A Time to Go…#386

A Time to go, is a bit of prose to fill a void…

The old woman sat in a chair in the gathering room of the elderly housing project where her children had placed her. She has lived alone for the past 40 years. Now her freedom has been ripped away. All she owns sits in the small storage area of the local buy and sell the shop. Her gnarled and deformed hands ache. She has nothing more to do but contemplate the mystery that was once her life. No one really knows her, not even her children. She looked upon the flesh of her being. Time had taken its toll. She shuts her eyes slowly as her body relaxes from the pain that will no longer be. It is time to go.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Podcast…My last battle…#359

Chuck Murphree “Everything that makes us feel.”

Chuck, son of Elizabeth is a YA author. His podcast can be found on “Spotify”. His books are at bookstores and online.

https://anchor.fm/chuck-murphree/embed/episodes/My-Mothers-Last-Battle-e19s69s/a-a6rgpcl

The Tomb…#358

Artwork by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

The Tomb

In the quite bright fiery beyond the clouds, twilight will die. Arid impressions beneath the mist transparently intense underneath the fog. Opaque altered fading slowly, entrancing demons dance before a grave. Luminous hesitant is the lover below, The tomb intense. The devil is dying beyond the fire, yet you will dream of the tomb.

Copyright©2021elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Reincarnation…#357

The Beginning – Artwork by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Reincarnation

Beyond the clouds, a spirit will soon

Be born, extraordinary, soon to breach

A world unknown.  A ghost of another

Time, penniless, now altered to

 wander in a different time, no more

Walking, in this new world

The newly born spirit will soar climb. 

It is transformed like the wind, hopeful, no.

Broken promises, a life filled with family

And friends.   Oh, what a journey this

Life will hold tributes, honors big and

Bold. 

A moment of memory into the

Past, this newly born spirit knows that

This life won’t last.  Soon it will be time

To go beyond the clouds and rest,

Knowing it will return, each time it prays

That the new life will be its best.   

#poetry #Reincarnation # Life #Beginning

Back On-Line…#349

Image result for someone typing in a dream

I am back on-line and out of the hospital once again.  I want to let you know about my latest episode with “Multi Myeloma”, bone cancer.  I went into the Oncology center for my “Chemo” treatment Friday, August 20, 2021; the ride was uneventful as was the blood draw.  I was taken to Dr. O, office for a consult before treatment.  It was there that she informed me that my oxygen was low and that she was sending me via ambulance to the ER.  The ride to the ER was the last thing that I rationally remembered.

I remembered one of the ER Doctors saying that I had, a fever, lungs filling up, Pneumonia, for many my age this is a death sentence!  They begin treating the infection immediately, I explained that I needed to go home, that I had been in the hospital for two-half weeks, Rehab for two-weeks, and I had been gone from home for over one-month.  Home only one day and was in Oncology for Chemo, I needed to go home.  I remember IV’s and confusion!   

I opened my eyes and it was still dark outside, a nurse told me it was August 21, 2021, I told her that I thought it was December 21, that my room was decorated for Christmas.  She was very kind explaining that I had entered the hospital on August 20, 2021, it was early morning and there were no decorations in my room.  Thank goodness she stayed with me continuing to explain that I was taking “mega” medications and that may be the reason for the delirium. I “thought” that I got up out of bed making my way outside where there was snow on the ground, a scene out of a movie “Four Season” that I had watched recently.  I tried to remember the names of the other couple go no avail, not even the stage names or the man I was with, Alan Alda.  My thoughts, I was dying and my children had decorated the room making it Christmas for me. 

When morning light began to creep into the room my mind took another turn into the fantasy world of delirium.  Christmas had disappeared, staff came in and out, I believed it was time to “shut up” and take in my surroundings, the only real thing was my son, Chuck.  

With Chuck being there and a telephone call from Carl make me realize that they too had experienced this type of delusion, and Mia a wonderful nurse that stayed with me until he shift had ended.  I continued to weigh in on my surroundings, I was suspicious of many things, and I tried to keep up with the staff, their names, and their positions in the hospital.  I read each IV that hung over my head, the contents and did I know what they were giving me.  My little knowledge of medicine gave me no help, but some of them I understood.  The hospital was not trying to poison me!  Chuck and Mia talk to me, he seem to have a great deal of understanding of what she was telling him, she had hugged me earlier, which was nice.  I did begin to come out of it and by Saturday afternoon, once again had control of my senses.

My delirium is now gone…  I had to spend several days in the hospital.  The combo of medications placed me in that position, which I did not care for and hope to never experience again.  I am back at the computer and tomorrow plan to work on my book.

My plan is to take all of the experiences that I have endured to put in the book that I had started before all of the health problems begin, Severe Anemia, Vitamin D Deficiency, No White Blood Cells, Cancerous Red Blood Cells, Bone Cancer and the latest a Broke Back and a Right Fracture of the Ankle, and on top of all of that Pneumonia.  Yet, here I sit pounding out my latest story for all of you on the old keys.  I and down but do not count me out!

I love each and every one of you and hope to work on a poem to post over the weekend, along with writing as much as possible on the book.  The days are getting shorter and the deadline may be at hand.  I hope that you will find my poetry books interesting and the book about my daughter compelling.

Take care of yourselves and each other.

EAJM

*What are your thoughts on Sirhan Sirhan getting paroled? 

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I have waited all of my life, where are you?…#341

Image result for artwork waiting on the shore




I have waited all of my life, where are you?
I have watched many moons go by, seen the
Seasons change outside my window.  I have
seen the Tulips bloom in spring, the wild flowers
scatter themselves among the tall grasses and
the young bushes trying to live. 
I watched the sparkle of campfires and fireplaces,
watched my body go from firm youthful skin to
wrinkles that I do not recognize, still I wait for you. 
Time does exist, lingers in light, darkness, the glow
of a fire in fall, I picture the boats bringing you to
me from the other side of the world, from the island
that is yours alone, I wait for you.
Now, it is time for me to stop my watch and wait,
time for me to turn the page away from dreaming
to reality, you will not come and rescue me from
the life that I have lived.  I have stop searching the
horizon, do not look for me, for I shall already be
dead. 
The winds of time passes through life, my heart has
taken roots on many shores.  It was not destined
for me to have love, it is too late, I have no more
tomorrows.  I am the flower whose petals have
blown away in the winds of spring, but, I do hope
that I am remembered when the snow falls.       



©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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A Passage into Madness: A State of Frenzied Activity: Johnson-Murphree, Elizabeth Ann: 9781688948990: Amazon.com: Books

A Passage into Madness: A State of Frenzied Activity

The Birth of Madness…#333

Cotton, Southern Gold

The oppressed give birth to madness.  Loathing emotions
Born out of the pits of darkness holds an
When anger and depression fuse together,
Emptiness and void that can never find
Contentment.
Madness thinks of death, is in harmony with
Stillness.  It feels pain, lives in blackness,
Hopes for nothing; survives as a opponent
Living life.
Be aware…
Its name is madness; a spawn created of
Anger and depressions fusion.





©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Life…#332

Life

With each mornings shaft of light 
I begin my conflict of words, sometimes 
I let the tears fall and sadness engulfs 
me.  Sometimes I smile!  I tell myself to 
“hush”; it is too late my soul dies further 
toward the end as time goes on.
Sometimes I am weak, my heart locked 
away too long?  Thoughts are concealed, 
feared, live and move forward out of blame.  
The heart beats on as the voices in my head 
feed from the heart with each beat.  My words 
continue quarreling with my mind.
Has life been no more that random destiny’s?  
How lighthearted my life has been, lies, 
lies to keep the outside world in dumbness.  
Daily I drink from the cup of dissension, 
and erratic thoughts, words, look into my soul, 
despite pending doom I float thoughtless in 
the river of my life with my words clinging 
to my throat like gnarled fingers.     
Buried in the cesspools gathering on the 
shore the river flows with ambiguity.  Life is 
eternally blind!  My words flow from within, 
buried in knowledge, found by fire.  The 
mystery of my heart beats, words line by line. 
 Am   I  worthless.  Hour after hour the 
words demand power, read what pulses 
through my veins.
Life flows, arrives and moves on, from 
morning glow to evening sunset; it winds 
through the valley’s filling with expression.  
The words, a story from the hours past, they 
rise from within to the page swirling in the 
cesspool at the river’s edge.  They cannot move
 on into the river of life, they must remain as 
the past.  I wait for the morning shaft of light
 and life.      

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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The American Dream…#330

Image result for the american dream
The American Dream
There was a time when  life flowed
Slowly like a perfect meadow stream,
Fresh was the air, blue was the sky,
And everyone had a chance to live the
American dream.
These things that use to be will never
Come again, we have put a hole in the 
Sky, all because of our selfish greed, we
Are destroying earth out of self-seeking
Hunger for the things that we really do
Not need.
The sky is no longer clearly blue, only
A dingy hue, the rivers and streams are
Filled with debris, between Heaven
And earth a cloud of toxic waste, yes
We are destroying this planet and doing
So with increasing speed. 
Our wetlands are taken away sold to build 
Summer a get-away, gone are the lands, 
Forest and streams that wildlife was free to
 Roam, today it is where greedy people build 
Million dollar homes.
Listen, are the birds still singing a joyous 
Song, animals are not happy because our 
Backyards are where, mountain lions, foxes 
And deer use to make their homes.  Their 
Lives changed, their feeding grounds gone, 
We never give it a thought where did we 
Expect them to call home?
 Nature tries to correct our mess with hurricanes, 
Tornados, fires and such, but Mother Nature may 
Think that the rest is up to us.  It appears we do 
Not care and one day all there may be are crumbling
 Buildings, bridges and monuments all turned to dust.
Where you ask is that American dream, its lost 
Among the rubble of crooks and banking schemes?  
The planet will die and waste away in fishless oceans
 And down dirty mountain streams. There was a time 
When the life flowed slowly like a perfect meadow 
Stream, fresh was the air, blue was the sky, and everyone
 Had a chance to live the American dream.

Other Books by author:

  • Fragments of Time
  • A Passage into Madness
  • Asterial Thoughts
  • A Sachet of Poetry
  • Rutted Roads
  • Rhythm Rhyme and Thoughts
  • Reflections of Poetry
  • Beyond the Voices
  • Honeysuckle Memories
  • Echoing Images from the Soul
  • A Journey into the Soul

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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In My Mind’s Eye…#325

Image result for Daydreaming Drawing

Fiction-Poetry-Prose

In My Mind’s Eye

The world is shut-down, fear has driven us inside. 

Every now and again, one must live within their

imagination.  Sometimes, I escape to the past, to a

time where childhood was safe and the world was

not so badly damaged. It is spring, planting time,

there are wide freshly plowed fields and green grass.

Oh, this is my dreamland. 

Black-winged-swallows float upon a warm breeze;

they bath at the edge of a glittering pond; then turn

their dark eyes toward the heavens where they

will soon be suspended in the clean air.  There

are two old mules pulling an ancient plow, behind

it worn leather hands holding the reins gently

urging them along.

Oh, this is my dreamland.

I can see Flint Creek, red dirt banks bright in

the sunshine.  It is there that I swim and let my

childlike imagination run wild; I brush away the

cotton-mouth that does not want to do me harm. 

It’s looking for that sunny place where it can be

warm.  Down the road on weather warn porch sits

my grandmother; she reads her bible, darns socks

and clothes that are way too worn to wear.  I did not

know that we are penniless poor sharecroppers, I

am happy.

Oh, this is my dreamland.

I have enough memories to fill my shut-in –world

to the brim, I carefully place my daddy there; this

imaginary world is one without a care.  My daddy

with his gypsy blood wants to run from it all; I will

not let him fall.  He stays for me.  He stops for his

meal; he will have no fears; while letting a blackbird

picks food from his hand.  He twirls the cold biscuit

into the air; its caught and fly’s away.  My daddy

dreams that a spark from heaven will someday fall

and take him far-far away from it all.

Oh, this is my dreamland.

But what-I dream!  I live in the past as I continue

to be a prisoner within these walls, and I know

that two-hundred years from now it will not

matter at all.  Imagination is an art, you are

here and then you are gone; thus I return to that

space in time where most is now unknown.  A

little church with no bell tower, sweet voices

floating through the windows.  Its yard marked

with stones, I recognize the names upon them,

it’s sad that they are all gone.

Oh, this is my dreamland.

Our barnyard and its fields change from time-to-time,

at this moment it’s filled with a few treasured souls. 

There’s Big Red my daddy’s red roan, and

Soapsticks the aged mule, his partner Lu Lu Bell

has sadly passed on.  The pens are filled with

chickens and hogs, I had named them all.  Then

comes the “Killing Time”, those pens held our

food, but I refused to eat one bite, to eat Fat Sam

or Clem, or Chick Lady on Sunday’s would have

been cruel.

Oh, this is my dreamland.

Yes, in today’s world when we must be shut-in

with four walls that sometimes does not feel like

home.  I have to take my imagination backwards

to a time when freedom was not gone.  To smell

the pines, eating figs from a tree; roaming through

the county side now wishing my daydream would

not end.  A time of joy, with little sadness or despair,

there was nothing to fear; childhood was an

enchanted time; the world today pales to that long

ago time that was only mine.

Oh this is my dreamland.

Born in the days when life was fresh and clear,

still nurturing conquerable hope.  But, now we

fly through a path that was to be; I still believe

in hope, it is with hope that we win.  In my

imagination. Youth finally ends, it fades, and

growing old one will see and hear warm

greetings and smiles.  If it were not for imagination,

I would surely die.

Oh, this is my dreamland.



©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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