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Tag Archives: Storms

Green Grass and Heather

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Green Grass and Heather…

It is morning and I find myself facing the eastern sky to bless the new day; I watch in awe as the coolness of the night melds with the golden rays of the sun.  As if a stranger to my own body, I run down a furrowed road, wind caressing my face, I am at peace living in the moment in the right place.  I leave the road to follow a path into unfamiliar woods; I stare into the darkness beyond the trees. 

 

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I walked out of the darkness into a meadow, a sea of green grass and heather spread before me like purple froth upon a stormy sea; I began to run wildly at the anticipation of being free. As I reach the foot of a mountain my life, seem so very clear, I knew that freedom was very near.   At the summit, I leaned over the rocky ledge, suddenly I begin to fall; will I die when I hit the bottom I thought.   I plunge toward the valley below jolted to consciousness by moans that fill the void where I lay; I opened my eyes dawn was outside my window, and I realized that I had been dreaming; it was another new day.

 

©2017.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Authors Books on Line:

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Sanity and Sorrow… and other thoughts are among the writings in Asterial Thoughts.

womanwriterblog

Sanity and Sorrow…

I hide behind a cloak of make-believe while dangerous storms of daily living blows across the recesses of my mind.  The habitual motion of putting one foot in front of the other tells me that I have arrive at my destination; deep into an empty world of denial.  Out there, out there in the world with humanity that has become swaddled in half-truth or total lies I find no happiness.  My sanctuary, my safe haven is within the walls that keeps me safe.  I sit in the center of “my universe” reflecting upon the beginning of what was to one day become me, unwanted.  I find myself lost in time, the starvation the need of conversation on a level of necessity to maintain sanity.  Life without love, destiny, fate, a yoke around my neck from birth; I carry the emotional scars since the beginning of my journey on earth.  Tomorrow’s path is certain to be long and steep, my anger runs deep.  Truth in those who would hurt me cannot be found.  I believe that sanity and sorrow are closely bound.    

 

 

©2017.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Authors Books on Line:

https://www.createspace.com/pub/simplesitesearch.search.do?sitesearch_query=ann+johnson-murphree&sitesearch_type=STORE

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/ann+johnson+murphree

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Outside My Daughter’s Room

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Out Side My Daughter’s Room

 

My daughter slept as I watched over her,

outside a howling storm raced through the

Cabbage Palms and Bull Bay Magnolias.  The

Atlantic wind sends a salty spray over the levy,

I pray as an immense gloom enters my mind.

 

A stream of water has formed across the yard,

a threat to the new growth of tender plantings in

my garden.  Now rain is pounding the earth like a

possessed drum from a distant shore far away; the

sea is not innocent.

 

I look at the guiltless face of my child, beautiful, filled

with natural compassion and spirit.  I hope for her a life

of abundant love and wealth, and to find a man that will

worship her, not a troubled fool.

 

May she become like a hidden tree in the forest, her voice

be that of a songbird, a heart of great generosity and of

spirit?   May she never know hatred from evil, safe from

assault like the wind outside her window and dreams that

burst with happiness; I wish all this as I pray for the

calmness to come to the sea.

 

©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

thBPHSKA15“Life is short, live it. Love is rare, grab it. Anger is bad, dump it. Fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet, cherish it.”

 

 

Click on author’s book page to view poetry and art books at Amazon.com

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Summer Storm at the Lake

13.Sipseys Lake

Sipsey Lake

3X7 Watercolor

By – elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Whistling winds are coming down from the mountain, leaves flutter, threatening waters lap against the shore.

At the shoreline there is a steady sloshing, the driving rain riddles the sand; foamy whitecaps are seen through the darkness of night. It is time to stop fishing! A cat runs across the path screeching, black rain covers us beating onto the cabins at the lake; alas, we left the fish basket behind. We dry ourselves, light a fire in the old stone fireplace and crawl into bed; we wait, we listen; the storm is bending trees and flattening summer flowers, we cover our heads as the storm swells outside. A sudden shutter and the roof lifts from the cabin that is soon replaced by a fallen pine-tree; breathing heavily we move closer to each other; this is the first day of our vacation!

©2015.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
1 Comment

Posted by on July 7, 2015 in Poetry

 

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