Thought’s in the Day of a Writer…#405

I am in my second year after being diagnosed with Multi Myeloma (Bone Cancer). The life expectancy is as low as 2.5 years and tops 4 years. I kept the depression and anxiety levels down the first year, not because of denial but the sheer strength of my mind. In the second year, the depression and anxiety returned with a vengeance. I have gotten weaker and fatigued and have this sense of urgency about accomplishing what I have wanted since retirement: writing. I have published several books of poetry, including an autobiography about my daughter, who passed away in 2010. I have begun my own life story this past year. Then this cloud that many carry above them, depression, and anxiety. I have found that poetry is making a comeback, but slowly. Sales have not been at the top of my money chart. Another worry is that I am starting something that I will not have time to finish. My life has been long, more of a saga, filled with bits of happiness given to me by my children and emotional and physical abuse woven in and out throughout the years.  

The urgency involves my writing. I have been writing since I could print words, simple words. Poems for my aunt and daddy, which she would destroy if found by my mother. I had been told since I was old enough to remember that I would never be anything because I was not as beautiful as my sister Billie nor as bright; all I could hope for was to marry and have someone take care of me. This non-encouragement caused me to work toward good grades and educate myself if schooling was not available. Like many southern girls, I was married “off” to someone much older than me, an abuser. I never gave up wanting to write. I was a closet writer until I retired from the public workforce, fearing that it would be destroyed if it was found.

This brings me to when I give thought to be a writer. Also, what type of writer did I want to be. I have always loved poetry; my poetry books are filled with heartache and anguish that was my life. Many have said that it was “dark” poetry. It was mainly dark as it was given birth from that dark place within me. Many have suggested that I seek help and counseling. Don’t we all need counseling in some form, depression, and/or anxiety?

To be a writer, one must have good communication skills and be able to share a point concisely and clearly. I began years ago by keeping a daily journal; with this journal, I could draw upon incidents in my life that would allow me to put them into my poetry or short stories. I have been told that writing is never a lonely activity; for me, it was because I have always thought of myself as a loner. I turn within, thinking about what I wanted to say, how I wanted to write it to bring others into my “dark” world of reading what I wrote. I know I am not alone; many carry the same burdens that I do, much worse than mine. We may not be alone, but it is a lonely world for me. A world where I can hide and play the part needed to be played.

I have never looked at my writing as a job, one I could make a living regularly doing; be another Sylvia Plath or Grace Paley. That was why I waited until retirement to pursue my desire to write. I write because I love to create, to share with others. Yet, to share those, others must buy my books; maybe poetry was not the best choice. Perhaps a collection of short stories would have been more profitable? However, once again, urgency raises its worrisome head. There are constant changes in publishing and marketing, and I try to keep up with those when necessary. Writers must have adaptability when needed. Discipline is something that comes naturally to me. However, with cancer, treatments and the side effects that come with it does override discipline. It overshadows time, fatigue takes over no matter how committed I may be, and my challenges are health problems I have no control over.

I am organized, have a designated workspace, and have all the proper writing tools; I research what is needed to put out the correct information. I edit, edit, edit…I know what I want to write. I follow all the principles and have proofreaders. I copyright my material. I have had this blog for years. I am a people watcher, listen to tones, and am always mindful of syntax. I try to switch topics, poetry, short stories, newsworthy information, and opinions in my blog. I try to think critically, change styles, and learn new techniques. I follow some social media. However, I am a loner and a lone thinker.

There are two things that I need to observe. Slip away from fatigue and pain; my work may be more productive. Secondly, sales!

It has been a very long day for me, so I will leave you with this, never give up on your dreams.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by the author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

The life story of Charlotte Jean Murphree 7/13/1958 – 7/21/2010

Stop Daydreaming and Live Life …#392

I hope that I have learned many things as I have walked through this journey, walked a path that is redeemable. I had no choice for the first 52 years of my life on direction and plans. I lived in a world created by my mother, then my husband. It has been a short 30 years of making my own choices in life. I have spent 20 of those 30 years trying to find out who I was and in what direction I was going. Again, I hope that they have been the right ones.

In those 30 years, I have lost my daddy and my mother. My biological sister and ex-husband have passed on to their next journey. I have an adopted sister who has chosen not to have anything to do with me. Her reason was only that of her own. I sometimes think that our mother’s control over her in life has continued in death. I believe she is trying to carry my mother’s hate for me on into our lives with her gone. She has hardened throughout the years, and I feel bad that she lets her fear of a dead mother continue to chart her life course. I ask God to watch over her and her family. It saddens me to think I will die without ever seeing her again.

Life is too short, and we must never allow the beliefs of another to get in our way of living life to its fullest. Life gives us grief and sorrow, life can deceive and disappoint you, but it can also bring satisfaction, loving children, and joy. You have heard the saying, “He or She has a mind of their own.” These words are so true. We can dig holes and cover ourselves up, shut down and let life pass us by, or we can dig ourselves out, embrace life, and live it to its fullest. Create the world that your life is in Heaven, not hell.

World-Weariness –

The sands of time explode with agony.

The sun is dying!

The moon will be one day.

Be Heaven’s only enchanted view.   Be

Watchful, beware, the hours are few.

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

July 7,2022 Forgiving Evil…#389

Forgiving evil. Within this past year, I have removed the toxic people from my life. It was not an easy thing to do. However, after years of forgiving their toxic ways over and over, it was beginning to affect my health. Then another evil entity came to visit, CANCER.

There are some evils that one cannot forgive; you must first love before you have the need to forgive. There are evils in our nation, our world that I cannot love; therefore, I have no reason to forgive. Some things are just too evil to forgive.

I love those that became toxic in my life dearly, and I have forgiven them. Was I perfect? No, but I was not filled with toxicity as they were. I had room in my soul to forgive and still love, even though they do not feel they have done anything wrong.

I wish the world could be like my fur baby Dixie. She is filled with so much love she believes that she belongs to everyone, and she shows them what love she has to offer. Most return her love. I believe Dixie sometimes keeps me alive, my prayers, and those who send me their prayers, thoughts, love and having a wonderful family.

During our lifetimes, we can give and take love; it will go on if you continue to fill all your empty places with passion, mindfulness, and kindness. EAJM 

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Share this:https://www.instagram.com/elizabethannjohnsonmurphree/

A Mother’s Love…#385

In the stillness of the midnight hour veiled in

Glory, my mother, stood next to me. She touched

My face where there are always tears. She

Placed her angelic arms around me to take away my

Fears.

What are these thoughts you have, my child? She

Said to me with a mother’s smile. Embrace my

Love, let it take away your sorrows. We are all

Here for only a short while. Be joyous of each

And every tomorrow.

Seek life, not death; things are never as bad as

They seem to cherish your life…follow your dreams.

I opened my eyes, sat up, looking around; this was

Only a dream. It was one I always held dear, love, from

My own mother was never found.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by the author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

In the Mist of Grief…#383

In the Mist of Grief

Memories emerge in the darkness of night, becoming one with my soul like the rivers that flow into the sea. These hours before dawn are like a cold rain pounding into my heart. The grief is fierce as it raises and then returns to consume my spirit. My senses are attacking my very soul. The depths of my courage wounded; I am listing in a sea of sorrow. My life is filled with more grief than many can bear. In search of a miracle, hope merges with despair. Is it my destiny to lose all that I have ever loved? It is a hard cold hour to depart from this misery. 

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Writer…#381

The Writer

 Sleep, never-ending consciousness,

thunder, spray dashing against

the windowpane, in the distance

railroad cars, clang, clang, clang.

Sleep, gulls screaming float through

the air, wild and free, diving into

the frothy white waves, living without

care.

Sleep, ghost trampling upon the mind

and soul, brushing shoulders with

death they surge across time wanting

their story told.

Sleep, wanting the body to relax, flip

right, flip left, the noise of the world

springs from every nerve, wistfully let

there be silence, calmness come back,

come back, come back.

Sleep, brooding, daggers in the back, rise,

dress, the night will never be soothing.

those words in the head keep moving,

mind in a rage sitting silently staring at

the blank page.

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books byAuthor at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Searching for a Miracle – The Poem…#378

Searching for a Miracle –

The hours before dawn, and a cold rain pounds into my heart. The grief is fierce as it raises and consumes my spirit, assaulting my senses. Memories emerge from the darkness, becoming one with my soul. In the depths of my wounded courage, I am listing in a sea of sorrow, my life filled with more grief than many can bear. It is the hard cold hour before departing this misery. I search for a miracle. Hope merges with despair. It is my destiny to leave all I have ever loved. 

I am uncertain and afraid. Hope has expired. Sometimes waves of anger and fear hang above me, a cloud circulating over the earth. I do not speak of death. Yet, the elderly where I reside; talk until they see their own grave over the horizon.

Much is written about grief, soft words meant to calm the grieving heart. There will be those that say how lovely these words are, and I doubt if they are all true. Grief is not calm and comforting; the comments do not stop the pain. Words penetrate the brain; shatter the heart.

Most are choked with emotions under the flesh where the heart is sheltered by outward affliction; they close their eyes, hoping to have the scene before they disappear. Grief has no place to hide! The speaker believes the words that enter the ears will comfort despair. It will not.

A State of Mind…#375

A State of Mind –

I never believed

that I should be

immune to grief.

I accepted that

living in a

constant state of

unhappiness

conditioned me

to think it would

be my world my

existence.

I begin a journey

that I did not have

a “lifetime” to seek

the answers and

understanding now

it is urgent. We

must live within our

own schedule; we

all experience grief:

we can’t define it

the same way.

Whether a lifetime

or only moments,

days what causes

grief are many

times the death

of those we love.

But it all results

in one word: finality.

When we lose, we

grieve happiness

and grief go hand

in hand, my grief

comes in the

form of abuse,

Both physical

and mental. Of

never being

wanted, this

has caused a

a lifetime of

anguish.

Nevertheless, the

child in me

cannot heal,

so I allow her

to grieve, and

I have given her

permission to

recover in her

own time, if

possible. After

all, somewhere

within, I am still

that child who

wanted desperately

to please, hear that

I mattered, and I,

as a grown-up,

must now search

for the answer to,

“Who am I.”

A painful death

awaits me, I live

one day at a

time, life is slipping

away with no

answers. Art,

painting, prose,

and poetry from

the first to the

last word. When

Nature in all her

nakedness brings

us to our knees,

through storms with

rain, lightning, and

Fallen trees and

tornado-shaped

leaves that defeat

us?

It is not learning,

poise or grace,

but knowing that

touch of pain and

fear. That making

creation thinks.

When in this

world’s unpleasing

youth, your god-like

the race began, the

most extended arm,

the sharpest tooth

gave man control.

Dig into a bruised

and bitten bone

that was taught

by pain and you

have learned that

with the deadly

stone, that “He”

felt on that far-off

shore, when

jabbed by the

singing spear.

When bone against

bone, tooth, and bone

were a means against

a foe. Man was bored

by consistent defeat.

some minds built the

stone and javelin

proved as vain as the

old-time bone against

bone, man fashioned

how to kill as he rose

from fear and pain.

Spurred anew by

fearful cries of terror

embedded deep

within the ancient

millions were killed

for one leader who

taught through fear,

soon the armor

disappeared then

the sword, bow and

pike, and the smoke

of battle cleared,

all men armed with

bombs were alike.

Copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Searching for a Miracle…#374

My thoughts on grief –

There are times it feels as if a cold rain is pounding at my heart in these hours before dawn. The grief is fierce as it raises and consumes my spirit, assaulting my senses. Memories emerge from the darkness, becoming one with my soul. In the depths of my wounded courage, I am listing in a sea of sorrow, my life filled with more grief than many can bear.

It is the hard cold times before departing this misery. I search for a miracle; hope merges with despair; my destiny is to leave all I have ever loved. There are times when I am uncertain and afraid. Hope has expired. Sometimes waves of anger and fear hang above me, like a cloud circulating over the earth.

Many times, I speak of death. Although much is written about grief, soft words are meant to calm the grieving heart. There will be those who say how lovely words are, and I doubt this is true. Yet, I sometimes hear the elderly; talk of death until they see their own grave beyond the horizon.

Grief is not calm and lovely; the words do not stop the pain. Words penetrate the brain, shattering the heart. Most are choked with emotions under the flesh where the heart is sheltered by outward suffering; they close their eyes, hoping to find peace before disappearing.

The grief therapist in my group believes the words that enter the ears will have comforted the unhappiness. Grief has no place to hide! We all grieve in our own time, short, long, or forever; we just stop talking about it. I mourn my daughter, parents, and only sibling, friends. I miss them all. I wait, soon, very soon!

Copyright©4.2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Casualties of the Times…#373

Casualties of the Times –

The homeless cannot sleep

on winter’s cold nights. They

gather around a burning

barrel, men, women, and

children, forgotten, shattered,

and despised, in the

distance, a baby cries.

Begging for food, being

homeless, no jobs to be

found, families no longer

sound, government talks

end up in contradictions,

poverty is the prediction. 

 

The spirit freezes, the

fruit of labors rot, life

squeezes and struggles

persist, bad luck smothers

heart and soul, and

hope ceases. 

Shifting winds turn into

storms. Will the world

grow wiser, or will it

be humbled and beaten

into servility? 

Trust departed, a

cardboard box in the

streets is where the

homeless make their

beds, hope disappears,

and the future appears

dead.

Copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree