A Country Girl's Writing

High above the misty mountains  Beneath the creeping, looming sounds. Hideous monsters prowl around, In a grim, gruesome battleground. A lethal monstrous place to roam For any human that I know.  You'd never make it out alive Unless you know the Shiverouse tribe. The Shiverouse you can not trust; Bury you while you still converse, And if you become their ally Yes, even then, you still might die.  If you did make it through alive  You'd wonder quite how you survived. The Shiverouse tribe has wiped you brain, So that others you might not train.  This place will haunt you all your life, Bringing nightmares each day and night.  No one that lives is e're the same Once they've stepped foot in that dreadful place.  By Evelyn Creon

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...

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

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

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

 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...

She Sat there, tied to a chair; Damaged and confused.  To calm the dark fear of death, She there intuned. "Away with me forever, never too be seen. A whisper and a shadow forever I will be.  No one to say, "I love you." Or,"Are you okay?" No one to say, "hold on now, we'll make it through the day." Only a dark shadow, that crawls across the room. Only a whisper that says, "It will all be over soon." Only dark cold depths; that never pass me by.  Only terrible ice winds; that beat against the sky.  Only me tide up; tight, to die and endless death.  So, this song I will sing until my last dying breath." The song she sang it 'bout thrice; On the fourth she tried,  But her heart ceased to beat.  Then she there did die.  They found her in the morning  Underneath the sky.  Iced over by all the cold, All to horrify.  Nobody knew who she was. Or why she was there.  They only ...

In the deadest parts of night,  When all should be a sleep, Fear; it wanders left and right; As a faun from the deep.  He's filled with evil magic; Which call to all that sleep:  "The children in the attic  No longer do they creep." The children who never sleep, Toss and turn as they plea While he pulls them in, knee deep,  To the dark depths beneath.  A nightmare to all who hear The call of his own life:  "Sleepless children disappear, Live forever in strife."  By Evelyn Creon This poem was inspired by a dream I had. 

The blue jay's caw is sinful; Very simular to the crow. It tells of somethings brutal; That could take place in many rows. In rushing blast, come the wind. Affirming the jay's caw was right. The grayness steps foot within; Bringing with, the black of night. In the darkness none discerns; What lays no more than out of sight. Such reasons are to concern The utmost, blackest parts of night. Where creatures lurk, ever near. To catch a brief glimpse of their dupe. Driving their prey into fear, Before making them into human soup. The blue jay's call is heinous; Very simular to the crow. That's why we should take notice So not to take a fatal blow. By Evelyn Creon I have began to have a thing for a little darker poems and stories. This poem was inspired by the screech of a blue Jay and the day coming to an end. 

Bare feet hit the floor. A strong smell of smoke. An alarm that went off. Frantic people that run 'round. Doors smashed. Windows broken. All tried to leave the house. Risked their lives, An got everyone out. Up went the house in flames. At the nights end, To the ground it was burned. Nothing but ashes, lay in a mound.

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