The City of Destiny…


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

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!




A Place of Reality…



A Place of Reality…

I have spoke of horrifying things, are these

weak words built from understanding. I am

neither a coward nor a saint, my thoughts

are clear, my plan open to change. There are

times when I live in the “Outer Place”, where

no one can get to me where no one knows me

where I will not be bothered by human drama.
There is no place that I can flee; I fear I was

born too early or maybe too late. At night I

dream of heaven, I traveled from star to star.

Do I have a wish in that dark realm, there

looking toward Earth I see the creation. Heaven

was not open to me, nor was Hell; the dream,

the darkness of night, it was a strange descent

into my place of reality.
It is there in reality that I search for truth, as I

dream, I follow a dark stream to the sea, and it

is there that I find a sacred place for me to

dwell. The place that I dwell is not for the faint

hearted, it is on this path that I find my true

worth, within time I find whom I may follow.

There are no more delays to this life; there will

be no more words. I must travel forward on

this hard and dreadful way.





The Nightmare..



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.



Days of Pondering…


Here we are beginning August…I have many things to recall from this month as all the others.  January marks the death of my father, my daddy the subject of another book series; and brings to mind my mother-in-law and the Smith family, which I have a book outlined waiting in line for others to be finished.  A gift came on a cold January day, my granddaughter Elizabeth was born.

February marks the birth of my oldest son Carl, a wonderful father and husband, towers over all, intelligent, a man who can take control when necessary, he and Cindy have given me three wonderful grandchildren.  February is also the month that my daughter Terri was born coming into a world with fiery lungs that has only grown throughout the years; her words are quick and sharp, and sometimes kind.

March, April and May have been lost in the foggy paths we all have taken.  June brought the baby of the family Chuck, a quiet, intelligent man; loves life and his wife Karen; he is a serious writer and educator.  July, a month of remembrance, the loss of my daughter, the pain never goes away; the scars of her death are prominent on my mind and soul.

This month August, I remember my only sibling, my sister Billie passed away.  September is the month I lost my mother, one that I loved and the one who could never love me back, a painful month when I  truly felt like an orphan.  The other months October, November and December will come and go like a thief in the night; giving us time to reflect again and start another year.

This sounds more like and end of year post, but I sat on my patio alone accept Mason my four legged furry adopted son…and I had to work my way out of the “mood” that I was in…and get back to my latest project a series “The Generations – Secrets and Lies”.

I also thought of all of you, my followers and how lucky I am to have such wonderful support; my heartfelt thanks to all of you.  I wish for you love and happiness.  EAJM


At and Barnes &




RIP Sam Shepard…

samA great American Artist 

“There are no words to describe how I feel, we have lost another great one!”























Thanks for reading and in advance thank you for your comments.  EAJM


 Painting below:  Acrylic and Watercolor created December, 2010-The First Christmas without Charlotte…

19.charlotte winter











A Sad time for all, the death of Sam Shepard



What a sad day for me and I am sure many other fan’s of Sam Shepard. I have read everything publish from the imagination of this prolific writer, seen every movie. It is my belief that we have lost a great human being.

samSam Shepard


Thanks for reading and in advance thank you for your comments.  EAJM


 Painting below:  Acrylic and Watercolor created December, 2010-The First Christmas without Charlotte…

19.charlotte winter



Your support is appreciated and thank you for following…





















Flying with Broken Wings is about the life of Charlotte Jean Murphree. Charlotte was not a famous person, in fact, not too many people knew her, but those that did knew there were many facets to her life. the book tells of fifty-two-years of daily testing of her will to carry on and the misfortune she faced. As a baby and young girl she was made fun of by schoolchildren, her progress was slow but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she fought Cerebral Palsy, Living with Bipolar, Depression and Schizophrenia disorders. Charlotte lived not only with herself but she endured the “Voices” that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about her beginning, her middle and the end of her life.

This book was a labor of love, Published in June 2017, now on sale at


The Future is dead… 

The homeless sleep in boxes hidden by tall and bushy shrubs, their last meal from a nearby restaurants dumpster; men, women and children, forgotten, shattered and despised; in the night, a hungry baby cries.  Veterans, White Collar, Blue Collar, all begging for food, living on the streets, no jobs to be found, families are no longer sound.  The Government talks end up in contradictions, lies, and the future “poverty” that is the prediction.  


The spirit freezes, fruit of labors rot, life struggles persist, bad luck killing the heart and soul, hope ceases to exist.  Shifting winds turn into storms, will the world grow wiser, or will it be humbled and beaten back into servility?  Trust departed, a cardboard box in the streets is where the homeless make their beds, hope disappears and the future is dead.



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 will never return, we have put a hole in the sky, we are destroying earth out of self-seeking for the things that we really do not really need.  The sky is no longer a clear blue, now we see it as a dingy hue, the rivers and streams are filled with debris, between Heaven and Earth hovers a cloud of toxic waste, we are destroying this planet at an ever-increasing speed.  Our wetlands are taken away sold to build summer get-away, gone are the lands, forest and streams where wildlife was free to roam, today it is some greedy rich persons million dollar home.

Listen, are the birds still singing a joyous song, we are not happy because our backyards we find mountain lions, foxes and deer who are only passing through; it use to be their feeding grounds.  We never give it a thought when these feeding grounds were gone, where did we expect Mother Nature’s children to call home?

Mother Nature tries to correct our mess with hurricanes, tornados and such, but I believe she thinks that saving these feeding grounds for her children is up to us.  It appears we do not care and one day all there may be are crumbling buildings, bridges and monuments that will 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 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.


Easter…for Me!



At the age of three and yes, I can remember back that far!  Easter meant dressing in your best clothes and going to church.  There was always an Easter egg hunt at the church, which was lucky for me, as my mother believed it was a day to worship “The Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost”, not hide Easter Eggs. 

Daddy would put me into one of the two dresses I owned, both quiet plain and ugly, he brushed out my tight as coils hair and mother finished it off in a crown of corncob ringlets.  My mother and sister wore store bought dresses I wore hand-me-downs.  Armed with my one-pound lard bucket I was placed in the front seat of an old Army jeep.  We could only use it on nice days as the cloth top had been removed after the War!

In those days I did not realize that, everyone in the little Rural Grove Baptist Church was dress in their Sunday finery, and that only a few of us were labeled “share croppers” wore everyday clothes.  This did not matter when the service was over, all of the colorful eggs were found, Easter dinner of ham, and the trimmings were waiting at home. 

Daddy who refused to go to church would be waiting on the front porch of our tiny clapboard house, picking his banjo with a few of his farm hounds howling.  Even Soap sticks, our old mule brayed along with the dogs.  When my mother drove up the road, a silence fell across the land.  Relatives came from near and far for that Sunday feast, which she hated.


By the age of six my mother made certain that I knew that there was “no” Easter Bunny, she may have been tired of me all year long refusing to eat the rabbits that my daddy killed on a regular basis as part of our food source.  I understood by the age of six that the only eggs boiled would go into the potato salad; coloring eggs was a waste of money, to hide them was a waste of time.  She no longer allowed me to hunt for the eggs at church.  By now, I knew why my daddy would never attend church, my sister left home and that left just mother and me. 

By the age of twelve, we had moved from the farm into the city, I was old enough to dress myself and I walked to church alone, for some reason my mother always stayed home with my daddy.  In her later years she returned to the church. 

The Easter Sunday that I turned thirteen, many of us were put into busses and cars to be taken to the backwaters of the Tennessee River to be baptized.  My mother never asks why my clothes were still wet and my hair hung down my back weighing a ton.  Daddy looked at me saying, “Well little girl they got you too”, the subject never came up again as relatives were piling into the front door greeted by the aroma of that big ham waiting for them.

By the age of sixteen, I was teaching Sunday school to an excited group of six-year-olds, I did this for ten years, through the years.  By the age of twenty-six, I was still teaching Sunday school; by this time, I was taking with me my three little girls, their daddy stayed at home.  Now, everyone is gone, my family from my childhood, the husband, and I have lost two of my five children. 

If for no other reason, I have to believe that Jesus existed and rose from the dead to enter his father’s Kingdom in Heaven, for if it is not so that would mean I will never see my family again.  So, with my time getting closer I celebrate that day and to grasp the idea that there is a Heaven and a Easter Bunny; in my mind’s eye a little curly headed child of a sharecropper is skipping on the green grass at the Rural Grove Baptist Church in Alabama hunting for eggs.  Sorry… I have to go; I see another colored egg in the tall grass by the Oak tree!