A Country Girl's Writing

 I 'm do excited for this short story. I've been wanting to share it with all of you for the past two weeks, but it wasn't ready two weeks ago.   It was inspired by all the familys that deal with alcohol addiction in their homes.  Whiskey Drinker   a short story by Evelyn Creon Like a ship sinking into a stormy sea, an empty bottle fell from his hands hitting the concrete floor with a crash ,  and shattering into a thousand pieces. He sat there half lying, half sitting in  is chair. The chair was using all its strength trying not to buckle beneath my father's weight. He was drunk. The smell of whiskey was strong on his breath. I sighed, a deep long one, trying to hold back tears of aching pain that filled me at the sight of him. Again I had found him lost in drowning everything with a drink. Guilt filled me. I felt like I should have used softer words when I scolded him like a child. It was in times like  those , when my...

The joy of having sisters is absolutely amazing. I would never not want another one. The crazy things we do together are priceless memories, no matter how stupid they may seem.  There is nothing like  Me and you, Dancing in our bedroom To our favorite tune.  Joining hands and spinning 'round and round, Till we fall,  Laughing to the ground. 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...

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

One of the last poems I wrote in 2017. This poem is dedicated to my third brother who is three.  Eyes like the sea. Curly blond hair.  Miniature of daddy;  Bulky and strong.  Temper like a devil.  Heart of an angel.   Kiss on both cheeks  Makes you feel loved. Carhartt Overall; Dirty three year old, muddy and happy. Some big bear hugs. A tender touch too The newest addition. Protector of sisters,  Wrestler among brothers.  Daring and adventuresome. A little boy  Who is big inside.  My little brother.  By Evelyn Creon

Dedicated to My two year old sister, and all other children of the age of two.  Though I seem innocent  I'm very much not;  I'm the troublesome two And I have a plot.  You may know it  Or you might not, It doesn't really matter to me.  The house I've trash In less than an hour. You'll tare your hair out Before the day runs out.  My smile you can almost never resist. My cuteness is what I rely on To get away with the terrible  Messes I've made.  I get into everything  High or low.  I make things up,  And talk up a storm. I'm the troublesome two A nightmarish dream. 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. 

The wolf is quiet as can be, As it creeps over hills; Who will his next victim be? The wolf has no need for a pack, So a loner he walks, Far from wolves that attack. His black gray coat shines by moonlight. On his hunches he sits, And howls to the moon at night. His call's long and full of sorrows, From telling his story, To all those who follow. The wolf has long been a legend In this part of the hills; Though none have ever seen him. Of him all settlers are scared. A monster he is titled; Yes, one that all have feared. Save one, who is his companion, An independent boy Left once in the cave of a wolf. This boy's parents died near the den Where a mother wolf dwelt. Who took him as her own. She brought him up as best she could. Then left him with her pup In front of a cabin old. The cabin, quite a ways from town. Belonged to a couple Who never could have children. The adopted the boy and pup; And brought him up until Their life o...

Ever since she was a little girl, Her daddy take her on his knee. He would call her his little Pearl; Sweep her up in his arms with spree.  Her head when she was only ten,  Was full of crazy dreams. She told them to her daddy, now and again,  About what she wanted to be, in extremes.  Growing fast she turned sixteen. Her daddy gave her a ring with a promise.  The gift made her feel serene And she began to take more advice.  Daddy began to see she was no longer a little girl. Growing up way to fast  She became a mural  On the wall from the past.  The years passed by all to fast For her daddy and mama. It wasn't long till she'd be at full mast; Sailing seas in a world of drama. When she was eighteen, she meet a boy And brought him home to meet her parents.  Not very long after they had met,  He inquired for their consent. Her smile flooded through all the house.  ...

  This poem was inspired by my wonderful oldest sister. The title is in Hawaiian. I Ko'u Kaikuwahine Katrina  Long brown locks fall down your back.  Deep brown eyes near your crown. Lips that have a hint of pink.  Cheeks that blush like a beet.  Quite and shy you can be; Never really very loud.   Most of the time you stand by  Watching everyone 'round.  Observing the most tragic  Things that happen in life.  Never really intrigued  In the more lively parts.  Creative and inspiring, Full of amazing ideas. Though many may not survive. The ones that do strive. You are this, never change that.  Unique in every form. Even though it is tiring:  I love you for who you are.  By Evelyn Creon

This poem is dedicated to my mother. The title is in German. Die Arme Meiner Mutter   Your voice is my comfort  For when I am feeling blue.  Your smile is the sunshine, On my miserably gray days.  Your eyes are precious jewels  That Sparkle when you see me. Your ears will always listen, When everything goes wrong. I always feel quite safe, When I am in you embrace. Everything I love 'bout you, Will always be unique.  Everything about you  I will treasure and adore      Because I have loved you  since before I was eve' born.  By Evelyn Creon

I wrote this poem for some one that I adore and look up too, and is also my hero. Well Worked Hands  Your hands are stained with grease, From all the mechanical work. Your hands are roughed and calloused, From all the weather and the dirt. Your hands are big and bulky. They are strong and well worked.   The hands that are a comfort To people that you love.  Behind those wonderful hands, Is a person people respect. By Evelyn Creon