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

Your voice is like no other That I have ever heard. It makes my heart beat faster With every single word. Your eyes don't get me started They are so deep and blue. They seem to see right through me My new found fear, it's true. Your hands they make me happy To see them in dirty shades. Knowing because you work hard You earn a decent wage. Your character is soft Yet strong and courageous too. Your loving to the children In most all the things you do. Your flaws while there are many So copious, I can't count. Represents frailty making you human no doubt. Though it may seem silly Maybe a tad bit immature. I love you whole hearted, Giving me joy to endure. By Evelyn

We all have had one of those days where everything seems to go wrong, whether it's because you're late to work or something else. This short prompt was inspired by one of those types a days.  "Oh snap!" I bolted straight up. My restful slumber was disturbed by the sunlight floating around me. I looked at my clock, it was six am. "Drats!" I said outloud. I was supposed to be at work a hour in a half ago. I leaped from my bed. Quickly rummaging  through my dresser drawers trying my to find an outfit. Running down the stairs I grabbed a piece of fruit, my purses, and left my glasses sitting on the table. I ran to the car, started it, and was about to drive away when I realized I didn't have my glasses. This was not how I wanted to start my day. I jumped out of the car, and  ran as fast as I could into the house, grabbed my glasses and was back in the car in the nick of time. I sped down the driveway and arrived at work two hours late. Amidst my ...

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

  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

I was talking with some friends of mine, and the subject of time came up. That conversation gave me an idea. What if we coul kill tome? There is no way to actually eliminate it from our lives, but what if there was? Instead of being successful on trying to kill time I took a different angle on it.  Touched by time, kills a person Never has it not.  Time pulls you in,  An spits you out.  It takes control of us.  Directing our timing and place.  An order we can't control.  The only way of life we know. By Evelyn Creon. 

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. 

I could feel the tears begin to form behind my deep blue eyes. The ones I had been pushing back for so long. Tears that were built up by stress, and sleepless nights.  Shutting my eyes up tight, I tried to block the tears from coming. I knew I couldn't hold them back, not this time. "Not now, not yet, not here where everybody is watching." I muttered to myself. I scrunched up my face hoping it keep them from braking free. It was no use, they came anyways. They streamed down my cheeks, leaving a salty trail behind them. My face began to get hot, and turn a rosie pink. Embarrassment wheeled up inside me. Then out of nowhere a sob broke loose. It came up from deep within my vocal folds. "Nooo!!!" My mind screamed, "This is only making things worse. We promised not to lose ourselves in front of everybody." I could feel my cheeks become redder.  No tears were supposed to be shed today. I had promised, but here I was shedding them. "What would p...

Cold sweat, and blood  Hit the ground; Leaving a puddle  On the concrete. 

Here we go again with another prompt. Prompt #4  "I'm free but bound, seen yet go unnoticed. Discovered but not uncovered. Unarmed yet at arms. Read  but go unread. Deadly but weak.  Hurt yet unharmed. I can explain but know nothing. I can talk yet none hear. Misunderstood and confused. The language I speak is so complex that few understand. I could say something and everyone would look at me funny. I stay quite because of the fear that I'll be misinterpreted. I put up walls no one can brake. I hide my feelings deeper that deep. Bared away so no one can get to me. Behind walls of steel and bones. Emotions unravel when no one around. I keep to myself  because of my fear. This I how I cope with life in every shape and form." He looked at me in shock. I shrugged my shoulders. What else was I supposed to do or say? I certainly wouldn't lie to him. I told him the truth because he asked. When some one asks me why I'm shy or why I don't talk as much as ...

 I had a lot of fun writing this prompt. Have fun with it. Prompt #3  The dark damp prison cell began to shake with much momentum. Rocks started falling from the walls and ceiling, along with showers of dirt and grime. At first I thought there had been some type of bomb set off near by, but the guards of the prison kept us prisoners up to date on any of the latest news. The last thing the guard had said to me last night when he brought my grub was "we'll  not be at war for 'long long time. The ol' King has made friend' with all the kingdoms near by." Then I realized that it could have been an earthquake. No though, that didn't sound right either. Earthquakes had been dormant for thousands of years. The cell began to shake more valiantly. So much so that it sent me sprawling on the dirt floor. I huddled there on the floor in a ball protecting my head from any debris that might fall. If there had been a hole I would have his in it, and if I could...

Here is a another prompt I wrote. Again you get to decide the sex of the character, and the setting that the character is in Prompt #2 Why am I hear, what is the point? What could they possibly want with me? These questions played over and over in my head. And no one could give me the answers I wanted. I have searched for them but they never have appeared, and probably never will. So here I am stuck with nothing. Not one thing to give a clue. Let alone figure out if my family is okay.  Do you know how it feels to be taken away? Ripped away from your family, and nothing you say or do will change that? I know how it feels, and deep down inside I have some how always known. That misery that leaves in your gut and the guilty feeling that you could have done something. When really there was nothing anyone could do. My brain ran wild with these types of thoughts. I had nothing better to do, or so I thought. I should not have been sulking and feeling sorry for all that had h...

I get a lot of little bits of inspiration that I turn into a story idea or a writing prompt. I have never actually thought about posting them before; but recently I thought it might be fun to try.    I am encouraging you imagine the setting in which this story takes place, and what the characters like along with their appearances.  Prompt #1 I didn’t think everyone had a chance to tell their story. Or at least I never thought I would have a chance. I guess I thought my history was not as important as everyone else. I’ve known lots of people in my time but I never would have imagined that a little boy would be the person to change my entire life. Well what was left to live that is?  People always said just wait your time will come. I heard that my whole life, from my parents, friends and many others. And I always said “Why can’t it happen now?” I never understood why it didn’t happen sooner and most likely never will. But the lesson I learned will...