Rise and Kill the Beast…

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Rise and Kill the Beast…

 

She woke, rising from her bed; the next stop in front of the long mirror in her bedroom. My God, she thought there in the mirror was an old woman thin lips, long gray hair, crevices lining her face. She watched the face turn pale, fear rose from the pit of her stomach closing off her breath. Suddenly she grasps the sides of her face stretching her cheeks upward until the face was smooth. When had this happen, it was her face in the mirror! Was it during the dense darkness of the night that this happen? She open her mouth to say something, the words’ fell upon her ears anxious, a sham, her heart beat faster and fear hung in her mouth like hot lava. What is next, hopelessness, death? This is the stage in life that people pray to their God for their sins, or whatever they have done wrong, the end could be near, was this fear.

 
Where did the time go, the long dark braids, the nimble fingers and graceful body? The body that played tennis, rode a bike, skied over rough waters, time was so short. She was a person that shields her spirit from the darkest, deepest pits of the Hell and learns to tolerate life. Someone, whose body gave birth, lived with the Devil’s own spawn until her escape. The one who refuse to cry or shrivel in fear as she waited for the feel of a fist.
Someone who waited for the long fingers to clutch around her neck, then in the light of day hide the truth and lies, live in mystery so no one would know. She trembled but let out no sign of fear. The body allows tears to fall after the evil thing had gone away. She tried to flatten herself upon the bed made of stones, her mind fled before she could breathe the stagnant air before the extravagant retreat.

 
These pains were hard to bare, the Devil’s spawn wanted groveling, her throat already like splintered wood, why had fate brought her to this doomed place, imprisoned her to live and be lost forever. To live in torment and dire despair, her spirit continuous crawling through the fires of hell, and she wailed her doom to the pits darkness. Never knowing a peaceful life, a loving or genteel life denied. Her mind always filled with wisdom and untouched by the suffering. Sure, she was defeated, but she would someday rise and kill the Beast.

 

 

 

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

 

Books can be purchased at Amazon.com – Poetry, Fiction and Non-Fiction

The City of Destiny…

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The City of Destiny…

I have the key to the city of destiny.

Through me, you will find the entrance

to everlasting tenderness, to those

who are lost. I myself have built this

imaginary city from beginning to end

with wisdom and love. It has seen

many dauntless days. The entity of life

said I am deathless; I do not die. I feel

distrust, I am a coward in this city of

destiny.
Will you be fearful if I tell you that this

place is one of doom and darkness, one

of the damned, filled with heartless

secrets? As the darkness closes in on the

city, wailing begins loud the weeping

of unending pain. The voices with

passion filled the night, our souls

dancing in the wind. In this

everlasting night.
A Voice filled the darkness, do you fear

the Lord, the God of many, and then

this voice spoke of hope and death.

There is memory of them on the earth,

those lives that remain behind, and

their outcry does not reach your ears

in this make-believe place. Is there

justice beyond these walls, move

quickly or you will be doomed. The

souls are unnumbered.
I thought the whole city as dead, is

this retreat before everlasting life.

I saw the victims all naked and loud.

Weak and painful, some with blood

upon their faces. I gazed forward

and beg for daybreak to end all this

and me, wake me before it is too late.

Before me is nothing, a fearful abyss.
Then demons rose, one after the other

descending into the chasm. The evil

seed of the demon did this throughout

the endless night. I lay there silent with

an unspoken thought, he will come, and

he will spur justice and fear for those

that are within his reach, those that call

his name.
Then the ground began to tremble. It was

a terrifying sound. The wind rose and a

blood red moon cast its light upon the earth

where we stood. I sank further into the

dreadful dream hammering me with

waves of fear.

 
Wake up!

 

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

The End is Near…

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The End is Near…

The day is quickly fading, the damp air settles around me

as I look out over the pond. I can hear Earth’s creatures

toiling under the fallen branches and leaves. I must face

another bitter cold night, alone. The power of

disappointment overtakes me; the night will be long and

fearful. My mind strains vainly to remember a time gone,

a time that no longer exist.
I lie in a darkness that grows deeper and menacing, fearing

that I might dream of him that I may have pressed too far in

remembrance, fearing, that which is no longer living. I have

lived life and crossed the infernal sea of violence; I have

endured both his fate and mind. I have walled up a world

around me; here my rules overcome his victory. I must stop

this madness and put to rest that moment in time that lies

behind me.

In the darkness, I try to remember the truth of my salvation.

I have seen unspeakable things on this road called life. The

words I speak of now are weak, weaker than those spoken

without wisdom in the past. I rise, my steps in the darkness

sound magnanimous in this bare floored room, and my

cowardness is born. Am I infirmed with fear, I am scared of

the beast living in my mind, in the shadows that cover my

eyes. I dwell within hope of heaven and fear of hell.

O Lord, I stand in the light of your wisdom, I praise your

presence. I fear the hurt of hell. I was faithful, his judgments

were poor and he broke all promises. I aided him as long as

he was on this earth; it was I that lived in anguish not he. It

was death that threatened him, he never lived in dread, and

he broke all of your commands. I must always turn away as

my eyes fill with tears; I beg you hasten my life. No more

words, no more displays, I have lived that rigid and frightful

way too long. The end is near.

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by Author at Amazon.com

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_4_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+john%2Caps%2C221&crid=RM5ALVGUNEEB

 

The Nightmare..

 

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Last night, I sensed emptiness, a darkness closing

around me. I wondered did I stray too far off the

path that God had set for me to follow in this life.

The darkness was bottomless and menacing it

would not release me from my fear. Terror like the

cold hands of death and panic assumed a position

around me.

I had let no one know of the fear that had imprisoned

my spirit and soul every night when I went to bed

the darkness suffocated me. I felt hopeless with no

guidance, the hours passed slowly, I do not wake.

When sunlight appeared in my window and the

night was no more, the desecrated black waste

hung over me. What was it that I experienced

during the night, Hell!

I rose from where I lay and found my feet up

on a another path that was unknown to me, it

was a lighted way and when I look back toward

where I had lay there was nothing but rushing

muddy waters. There should be no water where

I slept. My eyes surveyed all that and I stood

quietly in a whirlpool of my own fears. Why

can I not wake from this sleep?

Fear rose in my throat, choking me. I could not

breathe, the light of mercy will never shine

upon me again. I walked through a valley, I

tried to climb out, there was nothing in the

landscape before me or behind me, no sun,

no sky, no trees, no homes, nothing. I slumped

to the ground where I stood. There is no breath,

had creation ended? I lifted my head tossing

back the once brown flowing mane, suddenly

white as a winter’s snow.

I screamed this darkness does not own me,

nor my heart and soul. I had not been

unfeeling in life. Oh Creator cleanse my soul,

deliver me from this inferno where I stand

among the bones of those who have gone

before me. I heard a voice call to me in the

darkness, I wanted to wake from this

nightmare, I wanted to be safe, and I wanted

my spirit and soul to feel the sun as it rises

in the morning.

Here in this darkness my life is shown to

me, and I remembered everything, from

beginning to the soon to be end. I moved

slowly in the dense darkness, my mind

moved from time to time good days and

bad days. The abuse times still burnt into

my mind. There is no hope, no safe place

for me. What is that I see a sliver of

sunlight penetrates my eyes and mind?

I was not dead and I cried releasing

myself from the darkness and void that

had taken over my body and mind. I

live for another day, God has given

me another chance.

 

©2018elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

The Chickasaw – Part 9

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Then War came to Chadwick Manor…

The State of Alabama declared that it had seceded from the United States of America on January 11, 1861.  Jane was thirteen-years-old; she had learned many things like gracefulness and proper manners; Sipsee had succeeded in keeping her daughter from the Master, now she had to worry about the soldiers both Union and Southern, neither respected women.  She and her mother were happy when it ended; Jane was seventeen-years-old.   She would only say up to the end of her life that the greed of the white man would be his downfall.  Sipsee and Jane remain in the Chickasaw village until the War ended.

It was there that Jane met Pap, he was an Indian Scout for the South, and Jane just becoming a young woman and no longer referred to as a child was smitten by him.  Sipsee did not care for him as he was twenty years older than Jane was; Sipsee hoped that he would not come back; Jane felt a sadness she could not explain.  Sipsee considered Jane still a child and to Jane he was some sort of God, a Warrior like her father fighting for the South.

Sipsee did not see him as a great Warrior and neither did the other people in the slave quarters; at best he was to laid-back and lazy, he went from family to family in cabins to be fed.  Yet, he never contributed to the quarters, no deer, rabbit, nothing.  He seems to slip in and out, as he pleased.

Pap had his own story; he had been a scout for the Southern Army, it was apparent that the South was falling, hunger, no coats or fires to keep away the cold nights. To have a fire could be deadly.  He had witnessed much during the past four years, it was his job to go ahead and scout out the “Yankee” camps.  There they were tents and fires to keep out the cold nights; he could smell the food being cooked or roasted over the fire and he was always hungry.  He had been issued a rifle but was weary of using it to draw attention; he had no bow and arrows (only a romantic notion by the whites), his silent weapons were his knife and a hatchet.  He was good at catching game but it would not be wise to make a fire inside enemy lines.

It was close to the end of the war, Pap had not returned to Chadwick since he left; he rode into Decatur, Alabama bareback on a sway back mule.  His horse had been shot out from under him in a getaway on his last scouting trip; he stole the mule from a sharecropper close to the Tennessee River and rode toward Decatur.  The company he scouted for was now somewhere over on the Georgia line.

Pap received no more than a glance as darkness set in; he pulled the old mule into the river holding onto the bridle, he guided the mule between the railroad and old bridge linking the North side of the river held by the Yankees and to the South side guarded by the Confederates’.  When he reached the other side, he walked into a Yankee camp all eyes and guns were on him.

To be continued…

Story Resources:

Storyteller – Jane Over-Town “Overton” 1848-1954 at the age of 106 her mind was intact, she never forgot anything, It was her body that was ready for death; she lay down for an afternoon nap and woke only to say goodbye to the grandson she raised as she took her last breath, speaking softly to my father.

Grandson – Roy C. Johnson

Granddaughter – Vina Evans-Quinn

Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree Great – Granddaughter

BOOKS AT AMAZON.COM BY ELIZABETH ANN JOHNSON-MURPHREE

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8/

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Chickasaw – Part 8

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The Chickasaw – Part 8

Sipsee and Jane thought life at Chadwick Manor was worse than they could have imagined witnessing pain and sorrow.  They also learned to live in a world where freedom was recognized only by the color of one’s skin; they learned that the world they lived in showed hatred for both the Negro and the Indian people.  The Indians were mostly free in many of the states that withdrew from the Union.

They would learn how to survive…

Jane had wonderful memories of her mother and father; she also had nightmares of seeing her father killed and of the Master of Chadwick coming to their one room shanty during the night.  The sadness of moving from the forest onto land where she was surrounded by cotton, and living with her mother’s sadness, Jane knew that both she and her mother would need to learn a new way to survive.

As a favor to Sipsee, Mistress Chadwick-Alboin and Master Alboin allowed Jane to be schooled along with their daughter;  Jane learned  reading and writing, elegant manners.  Her mother told her that an education was the only way she would escape from being an Indian; Sipsee wanted her only child to do extremely well in this new land, to be accepted in any social setting.  Jane did want to learn the white man ways; she would never forget that she was the daughter of Hawk Over-Town.

Their home may have been a one room shanty in slave quarters, but it was home; Jane was a tall gangly girl that did not have the beauty of her mother, instead she was to bare the hard sculpted features of her father.  She felt safe when she and her mother were roaming the woods collecting herbs and plants for medicine.  Sipsee would teach Jane the ways of their people, the custom, the culture, they would grow strong and some day be more than slaves to rich landowners.  Sipsee wanted to see the day when she and her daughter did not have to address these people as Missus and Master.

Then War came to Chadwick Manor…

The State of Alabama declared that it had seceded from the United States of America on January 11, 1861.  Jane was thirteen-years-old; she had learned many things like gracefulness and proper manners; Sipsee had succeeded in keeping her daughter from the Master, now she had to worry about the soldiers both Union and Southern, neither respected women.  It was during the beginning of the war that Sipsee found out about other Chickasaw’s living in the area; the Mistress of Chadwick sent them there to be safe, neither side Union or Southern bothered the Indians.  When they arrived everyone greeted them, they were shown kindness; it would be their home until the War Between the States was over.

Jane right up to the end of her life would not talk about the War.  She and her mother were happy when it ended; Jane was seventeen-years-old.   She would only say that the greed of the white man would be their downfall.  Sipsee and Jane remain in the Chickasaw village when the War ended.

It was there that Jane met Pap.  He was a scout for the South, and Jane just became a teenager and was smitten by him.  Sipsee did not care for him as he was twenty years older than Jane was; Sipsee hoped that he would not come back; Jane felt a sadness she could not explain.  

To be continued…

Story Resources:

Storyteller – Jane Over-Town “Overton” 1848-1954 at the age of 106 her mind was Like a steel trap, she never forgot anything, It was her body that was ready for death; she lay down for an afternoon nap and woke only to say goodbye to the grandson she raised, my father.

Grandson – Roy C. Johnson

Granddaughter – Vina Evans-Quinn

Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree Great – Granddaughter

 

BOOKS AT AMAZON.COM BY ELIZABETH ANN JOHNSON-MURPHREE

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8/

https://www.amazon.com/Asterial-Thoughts-Journey-into-Thought/dp/1540862356/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Rutted-Roads-Collections-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1532909365/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF81

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500502960/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

 

The NAACP has a message…

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The NAACP has a message for a mostly white Alabama town that got the green light from a federal judge to split from a racially mixed county school district and start its own system.  In the end, however, Haikala allowed the split to be fair to the parents in Gardendale “who support a municipal separation for reasons that have nothing to do with race.”  However, Haikala also reserved the right to reverse her decision if Gardendale reverted back. Corky Siemaszko – NBC NEWS

The subject of this news clip is a small town that is home to some of what I call “shirttail” relatives’, however, I am certain they are relatives from the “white” side of the family.  Gardendale, Alabama a suburb of Birmingham was always white; it is located in Jefferson County and there has always been racial discord there.  Since desegregation became a reality to die hard Bible belt white folk, Gardendale has wanted to create its own school system and town leaders, it appears that these white folk are concerned that their town may become mostly black, while they prefer it to be mostly white.

I suppose that I am back on Trump again, nonetheless, I am fearful that these types of shameful situations will be on the rise as segregation, outlawing Islam, destroying US agriculture by deporting most of its field workers is the plan wanted by many of his followers.  Trump has been endorsed by major racists in the US, many White Supremacist hate groups openly campaigned for him.

AGAIN, I AM ORIGNALLY FROM ALABAMA!

I remember some of the wording (so I had to look it up) of the ORDINANCE OR GENERAL CODE created by the City of Birmingham, Alabama.  It stated that it would be unlawful for a Negro and a white person to play together, or be in the company with each other in any game of cards, dice, dominoes, checkers, baseball, softball, football, basketball or similar games.  Now, this ordinance was created from some of Alabama’s finest!

I have seen what happens up close and personally, what hate will do.  I personally witnessed what hate can do, and I will tell you now that even as a student in school if you were not a part of the “Jim Crow” laws or believed in them, you were called traitor or worse .  I lived through the demonstration eras of the 1950s and 1960s; it was horrible to hear of innocent people being treated as horrible as they were and the rules were made up as each incident occurred, not lawful rules; rules of hate.   There were still struggles to follow but the Civil Rights Act of 1964-banned segregation in public accommodations and employment in Alabama.  This may have ban segregation in the physically, but not the mentally.  There were no laws on how southerners thought and felt about what they were being “made” to do.

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Which brings me to the rise of African Americans as they were called in those days of essential freedoms, and that the Native Americans were not even considered American citizens at the time; the 14th Amendment that gave Blacks their citizenship excluded Native Americans.   Native Americans were not granted U.S. citizenship and the right to vote 1924 was 54 years after African-American men were allowed to vote, and four years after women received the same right with the 19th Amendment.

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My father, who was of Native American Chickasaw heritage, did not have the right to vote until he was twenty-one-years old.  His grandmother who was of the Mississippi Old Towne Tribe raised him, she eventually moved to Tarrant City, Alabama where she became a woman of means for the times.  My father came to live with her when he was just a boy after his mother died because he was going to be sent to the Indian School where they Americanized children.   The idea was that when indigenous people learned United States (American) customs and values, they would be able to merge tribal traditions with American culture and peacefully join society.  She removed him from the danger of this Americanization and placed him (for the right amount of money) into the local Catholic School.

I went through school hearing “kids” say that my father was a dirty Indian; that was the country school I attended, when we moved into town not so much (maybe the city kids were less “Redneck”).  Rarely did my mother go anywhere with my father, I believe she was embarrassed because she was a very prejudice person, why did she marry him, that’s another story.  When he moved his grandmother in with us, along with a grand old black lady that I called Aunt Francis (a common name for the times) that help raise me; I rarely saw her myself.  It was my father, great-grandmother, and Aunt Francis who taught me the values I possess today; I am so very grateful to them.

Therefore, as you can see I have lived in both worlds where prejudice lived and it was not present, when I read that towns like Gardendale, Alabama can now return to segregation I am embarrassed all over again.   Alabama is a beautiful state and I am certain that there are wonderful people who live there, but beauty as it is said to be only…skin-deep.

As a country that has always been GREAT…we cannot go backwards, we have lost too much in gaining what we have to let these crucial laws be changed.  We all need to join the fight against segregation laws being overturned.  Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree