Libretto…

2.ALO

Libretto

After five poetry books and one of my personal artwork I have begun a new chapter, a new journey into fiction.  With many stacks of drafts it is time to move into another direction of writing.  I hope you all will follow Libretto and thank you for following and for the success of Ann Johnson-Murphree Confessional Writing.  For those of you that have not clicked onto Libretto below you will find an excerpt of one of my stories.

Please visit and follow my new blog Libretto

http://writerannjohnsonmurphree.wordpress.com/

 

Cotton Cover Pic

The following is an excerpt from a short story about a young man from Atlanta. His first job after graduation from high school was with the Greater Atlantic Life Insurance Company. It was 1940 and jobs were scarce the pay poor; he would get to keep one-dollar for every policy he sold. His territory…the Appalachian Mountains. He did not know that the daughter of a potential buyer would be the wildest thing he would ever encounter in his life.  It is a work of fiction based on real people and circumstances.

 Cotton

Andrew Pritchett walked two miles to reach the run-down shacks in the Tennessee foothills that edged the Georgia state line; he sold burial insurance. He knocked hard on the rough pine boards of the door, scrapped his knuckles, wiped the blood on his pants leg, stepped back and looked at the rotting porch, barrels for sitting, a can for tobacco spitting and a mangy dog swarmed by tiny black flies.  Suddenly a gigantic body filled the opening of the doorway. Moody Cahill wiped his mouth; relocated tobacco scum to the front of his patched overalls and returned his hand to the barrel of a shotgun.

Mr. Cahill,” Andrew stuck out a trembling hand as he choked back the smell and disgust at the sight of the man he       desperately wanted to sell something.

Yep

Your neighbor down the hill, a Mr. Ragsdale said that you might be interested in some burial insurance.”

“Nope”

Andrew’s eye twitched, the lazy one when he was nervous, he sat the worn leather valise down on the porch; it held his entire life, insurance applications, rate book and envelopes to mail the company their money. Underneath all that was an extra pair of socks, underwear, a straight edge razor and a worn out towel; all he possessed beside his old truck.

Folks in these parts have been buying up these burial policies pretty good, they come in handy if needed”.

Uneasy he took out a handkerchief wiping sweat off his neck. When he looked back at Mr. Moody a young girl with thread bear clothes and a sweet gum twig hanging through a gap in her teeth was leaning on the doorframe. She smiled at Andrew just before the elder man pushed her back into the rundown shack they called home.

 “You married young man”.

No Sir.”

      “Cotton get on back out here and introduce yourself properly to this young man, he aren’t married.”

 

Working draft: ©2014annjohnsonmurphree

 

 

 

Ann Johnson-Murphree

Open the door to the future, take a deep breath, step on through and start a new chapter of your life.

In the last posting I wrote that “A Sachet of Poetry – Adoration – Aspirations – Asylums” would be the final book of poetry that I would publish and this will be the last entry on this site. It was created to give exposure to the poetry that I have written during the past four years trying to understand a great loss. Much of my poetry received worthy comments by many of you and that encouragement led to their being published.

All of the poems were created from tiny fabrics of my life. They characterized the thoughts of innocence sold into a false world of adoration. Living in silence, and believing that God did not keep this innocence from living within an earthly hell. In our youth we believe that death will be a long way off and life was only in the now.

How would one ever know that ahead lay sacrifice, pain and suffering? Life should be fruitful; the human life produces scenes of public, private distress and anger springs forth with hate and blood. Mortally leading to the mysterious world of knowing the fist is not love, it is the slaughter of innocence.

Innocence institutionalized because of spousal disobedience, failing to comply with and act upon the orders of a controller… the answer asylum. Reality embedded within the soul of innocence, no future, no meaning to life. Innocence in truth wants and dreams of death; these are the true aspirations of the abused.

I published the Ann Johnson-Murphree Poetry Books – the Collections of Exposé Poetry as coffee table books. Within each book the reader will find soul poetry. The poems are filled with thoughts and hopefully inspiring and reassuring words with a factual viewpoint on the many experiences in life. Each poem serves as a prevailing reminder that life is complex.

That happiness is in our hands alone; that the fear of unhappiness is deep-rooted in the spirit and soul. That depression and despair is real and each individual must find the freedom of mind, body and soul to move forward in their life. Each poem has been created from a “patchwork life”.  Complex, stress-filled, finding enlightenment and cultivating wisdom throughout the years. The collection of thoughts that created the poetry hopefully brings the reader along on the multifaceted journey of a lifetime of experiences.

Thank you for your support and I hope you will continue to follow my postings on “Libretto” at:

http://writerannjohnsonmurphree.wordpress.com/

My poetry Books are at Amazon.com

A Sachet of Poetry…

Sachet of Poetry the “final” poetry book to be written by this author on a lifetime of experience growing up in “poor” southern conditions, living with depression and through the loss of two children. The other coffee table books in the collection are Echoing Images from the Soul, Reflection of Poetry, Honeysuckle Memories and Beyond the Voices. There is also a book of artwork, personal therapy created during the year following the loss of her children. These poems a tiny fragments of mind, heart and soul. The author is currently working on an accounting of her young life growing up in Alabama.

A Sachet of Poetry: Adoration Aspirations Anger Asylums

Authored by Ann Johnson-Murphree

Coffee Table Book
List Price: $5.24
8.5″ x 11″ (21.59 x 27.94 cm)
Black & White on White paper
54 pages
 

A collection of poetry created from tiny fabrics of life. These poems characterize the thoughts of innocence sold into a false world of adoration. Living in silence, God did not keep this innocence from hell, and death would be a long way off and life was between the now and then. Ahead lay sacrifice, pain and suffering. Life should be fruitful; the human life produces scenes of public, private distress and anger springs forth with hate and blood. Mortally led to the mysterious world of knowing the fist is not love, it is the slaughter of innocence…

Purchase this book at:

 

 

Harvest Moon…

A harvest moon slivers over the tops

of the trees, glows upon the white lilacs

shadowing the wall by the sea. The night

birds call as evening falls.

Boughs of spruce grow green in winters

cold, the willow tree weeps as the earth

becomes old. A moonlit night that will never

die, memories in time watched over by God’s

loving eyes.

Mist across a nearby brook lies low under

dimming stars I see fireflies dancing afar.

Rain seeps into the earth as vines cling to

ghostly streetlights; in the shroud of silence,

my soul takes a heavenly flight. Life and death,

time and lack of memory are all lost on youth,

breath taken away, there will only be truth. I

thought this was a dream with spikes of purple

bloom, pain sharp I ascend from this place of

doom.

 

©.annjohnsonmurphree

 

On Making the Poetry Manuscript — New and Improved, Part I

annjohnsonmurphree:

Read, learn and enjoy Jeffrey Levine’s wisdom, a blog worth following…ajm

Originally posted on Jeffrey Levine:

sharpenerThis and every Wednesday for the next little while I will be expanding on many of the 27 points covered in my earlier post about making the poetry manuscript. If you’ve not read that original post, it’s called “On Making The Poetry Manuscript” (October 12, 2011) and is available here.

But first . . . many poets have asked me recently about the Tupelo Press Writing Conferences: what sets them apart from other manuscript workshops and writing retreats? What can I expect to come away with?

It’s important to me (and might be to you) to distinguish what Tupelo Press Writing Conferences are about, because great writing is at the heart of any successful publishing career, and because (as you’ll see further on) if you’re to make your manuscript a more successful swimmer in a sea of manuscripts, there are things you need to know.

So, here are a…

View original 2,556 more words

Words…

th

Words, words, words,

black, brown red, words

for which my tears have

shed. The living word

speaks truth, yet one

must die to have real

proof.

Our birth from death

is taught in the Holy

text, we will not truly

live until this sacrifice

has been met. The sky

will open the “Just”

will fly away, the

“Wicked” given a

second chance must

stay.

Words, are they truth

or a means for the pious

to lie, and for the answer

are you willing to die?

I want to believe, to hope,

to live life to its fullest

here on earth, and I

choose to live until

that final rebirth.

To taste the lush berries

down in the blackberry

thicket, to smell the wild

rose on the side of the hill,

to find a love that will not

let my heart be still. I want

to lie in a clover field

watching bellowing clouds

float by, to gaze at a

summer’s cobalt sky.

I want to read poems with

my legs dangling over the

highest cliff, this…only this

will give my earthly heart a

lift. To stare out at forever,

on the landscape below, as

I pray that my time in the

here and now will travel

ever so slow.

I want to dip my toes into a

frothy sea, to feel the salty

wind upon my face and

know that I am in the

right place. Here on earth

with my love by my side,

yes, oh yes, God can wait

for a while.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

WEEKEND COUNTDOWN ALL EBOOKS $.99

 

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