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

Your Voice Became a Fist…#372

My whiteness is scarred and marred in blue,

green, and yellow. Blood, red, drips, then

dries as I lay in my bed of endless lies.

Your charm is known by all; I take the

thrashing, and I covered it all well. It is the

threat of what may come, so I never let

it be known. Who would believe my story,

who would I tell?

All friendships are those you have made

throughout these many years. I was not allowed

friends, I chose that myself mostly out of fear.

You are gone now; I do not know if you are in

Heaven or Hell. It is too late for me; I still live

in fear, panic about waking up one morning to

find that you are still here. So, in the end, you

even now, win with power over me that I cannot

live my soul continues to live under a threat.

When you were angry, your voice became a fist.

While it is I, still, who has no freedom. It is you

that always stood in the fog of our world with

Self-styled intelligence and prefabricated wisdom.

Copyight©2012.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

The Devil is Dying…#371

The Devil is Dying –

In the quite bright fiery

below the clouds, soon

twilight will die.

Arid impressions below

the mist is transparently

intense in the coming

fog.

The scene is altered, fading

slowly, enticing demons

to dance before his grave.

Luminous hesitant are

the dancers, the tomb

intense, the devil is

dying.

Beyond their images,

will you dream of

him and his tomb?

Copyright©2022elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

The Writer…#370

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.

The mind locked in a writer’s block,

the page is blank, time is slowly

moving forward, as the writer stares

at the face of the old wind-up clock.

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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

https://wordpress.com/view/dailythoughtspoetryfiction/

4.13.2022

Somewhere between the trees and clouds…#369

Chuck Murphree – YA Author, Educator, Mental Health Speaker

Book Release April 12, 2022 at Amazon and Barnes & Noble

April 6, 2022…#365

    Today is Wednesday; I try to do things that help distract me from the pain in my body since I woke. It is, of course, a daily thing, yet I must push it aside. Taking care of my fur baby Dixie is my first concern, then all the medications, dressing, and starting a new day. My day is filled with painting, checking out what is on the internet, email, Twitter, creating poetry, and things of interest to me. Sometimes, I sit quietly, hoping for the pain to go away. I talk to or text my wonderful children and grandchildren, which holds me up when I can no longer stand alone. Their love takes away the pain. I thank God daily for giving me these wonderful angels. I continue to write my autobiography; recalling all that I need to put in it takes me to another level. It takes away the presence and carries me to the past, reliving the years that have gone by so quickly.    

It seems as if Cancer controls my life. I let it think so; I own my life. Its presence makes me stronger, braver, and wiser. It is I who chooses how to live. The word “Cancer” does not live in my soul. I have not been afraid of it from the moment given the diagnosis. My soul belongs to God and me. It can never touch the divine spirit that cries out, “I am not my body.” My soul will not allow it to pull me down into the depths of despair. Those close to me will surround me, and they will fight with me to let Cancer know that I, We, will not surrender to it. Cancer does not own me, I own myself, and it will not kill me without a fight.

Poem of the day:

In the Mist of Grief…#365

Memories emerge in the darkness

of the 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, assaulting my senses.

The depths of my courage wounded,

I am listing in a sea of sorrow, my

life filled with more grief than many

can bear. In search of a miracle,

hope merges with despair. It is my

destiny to lose all that I have ever

loved. It is the hard cold hour to

depart this misery. 

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Somewhere between the trees and clouds…#362

Preorder at: https://www.ten16press.com/product-page/somewhere-between-the-trees-and-clouds-paperback

My son, Chuck Murphree has a new book coming out April 2, 2022, published by ten16pess, somewhere between the trees and clouds is a must read.

Somewhere Between the Trees and Cloudswritten by Chuck Murphree PaperbackYA Fiction - Mental Health - Sexual Abuse - Novels in Verse404 pages

ABOUT THE BOOKI’m damaged goods,Torn apartIn my mind. This is how Dylan describes himself, how teenage boys feel when they are sexually assaulted. Damaged. Yes, it happens to boys too. It isn’t until Dylan meets Audrey that he feels like he's something other than torn and damaged. She too has her darkness. Her assault is recent, from a party where she was taken advantage of, and she is forced to move schools only to face rumors that make her feel like she did something wrong. Together, they help one another navigate their pain and possibly find some healing and grace. Somewhere Between The Trees And Clouds is a story about loss, internal wounds, healing, love, and hope.   


ABOUT THE AUTHORSomewhere Between the Trees and Clouds is Chuck Murphree’s second novel. He lives in Prairie du Sac, Wisconsin, with his wife and spoiled dog. When Chuck isn’t writing, he can be found teaching adolescents, talking to others about mental health, reading, biking, doing yoga, or taking a mindful hike deep in the woods or straight up a mountain. 

Somewhere Between the Trees and Clouds [paperback]

On sale at Amazon and Barnes&Noble April 12, 2022

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