A Country Girl's Writing

I had a blast writing about a real place with a fictional twist.  Beneath the city of New Orleans, At the mouth of the Mississippi, Lies a connection of tunnels Beneath its cobblestone streets. They are rough and rocky, Dark, damp, and scary. They run for many miles and are full of possibilities. They can lead you to the bayou, To the river, or the street. Even to the graveyards, Where the dead sleep. At night they're used by thieves, And tourists by day. The underpass, is a chilling place to stay. Snakes and rats like to play In that dirty, damp place. It's a tourist attraction, A destination for the weak. It's full of many secrets That have never seen the sun. So they will lie covered In the deepest pits of mud. Tales of hidden treasure, Concealed by robbers Who never made it out alive. Are stories for the fools. A passage way for slaves Who fled from their masters. The tunnels were a path Of liberty and freedom. Murders old as tim...

The bitter head of scorn Draped its self in thorns. To us its demeanor was like roses Enticing did they shine  Right before our eyes. Their ugliness was masked With a shiny, colorful, covering. To catch our gaze by dazzling lies Instead of truth, so bitter tasting.  By Evelyn Creon 

Cut out of edges rough A little hope, the gem was caught.  Just enough to light a spark To ignite a flame in the dark. By Evelyn Creon   

Sorry for the super late post. The weather and internet have not been in the best of shape.   In a basket Resting on the floor Lies a little baby Peacefully asleep. Warm and cozy, In sweet dreams. While snowflakes Fall outside in heaps.   B y Evelyn Creon

To have your heart broken By someone you love They have to drop it From a high place above. Let it fall without a care As they watch it fly through the air, and shatter like glass Beneath them. Then they have to leave it, For you to recover. while it take you years To piece it again together. By Evelyn Creon

I peered beneath the surface A view caught my gaze, One of distant beauty That none could ever gage. It was powerful and priceless, Full of deadly and living things; Of animals and bees. The creatures all seemed calm And in perfect harmony. Maybe never seen before By a human like me. Though I knew I shouldn't I couldn't help myself, So I touched the surface with my finger. I had no fear and little doubt. With an unbearable pain I drew it back As I watched the ripple I created poison everything. The surface that I'd touched The beauty that I'd seen Slowly seemed to fade And shrivel up and die. My finger it got worse And my tears didn't help. My body began to shake uncontrollably. I tried to grasp for something But in vain there was nothing. I fell to my knees in dreadful agony And passed out from the pain. When I awoke I could barely stand. The sight I saw gave me no doubt That I was the human Who had snuffed life out. Out of a wor...

Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. The ground began to shake  As the rhythm went on.  Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. It sent a shiver up your spine. Adrenaline filled your mind.  Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Your body began to tense up, And a leg began to shake.  Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Your fingers began to tap  As your whole body now shook. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. When the finally arrived  It unexpectedly scared you.  Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat bong bong. Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat ka-boom.  An explosion the earth it shook, While you recovered from shock.   By Evelyn Creon

Sliver dipped moon-beams  Carved in plated blade cuffs, Trapped in a trunk Full of antique stuff.  By Evelyn Creon

Another dark poem. Written a couple weeks ago.  I felt the breathe and presence Of something dark and dirty. It sent a frozen chill Up my heated body. I shivered in the cold That bit me in the back, and whispered in the darkness, "Please, give me one last chance." I there than became aware, Rime fingers on my shoulder. I tried to move away They grasped me much harder. The warmth in my body It slowly diminished. As I stood there by myself Ice forming on my body. I endured the ice crawling, Descending my arms and legs, Taking lastly my heart. That's when it stopped beating. When the ice ceased crawling It's sweet, eerie, voice said "Ice is a pleasant color To look at upon your head. " No longer could I answer, Nor could I cry-out in pain. I stood there dead, with dread Frozen upon my face. By Evelyn Creon

This poem was inspired by the myth of the Grim Reaper. He is know for collecting the souls from people when their time is up.   I saw a figure  Descending down Upon a feeble body; Reaping 'way life  With it's own breathing.  That foul figure  Paralyzed me, Into a macabre fear That stiffened me, While it disappeared.  The feeble being That I had seen  No longer was it breathing  The figure, a brute, Took life an' now me.  By Evelyn Creon

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...

One of the things I have always feared is the idea of losing my parents. This was a dream that I would have over and over again when I was younger.  My heart fell from his hands hitting the ground shattering into a thousand pieces. "Nnnoooo," I cried, "You dropped it! How could you do such a thing?" Tears streamed down my cheeks. I couldn't hold them back as much as I wanted to.  A grin crossed his lips as he looked at me and said hardheartedly, "Your the one that gave it to me, and so you have me the permission to do what I wanted with it. I don't care about your heart so I broke it. " The tears streamed faster down my cheeks than they had ever come before. "Does my heart mean nothing to you?"  " NO, nope, never have and never will. "  I looked up at him in disgust. His grin made me sick inside. I had trusted him with every part of me, and most importantly the memory of my parents. I couldn't look at hi...

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

 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...

  This is a prompt of A conversation between a girl and her mother. "How did the tea party go?" "Good!" " what did you talk about? " "well, umm.... Politics, treason, anarchy, torcher, and death. " "What? Honey, your not supposed talk about politics, torcher, death, and etc.... Usually you would talk about romance, boys, books, tea, and random gossip. " "Oh! I didn't know that. Next time I'll try to remember that. Books, boys, and tea are not ask exciting though."  "Ugh! What am I supposed to do with you?"

On the way home from a friend's house the other evening this prompt formed in myhead.  I threw my fists against the wall. Anger and frustration consumed me. All the emotion I had been holding back poured out. My head felt like it would explode. Tears slid down my cheeks as I sank to my knees. "Why did he have to die? We were finally getting to living a decent life for the first time in our lives. Why did he have to die from a bloody car accident of all things?" I kept asking myself. I was mad at my mom for leaving us, my dad for dying, and my grand parents for disowning my family.  I was mad at all the guys who teased me at school, the stupid girl across the street who wouldn't leave me alone, and social service last who took me into the foster system. I was angry at everyone and everything in life.

Inspired by the memory of a cool breeze on a hot summer day.  Touched by a breath of fresh air; Leaves trembled on their branches. Touched by a breath of fresh air;  Flowers daintily waved a little.  Touched by a breath of fresh air; Grass bent ever so slightly.  Touched by a breath of fresh air; Goosebumps rose on someone's arms. Touched by a breath of fresh air; Hair wavered from where it lay. Touched by a breath of fresh air; a piece of paper crumpled a little more.  Touched by a breath of fresh air, Refreshed a hard-working brain.  Touched by a breath of fresh air Poetry was born.  By Evelyn Creon

This poem was written by my DAD when he was in 5th grade in 10-18-1984. My grandma came across this poem while going through all my dad's childhood things two weeks. When she showed it to me I fell in love with it. I never imagined my dad writing a poem, and this is just one more example of how amazing he is.  Michael built a bicycle  Usatiable for speed,  It's crammed with more accessories  Than any one could need. There's an am-jm radio, A deck to play cassettes,  A refrigerator- freezer, And a pair of tv sets. There are shelves for shirts and sweaters, There are hangers for his jeans, A drawer for socks and underwear, A rack for magazines. There's a fish tank and a birdcage, Perched upon the handlebars,  A lookcase, and telescope  To watch the moon and stars. There's a telephone and blender, And a stove to cook his meals.  There's a sink to do the dishes Somehow fastened to the wheels. There's...

Going through some of my old writing and came across this prompt.  I watched my brother die on the battlefield, fighting for something he believed in.  I never thought or even imagined that my brothers death would bring me anything but pain. Over the past five years I have realized his death has helped me become the man I am today. It taught me how to stand for what I believe in even if my life is on the line. How preserve through difficult times. Most importantly it has helped me turn the wheels of history. Those wheels never turn unless there is bloodshed. Thanks to my brother and all the other soldiers that died in the war I was able to help turn those wheels. Something I could have never done without them. 

 This is not a poem although maybe one day it will be. I was walking up my road the other day and this thought came to my mind. It was dark and the road I live on is curvy with a cliff on one side and a steep bank on the other making it darker then it actually is. Making you wonder what is on the bank or at the bottom of the cliff. When I got home I put together this little but of inspiration.  Narrow the road I did travel. Old and gray it 'twas. Full of twists and turns And weird old trees. Up it took me, deep into A forest I'd never explored. I followed it. knowing not what to expect. It was quiet and had an eerie feel. The trees all seemed green. The farther I went the darker and gloomy Everything became. I began to jump At any little sound. A rustle, crack, snap, or tap Made me look around. Yet still I followed it Despite all my fear. The trees now all seemed dead And were gray shadows. My gut told me to stop But I did not take heed. Still I w...