heat.  By Evelyn Creon

Books holder's of knowledge

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We often forget that reading the old classic books and learning from our mistakes are what help us become a holder of knowledge.

Books that sit upon shelves  Marked front to back  With notes and pen ink. Their pages worn, From repeated use Their covers old and running thin From frequently being read. Years worth of work,  Of lessons learned, dreams, Ideas, and disagreements. Well loved are these books that have shared knowledge with their readers  Over and over again. By Evelyn Creon