A Country Girl's Writing

The reflection in the water Is a false projection Of a realistic display. The water image a tad fuzzy In contrast to the original. Both are alluring In their own unique way. They make an awesome picture At the end of the day. By Evelyn Creon 

I have often left my perch  Just to sing a note. So to let it fly  Throughout all the earth  To spread a tone of truth.  By Evelyn Creon

The sunset in the sky  Is dreamer than most. With it's pastel colors  Sinking slowly  Past the coast. By Evelyn Creon

Leaves on the ground, Leaves on the trees; All in a colorful display, A splendor, an' array.  Red an' yellow, for apples That rest upon the ground.  Orange, for pumpkins  All carved, an' round.  Amber, for spiced cider  A yummy warm, refreshment.  Brown, for the acorns   That we turn into decor.  The colors they're lustrous, A beauty to the eye.  The colors of autumn  That fill the October sky.  By Evelyn Creon

Inspired by a summer evening.  Shh! Listen to the music Directed by the crickets.  They're singing symphonies  In the evening light, If you care to listen.   By Evelyn Creon

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

This poem was inspired by the countryside just out side of Adliswil. There are no docks that I know in Adliswil, but there are docks in Zurich; that's where the line " closely to the docks " was inspired.  Bells on the hillside; Clouds in the sky. Bongs of clocks Closely to the docks.  Crows flying through air  Worrin' 'bout themselves.  Bleats of sheep  On hills they do reap.  Splashing of a stream; It dips and dives.  Through the sky  Cold, crisp leaves do fly.  Various places  Snow it does lie. Sun streams down  On fields green and brown.  By Evelyn Creon

I am spending all of November in Switzerland, so all of my post from now till the end of the month will be inspiration I have from the beauty of Switzerland.   Today's post was inspired by the painted leaves that adorn many of the trees in Switzerland this time of year.  This particular writing today is about a gardener seeing a tree he planted in his younger years thirty years later.  I was taken back by the sight of her; adorned all fit and fine. Her hair was pulled back gently with a couple strands on display. Her painted face, lips, and hands were raised. As if to say, "Come to me." A gold chain was draped around her neck. A glittering ring on her finger did laugh. Jewels hung in array from her ears. A yellow lace shirt trimmed her bosom. While along brown and green skirt draped from her sides. Her feet lay bare on an orange carpet. La leather purse hung from her wrist. Her tone was like a song. Her movement was that of a queen. Maids of waiting we...

 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...

A drop of water  Rolls down a leaf.  When it nears the tip,  The leaf begins to waver; Then down it dips.  Down the drop does fall.  Hitting the earth   It wavers some;  Before seeping  Into the turf.  By Evelyn Creon

Calming sound of waves  As they crash against the shore.  Lazy barks of sea lions  As they lay on rock beaches.  Tide pools full of creatures; Each unique to it's species.  Squelching of your feet  As they sink into the sand.  The whale on the horizon That spouts a waterfall.  The lighthouse on the ness; To light the way at night.   Wind that pulls the kites Up, high, into the sky.  Laughing sounds of children  As the run too and fro.  The beauty o the sunset  As it slips beneath the foam.  The waver of a fires flame As it glows through the night.  The sights and sounds that represent  The northwest ocean shores.   By Evelyn Creon  

White foam comes crashing towards us, Followed by large waves.  Pushing all the ocean wonders On to beaches gray.  By Evelyn Creon

The trees are gently shaking As the sky's grow quite dull; Cloud formations now appear. Now quickly coming toward us, A chill runs through the air. Storm rains are coming through. The wind takes over control As the earth gets battered, By rain from up above. Painful and sharp are the drops; Thunder claps overhead; Lighting makes the ground tremble. Rain has evaporated; Thunders all depleted; Lighting is disappearing. Temperatures are rising now. Dying down is the wind; So still, the trees have become. Sun brakes through misty landscapes With rays of goldenness; East wind pushes clouds westward. Where sunbeams do hit the ground, Raindrops all do glisten In splendor for all to see. Slowly trees begin to drip; Puddles drain all away; The sun shines though all the day. By Evelyn Creon

The sunset with pink,  Blue, yellow, and orange. What beauty you and I  Have never seen before. By Evelyn Creon

Today is the fifth day of June and that makes me supper excited; so I wrote a poem for this month. Let me know what you guys think. June   June is coming in,  The air is saying so.  You feel I in the wind  And in the ground you sow.  June is bursting past;  The flowers all agree.  Spring never seems to last  Throughout this month carefree.  Spring starts to worry When time is running low.  Afraid for rains showers,  As the sun begins to show.  June is full of love,  The birds are singing of.  So everywhere you peek,  You feel it quite so meek.  June is finally here.  The roses are in bloom.  Sweet I their perfumes Dispersed throughout the air.  Now that June has come,  Pearls, roses do adorn me.  I will now be at peace While the years decrease.   By Evelyn Creon  

Night is falling fast, So all lights should be out. Sleep is near and so are sheep; So off in slumber you will Keep,  Until the sun does rise. By Evelyn Creon                                       

This piece of writing I wrote when I was 12. There are mountains and hills, Volcanoes and ash. And they all go together Just like leaves, trees, and grass. By Evelyn Creon 

This Poem was inspired by a beautiful day the other day. Spring The blossoms are out, yes. The leaves are now appearing.  The grass is turning green. The flower buds are blooming. The birds are all returning.  The days are getting longer.  The sun is coming out.  The rainy days are drifting into the past. Hot weather is coming on to fast. Every where you look new beauties do appear  Leaving me excited for this wonderful season this year.  By Evelyn Creon

This poem was written to help portray the beauty of fog. I have noticed that some people are afraid of fog while others are not. In my family we always love to see fog covering the ground because of the beauty that it leaves when it is gone. The fog is a ally as well as an enemy, it can hide the good and bad things in life but also bring out the beauty of life afterwords.       Sweet Repose The fog comes sweeping through the terra,  Drowning out unwanted noise. And like a blanket, the earth it covers; Hiding her a little while. Underneath the fog she sleeps; Enveloped in sweet repose. There's none can find her, none awake her; From this long awaited pause. When the sun slips through the fog And streams upon her lovely face. The earth with her blushing cheeks, awake As the world she captivates. The fog, it vanishes out of sight. But beauty, it leaves behind. She's far more glorious, to the eye Then that which she was befor...

It is wired how I go to write about a certain thing and then all of a sudden I am writing about something that is not even related. In the case of my newest poem "Melted" I was going to write about eyes and instead I started writing about snow and sunshine. My goal with this poem was to write something that I felt sure of. So that when my editor went to edit it she didn't have anything to really edit. I accomplished my goal and it made me feel supper good inside. Just knowing that I can accomplish anything I set my mind too.  Melted O n a cold, crisp December morn, Right after the first snow storm.   The sun let down her elegant streams;  As the snow looked up to see her bright beams.  Then there fell in love with her first light;  So there she stood to make things bright.  While she stood there shinning in all of the gray; The snow ever slowly melted away. By Evelyn Creon