On Sale…

 

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IN SEARCH OF WORDS

 

Ann Johnson-Murphree Poetry Books – A Collection of Poetry
The 8×11 coffee table books that will display well . The matte cover is classy and inviting. Within each book the reader will find approximately fifty poems.  A length pleasing to browse, read one or more; they will find a connection, a meaning and a purpose in each poem.

What do you see when you look at an older person?

A worthy piece to share from Ernest Slyman’s Facebook Page…Please share

 

https://www.facebook.com/ernest.slyman.9/about

 

 

“When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

 

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

 

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.”

 

Cranky Old Man

 

What do you see nurses? ……What do you see?

What are you thinking .. . when you’re looking at me?

A cranky old man, … …not very wise,

Uncertain of habit .… … . .. with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food .. . … . . and makes no reply.

When you say in a loud voice . .’I do wish you’d try!’

Who seems not to notice …the things that you do.

And forever is losing … …… A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not … … lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding … .The long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking?. .Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse .you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am … . .. As I sit here so still,

As I do at your bidding, .… . as I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters .… .. . who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen … .. with wings on his feet

Dreaming that soon now …… a lover he’ll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty … ..my heart gives a leap.

Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now … . .I have young of my own.

Who need me to guide … And a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty . .… . . My young now grown fast,

Bound to each other …. With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,

But my woman is beside me . . to see I don’t mourn.

At Fifty, once more, .. …Babies play ‘round my knee,

Again, we know children … . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me … . My wife is now dead.

I look at the future … … . I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing .… young of their own.

And I think of the years … And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old man … … .. and nature is cruel.

It’s jest to make old age … … . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.

There is now a stone … where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,

And now and again … . . my battered heart swells

I remember the joys … . .. . I remember the pain.

And I’m loving and living … … . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few …. gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact … that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people .… . .… open and see.

Not a cranky old man .

Look closer … . see .. .…. …. . ME!!

 

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

A Patchwork Life at Amazon.com…

my desk 2

Currently working on “Cotton”, the book will be based on a true story in the 1930’s south, the real Alabama, the poor, the rich, the hard times, a patchwork life.  Below a collection of poetry based on life experiences on sale’s at Amazon.com.

Ann Johnson-Murphree Poetry Books – A Collection of Poetry
The 8×11 coffee table books that will display well. The matte cover is classy and inviting. Within each book the reader will find approximately fifty poems.  A length pleasing to browse, read one or more; they will find a connection, a meaning and a purpose in each poem.

 

Thank you for your support.  ajm

 

 

A Discovery

miss modenea

The “World’s Oldest Profession.”

 

A Bit of Family Genealogy and after “dusting off an old draft discovered a story in the making”

In the early 1800s, the hectic harbor in Mobile, Alabama was bustling with upriver planters who came to town for the annual cotton-marketing season. Along the waterfront a variety of establishments from boarding houses, hotels, saloons and other places know as the gentlemen’s entertaining facilities, as a group they were known as “Shakespeare’s Row”. During the South’s Antebellum Era prostitution ranked right up there with vagrancy and public intoxication. It later became a prohibition of any disorderly behavior public or privately. The fines for “keeping a disorderly house” ranged from $10 to $25; there were no consistent laws on the subject.

It was during mid-1850, when my Great-great Aunt Molly and Modena found themselves visiting a distant cousin in Mobile near the waterfront. They had inherited a hotel in downtown Birmingham and after working night and day for months decided to give themselves a vacation. Leaving the Hotel in the capable hands of their hired staff the ladies went on their retreat.

It was toward the end of their stay when they ventured onto the waterfront and Shakespeare’s Row. Neither Molly nor Modena wavered from having a good time. When they inherited their Aunt Ira’s Hotel the family encouraged them to turn their lives around and make a living running the upper-class establishment in Birmingham.

It was during that trip to Mobil that gave them the idea of returning to Birmingham and turning the their Hotel into a “Gentleman’s Club”. They did not identify themselves with the Shakespeare Row prostitutes, but they did know that since their youth their need to pander with men was well known. That is how the Gentleman’s Club came into existence.

These two young women advertised the club as a place catering to the wealthy.  In the beginning cards, cigars and liquor became the enticement. Upon paying a substantial monthly fee to join, and a separate “visiting” fee deposited at the door would give a gentleman their choice of available “Ladies of Pleasure” or “Ladies of Easy Virtue” for one hour. The city agreed to turn their heads to these nightly “Whore Parties” for a reasonable tax! A wink and a nod condoned and protected prostitution at the Hotel for almost 50 years.

Therefore, Miss Molly and Miss Modena brought the red-light district to Birmingham, Alabama. It was one of the few buildings left standing when Yankee troops pilfered their way through the south. The women that worked in the hotel were not cheap, but to test the virtuous caverns of the sisters’ girls could be costly.

 

©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

Books at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_20?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann%20johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson-murphree%2Caps%2C392

http://writerannjohnsonmurphree.wordpress.com

 

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