The homeless cannot sleep on cold nights, some gather around burning barrels, men, women and children, forgotten, shattered and despised by those who are more fortunate… those who have a home, a job. In the distance, you may hear a baby cry. Mothers’, Fathers’ are begging for food, living on the streets, no jobs, the family no longer sound.
Government talks end up in contradictions, a lifetime of poverty is the homeless prediction. The spirit freezes, fruit of labors rot, life squeezes and struggles persist. Bad luck smothering heart and soul, hope ceases to exist. Shifting winds turn into storms, will the world grow wiser or beaten back into servility? Trust departed, a cardboard box in the streets is where the homeless make their beds, hope disappears and the future appears dead. Wake up America!
Thomas Sands future path was mapped out and implanted on his soul. He let his mind travel through the rampant winds of all his yesterdays remembering. Thomas had been fully aware of paths taken could lead to happiness or sorrow. He sat looking at the blood splatters across the bed; Tamara Sands had been a beautiful woman, his wife of only one year. She wanted to leave him. He had found proof her infidelity. Thomas Sands had killed his wife; then turned the gun on himself, his judgment, his reason. He lay down next to her before pulling the trigger.
All books published by Ann Johnson-Murphree can be found at Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble.com
Serena knew that beauty had an ending, that all things fade and die she was in the winter of her years. All her friends were gone as was much of her family, some forgotten like goldenrods falling to dust upon the wind. Her eyes yearned, her heart bled for love, she kept repeating the words…
“Old, old, old.”
The clouds of time have spun away like fall she now waited for the last leaf to drop. All that was left was the sweet memories like Honey wine. Please she whispered let it go quickly…
“I am so tired of time”.
The Light of Day
She was born in the spring; a soft wind blew across the tall grasses. The rising sun promised spring, the warmth welcomed. The sun was setting when her soul begins walking in the deepest valley, her breath stilled. Her father took her to the nearby creek, washed, wrap her in a soft cloth laid her beside a large boulder, and fell asleep with a prayer on his trembling lips. As he wraps his baby, he gave her a Chippewa name that means “The Light of Day”. As the sun rose, he woke to see the baby moving. Abedabun was alive.
Coffee Table Books – 8 X 11
On a Blue Bird Day
It is spring, warm breezes float through magnolia trees. A gracious woman of the South rises from past memories; her thoughts behind the ice blue eyes. She sits on the bank of a pebbly brook under a Blue Bird sky, the scent of lilac rises from her starched dress. She dips her fingers slowly into the cool water; she is old and life has passed her by, and the depths of her truth never known. In her secret place of selfishness her hate for an unwanted child; she stops to ponder her own question; does she deserve the name “Mother”.
Jenny’s and Jim’s hearts felt ripped from their chest as their baby, their only child lay unmoving; a blue tint already replacing soft pink skin still covered with sand from the beach. Why were they not watching her? When the ambulance drove away, they ran to their car driving away from the tiny blue and white cottage by the Gulf. As their car went through the guardrails, they held each other tightly and smiled while the cool salty water flowed through broken windows. Both called out in the darkness; “Sandy we’re coming”. The single headstone read, “HERE LIES THREE HEARTS”.