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

April 9, 2022…#367

The poem below was created by my thoughts about my grandmother, whom I never knew. The influenza pandemic of 1918–1919 was the most severe influenza outbreak of the 20th century. A virus called influenza type A subtype H1N1 is now known to have been the cause of the extreme mortality of the influenza pandemic of 1918–1919. The disease that caused this devastating pandemic has also been called the Spanish flu.

The influenza pandemic of 1918–19 resulted from such an occurrence and affected populations throughout the world. An influenza virus called influenza type A subtype H1N1 is now known to have been the cause of the extreme mortality of this pandemic, which resulted in an estimated 25 million deaths. However, some researchers have projected that it caused 40–50 million deaths. Many were not reported; they got sick and died without it being reported. During this pandemic, an estimated 25 million persons worldwide died of the so-called Spanish flu, which was first widely reported in Spain but originated in the U.S. state of Kansas.

My grandmother got sick and was dead three days later, on January 11, 1919. It would be 1954 before my daddy would place a tombstone at her grave; I was 15 years old. All those years later my daddy let me pick out the writing on the stone. “Mother is not dead; she is only sleeping.”

Two days after her death, she was buried. My daddy always believed that she was in a coma. He would say that they opened the casket for him to say goodbye to her, and her hand felt warm. He ran from the cemetery and did not stop until he reached the woods surrounding Tarrant City, Alabama. He spent several days roaming in the woods to find a reason for her leaving; she was only 34 years old. 

The tombstone states Emma Hall Evans, but she was never married to but one man, Thomas Johnson, my daddy’s father. His grandmother Jane Hall had asked him not to be placed on her tombstone. My daddy said she was never married to any man. She lived with Thomas Johnson until he found a younger woman. Her maiden name was Overton; she had two children by two separate men that no one ever knew. She called them both Evan’s. He was a womanizer. She was never supposed to go anywhere unescorted after moving back into her mother’s house when Thomas left her. It was always thought that my daddy’s siblings were his half-sister by a white man and his half-brother by a Hispanic man. Yes, she led a colorful life, slipping out of the house at night going to the nightspots in Birmingham, then she slipped back in before daylight. Daddy’s grandmother had him sleep in his mother’s room, thinking she would not leave or that he would tell on her. He loved his mother with all of his being. He never told of her roaming around in Birmingham, Alabama, after her mother went to bed. He would be punished when it was noticeable that she was pregnant. He remained faithful to her until her death.

Few have known this kind of love between a mother and her children. I have been so very fortunate that the love between my children and me has followed in my grandmother’s and daddy’s footsteps. I was married to their father, he is now gone, but the love and trust between my children and myself have not waivered very much throughout these years.

For my grandmother:

Black Feathered Angels  

Old memories, new memories, memories

that last for a lifetime.    Unstinted

buried deep, hidden from the surface

of the mind. As I sit on steps where

paint is peeling and rotting, I have,

but one thought. Childhood is dead.

Some refuse to stay buried; I see a

small country church, a chorus of

crows, the splashing sounds of a

brook running through Birch trees.

The wind caresses the colossal

row of Oaks in the nearby field.

Death, departing the small, weathered

house of worship, a wagon pulled by

six black horses, and a manifestation

of black feathered Angels. My

great-grandmother is gone. Everyone

we love soon leaves us. A sad memory,

a heart has been silenced, and a rocker

on a porch stilled. 

Copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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April 8, 2022…#366

I have begun to post my days on my blog site for my followers, and for me, many may be facing the same problem, cancer. Documentation of my life. I have kept a diary most of my life, so this is only a different decision on how to do it. I will continue to create and blog my poetry.

Today has been the worse day in several weeks; the pain has taken over my spine. It does not help that I broke my back on July 4, 2021, and was in what they call a turtle brace for four months. It completely immobilizes from neck to waist. I live alone; therefore, no one sees the pain that must show on my face, and the movement of my body is slow and protective. My fur baby Dixie keeps a smile on my face, and the demand for attention does not allow me much time to lay or sit very long.

I am in Stage 3 of multiple myeloma. My daily fight is chronic infections, body pain, weight loss, muscle weakness, decreased appetite, thirst, constipation, fatigue, and nausea. Yes, the fight is the correct word. I have Chemo treatments 22 days out of each month. I have been hospitalized an average of 5 times a year. I am not asking for anything in telling you this; it is to know what happens when you have this type of cancer. 

In addition to all the side effects from Chemo treatments, I have chronic depression. I stare down at the hole I know is about to fall in and stop at the edge. Balance wavering, I ask myself who is holding me from falling in. The Angels watch over me every moment of the day. My parents were not church people; my daddy never and my mother for Easter and funerals. I walked to church alone and sat alone since I was about five years old. I stopped church when the pastors lived higher than his poor parishioners. Yes, I have always believed in a Higher Power and Angels. I do not apologize for my faith and beliefs, and I will respect those of others. I do not believe in organized religion; my faith has no need for such. I believe that we are all accountable to someone or something. My body is my church, and right now, my church is being challenged. 

I am accountable for my transgressions alone and will pray for guidance. However, we must all make decisions that will affect those around us and ourselves. I pray for the “right” one to be shown to me as I travel along this difficult road. I wish all my followers health and happiness.

My books of poetry, a biography of my daughter Charlotte who passed in 2010, and a book of my artwork from 2010 to 2021. Today I share the poem that I created below. Please enjoy.

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An Earthly Journey

Evidence is clear about an unwanted Soul; the possessor wanted to cast away fear or greed upon conception. One life could not see a future, yet starvation by the mother did not kill the seed, no fear… self-greed.

Why did the tiny Soul survive, destiny or fate; it survived life without love, never held by the mother with her heart filled with hate. The new Soul is born within a life of oppression from the moment of birth, scared and burdened with emotional wounds throughout its journey on earth.

All of its tomorrows found the Soul’s path long and steep; it searched a lifetime to find out why the mothers’ anger ran so deep, to the moment it laid the mother in the ground. Truth in its abandonment never found this abused Soul tries to remember that sanity and sorrow are closely bound.

Copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Do Not Weep for Me, but Understand My Pain #364

My world is like a grain of sand

upon the shores of time, changing,

ever-changing, and then washed

out into the sea of life.  Infinity is

in my soul, eternity floats upon

the clouds of heavenly moments. 

My hours caged, my spirit

angered at the thoughts of those

who has walked away from my

gate?  My feet have left their mark

upon the sands of time, waves of

tears have splashed upon the

the rocky cliff that bears scars of

what I have lost, and my mind

wanders the caverns of the past. 

A mother’s grief screams into the

endless nights leaving scars upon

a heart that is already torn and

ragged.  Words of doubt have

poisoned my faith, the days are

winding down, and I was born to mourn. 

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Broken Bones and Tainted Blood #363

The screams are silent in your mind
Are silent to the world instant mad insanity
Shattered –
Shattered –
Crushed –
Tainted –

Misery at its worse
Mind open to emotional
Tortured Screams within
Bringing the self mind to
Unthinkable thoughts
Paranoid and unknown
People move about
Unknown unbelievable actions.

The mind searches for away
Run, run, run away
Fear clouds the mind and
The spirit, you – are hostage
In this place of grief, a
Room with no doors.

Something shredding the soul
Your body is moving objects
Make a tornado sphere
Is death cold? I hear and
See s line of trombones plays
Soulful marching into the distance.

The rain red fills the space covers
the floor. Finally, madness has rule
over the mind. I will swim for eternity
In the bloody vexation of my soul.

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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

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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The Sea…#346

Artwork by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree
The Sea…
As I lay in pain, the room grew dark,
The mirrors and windows covered
In black. Then came the truth about
Dying and the opening of the grave. 
I was weeping but no one, heard,
The pressing of the brace against my
Skin was gone, yet I felt it still, a ring
Of fire.
A man with an ashen face looked
At me sadly.  I tried to speak, tell
Him not to worry, that I would Soon 

be free, my sufferings were
Soon to be over, and I would have
Freedom and live in grace.  I knew
Waiting for me was meadows, and
Fields of green clover. The corn-
Flowers  would look like tender lace.
We are by the sea, the misty air is
Falling on the sea of people dressed
In black, the sea of people, there
Are no more lies.  No more hatred
You can chose to die in triumph or
Disaster, it is your choice.  The
Tools that you chose to use in life
Are no longer needed.  There will be
New beginning, your heart will no
Longer be in pain.  Now you may

Walk with Kings, the Heavens are

Yours to bring peace until us all

Meet again.


©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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A Life Unrepressed…#345

Image result for image of typing on my computer

Today, I feel blessed…

I have spent the last three weeks in the hospital and one in a rehab/nursing facility, four weeks..  I fell! I was transported to the hospital.  Within the one week that I was there I was diagnosed with bone cancer, severe anemia and the fall broke my back and right foot.  I am on the mend; cancer will never go away, a rare one with no cure.  The anemia will hopefully at one point change and the broke back will mend.  I have a back brace that has to be ultra tight on me, and I must wear a brace for the rest of my life.  Oh well, I still have my sense of humor!

That’s the bad news; the good is that I have mega writing time. I feel stripped of both worlds.  Only my computer gives light to my days and nights, creating reality and chalets the world of imagination.

I want to share the meaning of creating poetry.  What I see in a poem, it is an image in my mind that must have all the words come together to creates a story.  When creating a poem it becomes the center of my existence.   A writer, actually lives in two worlds, one of reality and one of make believe.  There are times when they meld together; I fear one day the latter will become my only world.  This may come with senility?  At my age, I doubt I will ever see that stage of life.

Currently the world of make believe, fiction, blogging and imagination serves me well.  It masks the pain!  My site, gives me an outlet to create in my poetry how I feel emotionally too.  The realm of imagination is one of quiet periods of reality and fiction join together to give the strength to find a reason for existence.

Peace and Love to each of you.

E.

A Life Unrepressed
Lighting surges through a war of disrespectful words, tears descending, wet.  In times of uncertainty, an unknown sadness is out of control, a smile, a gesture; or fear clings to a receptive body.  Words may not bring rest or smiles, the soul deep within knows.
There is no one that can unlock the heart, nothing that can be said or felt.  Thoughts, do not reveal or conceal, disguise the lack of sympathy, place blame and criticize.  Alienate the voice, if only for one moment feel free.  Fate, possession, strife, and life.
The genuine self, forced to obey, despite and un-regarded life blind to the hurt of others will embed hate eternally.  The knowledge of life fire and force, walking down a rough path; deep pain.  No spirit, hate has the power to control, nameless feelings that have conceded to a life unrepressed.  Speak and act so no one will know hidden damage floating down to the soul.
The hidden self, inward strife and following demands; in return, a thousand nothings, all-miraculously give power.   Hide in the depths of the soul; echo speaks of pain.  Lackluster eyes stare, glare, and the words unspoken deafening creating fear.  A bolt of tones, frightening, is piercing ears.
No feeling stirs, the heart laid plain, unaware of a life winding down, no meadows of flowers, no sun, no breeze, and the madness is elusive to all.  No feeling, no respite.  In quietness, the war of mocking words; the tears, the sadness. The thoughts of the sea, the crashing waves; soul and spirit sinking within its wet madness and always stay, stay, and stay.
Too late, love revealed itself in death, and the heart has nothing to say.  Living and moving in disguises, alien, until the end.  Life had nothing to possess, strife, identity.  Blind, uncertainty, life no fire or restlessness, a thirst for the mystery of it all, nameless feelings lived in vain.  The loss, the heart lay open for all to see, the hurt hidden twisted among the rubble of pain.  Yet, after all that, there is tomorrow.  

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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The Whole Day Through…#344

Image result for red poppy's

The Whole Day Through…
I lay down in a field of poppies, red
Dotted among the green, I watched
The clouds moving lazy above me.
They touched the mountain peaks,
They touched my soul, it’s far away,
But someday there I will go.
If I lay long enough it will be night
The stars will come out to greet
Me, among them may be the
Milky Way.  It is then that I shall
Rise, the Poppy field will not want
Me to stay.
As a Poet I live in a meditative mood,
And live in the delight of solitude.  I
Am met in the morning by the dew
Dropped roses through an open window
Their scent last the whole day through.
I live my life to experience these
Pleasures.  There was a time when
I let them pass me by, so many years
I have wasted trying to live with lies.
A human soul lives within me, I fear
 That the years have crushed the flowers
Of my life.  With the time I have left
On earth, I want to spread the love
Within me, remove myself of toxic things
Or people, in my life that bring nothing
But hatred and strife.
This new belief I know was sent from the
Heavens above, a new path for me to
Follow was written in my life’s plan.  I
Have a new lease on life, my goal to live
It the way I have always planed, no stopping
Me now, I have been shown the way, a
Second chance to live in peace and in
Truth.  The guilty I will be free from the
Debris of their truths, they will hurt me
No more.

Flying with Broken Wings
Flying with Broken Wings

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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#autobiography #Death of daughter #Poetry