20159_1247697204563_471529_nWhen it comes to good thoughts and wishes we turn to the poetry of Christie Lynn.

Her words are a perfect balance of great flow and marvelous expression.

Reading her creative poetry feels like falling through the looking-glass
and waking up in Wonderland.

Her words are like a breath of fresh air.
Her rhyme’s soft and pleasant, unique and original.

Her life experiences touch the tender heart in us all. We see beauty
and abundance in every word she writes.

Christie has a special love and appreciation  towards art,
a passion that transpires through her colorful and flamboyant spirit.

Her work is not one to be missed.

Acoustic Ink is honored to feature this remarkable artist.

Christie’s interview with our team:


Name: Christie Lynn
Location: Nebraska

Q: How many hours a day do you write?

A: I write when something or someone inspires me.

Q: How do you deal with personal doubters?

A: I am by far my biggest personal doubter. However, since I have no formal training, I take constructive criticism to heart.

Q: When you were growing up, what made you want to become a writer?

A: From an early age I found that music lyrics were inspiring.

Q: Describe a perfect setting where you can get writing done.

A: Alone, usually with music surrounding me.

Q: What kind of books did you read when you were growing up, if any?

A: I was drawn to any kind of history , particularly art history.

Q: Are you a traditional type of writer (paper and pencil) or do you use your computer to write?

A: Mostly the computer, but I jot down thought and ideas on sticky notes. I always have a small notepad on my beside table.

Q: What’s you’re favorite part of writing?

A: Creativity. Putting on paper what I paint with my brush. In a sense I “color” my words.

Q: How do you get past all the frustrations that come with trying to be a successful writer?

A: Someone once ask me if I played my flute in an orchestra.
I replied , “no”. He said “You are wasting your talent”.
I looked him in the eye and replied “ I play for an audience of one, the melody fills my soul, never wasted.”
I sort of have the same outlook on writing, and if I can stir at least one soul, I have succeeded.

Q: What do you do when you have several book/piece ideas?

A: Tons of sticky notes work for me .

Q: Have you ever been published/self-published?

A: Yes.

Q: What genre ( s) describes your work?

A: I can’t say that I really have a genre, I do like write surreal and free style.

Q: Do you write under a pseudonym? If so, what is the story behind it?

A: Yes, I write under my first initial and maiden name, cmorris.

Q: What/who motivates you to write?

A: Life and it’s seasons , family, friends, music, art..

Q: Do you have your work showcased on any website?

A: Webook

Q: Share with us a fun fact about yourself.

A: I am an artist. I was a partner in La Petite Gallerie in Tennessee .
Then, when I moved to Texas I opened Morris Gallery.
I hope to do the same someday here in Nebraska, where I am now residing.

Q: What does the future hold for you as a writer?

A: More writing, I must admit that I would love to see my work in print!


Below you can enjoy a selection of poems by Christie.


Emerging Luna
Feasting,  delicious moments
Shed fetal position
Strength is born wisdom
Rest my lady
Create a splendid blanket of silk
Demurely cover your eyes
Too much to cope
Too much to eat
Comfortable cocoon
Luxurious state of mind
Sheltered from the world of death
Waiting for life
Time is slipping away
She climbs to safety
Waiting with anticipation
Wings of strength
Grow to magnificence
Display crescent moon ornament
Six A.M.
Change  direction
Time is slipping away
Social gregarious creature of habit
Born to mate and breed
Ward off the killers
To mate  her chosen prey
Lovers lusty attraction
Travel  fast to absorb
The beauty you devour
Your exit is near
Fateful demise
To your knees
She blankets in leaves
You are existence
You are non existence


Floating in waters, sun drenched gold glitter mars bars and logos of silence
My white tee filling with water drags me off the deep end pulls at defiance
Drowning colors of starfish, coral and mermaids
Quickly reach rapidly for all floating band-aids
I am, off the deep end
Gush, breathe, and mend
As long as I cling to my thought
Determined soul is not   bought
Ton’s of hearts swim silent before me
Their resistance a white flash of reality
Melted, they clamor in waters, deep rhythm and blues
Swordfish chomp the alphabet splitting out obvious  clues


Popsicles melting in the snow fever sky high
Cream and whey lushes bite an underestimated why
Touching purple bruises color fade to black
Never knowing exactly what it is I lack
Extravagant decadent paintings eat through sight
I try to figure out exactly what is and my plight
Desperate for lemon skin and cool beaches in my night
I realize this dream of mine possesses wicked might


Holes in my soul, unwelcome addition
Well into the night, became an affliction.

Finger the clouds, drifting aimless without cost
World smiles, with each emotional burst, lost.

Cannot let go
Never to show
Present stuttering expression.

I get old, stirring inside my mind
Distance unearthed, is the world mine.

Sleepy eyes
Where is the key?
Apparent, look on your face.

A tender love I cannot see
Violins play from bended knee.

Turning point,
Step, end event
Grace, for past that vanished.

Learn from fools, who nailed the fears
Adagio, ever easily, hide ice icicle tears.

Pointed stare at horizons in close distance
I conclude movement, without resistance.


Witness, to curves and desire
expression dying in his eyes
foolishly she was unaware.

Tenderly, lingering, over dinner
served more, for a kiss, a look,
the shock, a thought, the drop.

Witness, to love locked
inside her silver cabinet
keys strewn over the floor.

Unlocked, her song to belong,
Faith to promise, erupts full chorus
movement that heaved anchors.

Witness, chained by promise
longing for fearless trust ,
Tempted by her dowry of love.

Her fate tossed aside, doomed
for a disastrous end , frozen
cold hands engulf her heart.

Witness, to recent , eaten
savored, so slowly, the finger
licking, empty, discarded plate.


Stars plummet
to the earth
landing, in my hands.
Make magic
glowing purple hues
that illuminate, uninjured vision.
Standing still
at the edge
of the beach, mesmerized.
Salty water
sand seeping smoothly
through, my ready toes.
Waves create
a beat humming
deep within, my soul.
I remember
a hand gliding
so slowly, in curves.
My heart
nestled in hand
suddenly, the effort dissolves.
Then lost
in the particles
lying , beneath my toes.


My fond memory dedicated to my mother Eve~

Mother made popping corn
as we children collected
needle and thread
A bowl of cranberries
all shiny bright red
Eager to create the
first tree decoration
We run to the TV to see
what played on the station
The black and white show
we watched in awe
Mary Martin plays Peter Pan
the excitement of it all !
Grandfather lay sick
dying in bed
We all worried
consumed with dread
Grandmother said there
would be no tree that year
Mother looked up and said
no Christmas tree.. oh dear
Cinnamon ornaments and
construction paper star
A string of popcorn garland
we jump into the car
Off to Bellefontaine with a
small tree and lights
Grandfather could not speak;
he squeezed my tiny hand tight
As I smiled up at him
I remember tears in his
eyes start to brim
Glancing over to our
tree with delight
I knew at that moment it
was all just so right !

My mother presented me the angel that was atop grandma’s tree.

Every year the beautiful old plastic angel with painted golden hair,
stars on her skirt, clear plastic wings adorns my tree,
so that I may remember the love my mother has given me.

Click here to read more of Christie’s work.