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Showing posts from May, 2018

Chocolate

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For all the chocolate lovers. The title of this poem just about sums it all up.
Chocolate The beauty of  Dark, creamy, Melt in the mouth  Deliciousness. 
Chocolate  Perfect for when  Writing, reading, Or watchin' a movie, It's always there.
Chocolate  The sweet  That begs you To enjoy it's  Rich devine flavor.
Chocolate  My sweet  Addiction  That stays with  Me always.  By Evelyn Creon

A picture of height

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When we fear something we like to explore the fear. This poem was inspired by my fear of heights. This poem started out with the first two verses, but when I chose the picture for the post I added two more verses. 
Up went I to the highest floor Of some random building  That once was adored. 
I there stopped  To catch my breath When I fell out a window  To a brutal death. 
I was there for a picture  An' nothing more, When the glass broke  I was lost forever more. 
Down I feel like a rock  Landing hard below  On a cement sidewalk.  By Evelyn Creon

Dancing' in the kitchen

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 Inspired by the endless dance parties my siblings, cousins, and I have in the kitchen when the parents are away. 

Dancin' in the kitchen
On a cold stary night,
Not a care in the world,
Cause we're doin' alright.
we have dinner and drinks
To last the whole night long;
With the music playin'
A good ol' fashion song.

We got Apple pastries,
We got gizzards galore!
We've got huckleberries,
steak an' some roasted corn.
There's greens from the garden,
Last year's squash from the field.
Will fill our abdomens
Before the next mornin' meal.

Dancin' in the kitchen,
Throughout this stary night
Papa'll play the banjo
Just a little up tight.
Granny'll be out jigger
That no one ever ever beats,
A duet I will sing
Like a champ on the streets.

Mama will be dancin'
With a slip and a dip,
Aunt Diane will do dishes
With an ol' swing of hips.
Uncle Tony will sing
Next to papa and me,
While the little youngin's
Fall asleep at our feet .

Danci…

Where a writer's art is born

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Inspired by the dreams that create artistic dexterity. All art is an interpretation of what the artist sees and feels in life.
Out of my bed and down the hall flew I. Then down the stair case rail I did slide.  The front door opened just like magic.  Into a world of  romanticism, majestic.
Where life and death are one in the same,  and good and bad are not a big fame. Where dreams meet reality,  And mortals are more than humanity. Where romance seems to take a role, And good or bad takes a toll. Where animals talk, And danger jaywalks.  Where life can pass and time often stops.  
The world of a writer created by endless imagination That flows from a pen out on paper for preservation. Endless possibilities that flow through their minds  Even after they unwind.  By Evelyn Creon

launching of a new blog

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Today I just wanted to share with you something I got from two of my writing brothers, Jason and Peter. They are the authors of the blog miznos an awesome writing blog. they'er writing is in-powering and has inspired me many times. They are launching a new blog called Awkward Truth that I’m super excited about! And they need your help.
Here’s what Jason said: ‘My friend, Peter Rogati, and I are starting a blog focused on discovering God’s absolute truth in His relational and natural creation, even and especially when it’s awkward. But before I launch I need your help. I’ve created a two-question survey. Your answers will shape the direction of this new project. Will you take a few minutes to: 1.Complete the survey yourself  2.Forward this email to anyone you think might be interested
Here’s the link to the survey: https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/Z53QKJP Thank you so much for your support! In Christ,  Jason’”
THANKS AGAIN!!!

Grandpa's guitar

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Inspired by the idea that somewhere in the world there is somebody that plays their grandpa's old guitar. 
I sat there on my bed Pluckin ' away at his guitar.  The only thing I had left From the memory of grandpa.
It's a littl' old, beat up,
But still it makes pretty chords
that the family loves.  He used to teach me Thursday night's How to play it swell. When he died of cancer  I didn't take the death too well. Now I lose myself in memories  Of Thursday night lessons That grandpa gave to me.  By Evelyn Creon