Beyond the Voices…


You left the world to early, free

from a life that left you filled with

doubt.  You lived the lives of many,

the voices, always hoping just to be



I now wait for that spark from heaven,

I willed you not to go, God did not agree.

Was your life fulfilled in such a short time,

will I ever know?


You had beginnings, disappointments, new

starts; you worried about tomorrow, unable

to feel happiness in what you accomplished



I suffer your being gone, sadness wretches my

days, the glow died there was no hope.  It seems

like one long unhappy dream.


Roaming within my mind, I walk the fields of your

life.  A time of clouded joy, then time was blown



Born in innocence, fresh, life clear, before the

voices took over, bringing fear.  I could not help

you in your solitude while you nursed your

unconquerable fears.


As the moonlight pales, I yearn for lost years,

before the mental strife.  Before the voices

took over your life.


It was after sunset that you died, a void that

cannot be filled, you will never grow old.  I

miss your smiles, your red tresses flowing

down your back, your light will always shine;

your radiance will never fade.


Sleep my child in eternal rest…







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Beyond the Voices


Morning, glorious morning,

the sunbeams seep through

the windowpane like frost from

winters frozen ground.  I rise,

face the Eastern sky for it is

there that the warmth of the

day can be found.

I open the window the breeze

bathes me with the scent of

lilacs that grow lavishly in the

spring.  While somewhere in the

distance, plum dusk lingers as the

last moments of night the world

tries to cling.

A robin chirps from my crabapple

tree, as I sip from my favorite cup,

a hot peach flavored tea.  It is time

to dress, comb my snow-white hair

and take the well-worn path down

the hillside toward the sea.

At water’s edge, I pause to remember

My God, to hear his wondrous call, I

will dedicate this moment to the

Great Mystery of it all.  I pray for

patience in enjoying these golden

years, to hold my head high and

face life without fear.

I hear children playing in far away

fields; I remember the joy of the

imaginary castles in the sky that I

use to build.  Have I sat here all day,

reliving my own childhood in that

special way?

I rise from the old oak rocker, did I

remember to eat, is it time to go

inside, to wash the dried sand from

my feet.   Afterwards, I will climb

beneath my mother’s old quilts, my

eyes will close and I will flow among

the starless time called sleep, My

God has a promise to keep.

I float across a space upon the softness

of a sparkling wind and along the way,

I see family and friends.  I know that my

soul from its earthly body has gone;

where silver sands and emerald seas will

forever be a part of me…this is truly

everlasting love, I am home.






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Beyond the Voices


Listen to the roar of the

thunder; in those days I

could meld with a storm,

before my heart turned to

stone.  I remember when

the blood in my veins

flowed with a fire, a fire…only



The last time that I said

goodbye, I felt like soaring to

the heavens, at last, me the

storm alone.  Lock the door,

light the candles pour the

wine; at last my life, my life…

only mine.


Your voice lingers in the

doorway, grateful I am that

you will not be back.  Outside

the light fades on a field of

wildflowers, the sun sets

behind the Pine’s, the world,

the world…only mine.

A moonbeam flows through

the window, pale, straight,

silent like my heart, that once

beat innocent.  It is time for a

golden celebration, a celebration…

only mine.


I will teach myself to live simple

and wise, to look to God, and

then I will come back.  With God,

the stone that is my heart will

soften, the fire will return to my

cold veins, and I will once again

savor all that is mine… only mine.






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Beyond the Voices


“Nomination for the “Bouquet of Awards”…

I am most grateful for all of the nominations and I believe that it is time for the “New” bloggers to receive these honored awards.  Therefore, with this new group of “Bouquet of Awards” I have decided that this will be my last post on “Nominations”.  Thank you so much for supporting and following my blog.

Ann Johnson-Murphree


Coco Di at  nominated  this blog for the “Bouquet of Awards” ; I am grateful and honored by Coco Di thoughtful  nomination.  Please visit her site and see what she has created for her visitors and followers.

wonderful-readership-award-headvery-inspiring-blogger-award-2most-influential-bloggerinner-peace-awardabc-awardlove blog award


Thank you Coco Di and all of my “Community” of followers.




The Ticking Clock…

The weathervane bares to the moon

its raven wings, in predicted circles it

swings.  Fishing boats rise and fall

behind the jetty wall, the old man

mending his netting can hear the sea



Ghostly snowflakes cover the seaweed

floating among the rocks, the fisherman’s

mind rushes like the tick of a clock.  Time

for one more catch before winter freezes

the shore; the nets have taken too long,

an overwhelming chore.


He sits remembering his world, its ghosts

that the ocean has taken, the young men

that God had forsaken.  In the beginning

the ancient winds brought the fish to earth,

they filled the sea to give birth.


Our ancestor’s footsteps imprinted upon the

pier, late in the night their sorrowful cries we

can hear.  Hurry, hurry the time is growing near,

soon your boats will freeze in their moorings,

the winter winds are what you should fear.


Look upward at the weathervane and its circular

world, around and around it whirls.  The daybreak

will quickly be gone and you will ask God…where

did I go wrong.   Ghostly snowflakes cover the

seaweed floating among the rocks, the fisherman

mind rushes like the tick of a clock.







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Beyond the Voices




Words, words, words, black,

brown, red, words upon which

my tears have shed.  The living

word speaks truth, yet one must

die to have real proof.


Birth to death we are taught  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



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



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 azure sky.


I want to read poems with my legs dangling

over the highest cliff, this…and only this will

give my earthly heart a lift.  To stare 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.






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Beyond the Voices

Benevolent Memories…


I have enough memories

from the past to last me

for the rest of my life.  My

bountiful memory will not

bury them from which they

were born.


A small country church, a

chorus of crows; the splashing

sounds of the brook running

through the Birch trees. The

wind caressing the colossal

row of Oaks in the field.


Death, a road away from the

weathered house of worship,

followed by black feathered

angels.  No longer will the water

beneath the Birch cool, nor will

the winds surrounding the Oaks

embrace flesh.


The rocker on the porch is stilled,

no hand waves goodbye.  In a

cobwebbed corner of the room,

the sun shines through a cloudy

window, as the image of tattered

curtains dance in a nearby mirror.

Childhood is dead.







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Infinite Hope…


What does one do during the bad days,

my mind that of an old woman, I would

clear my soul if I could; it is in old age

that we try to be kind.   In younger days,

we walk through life without worry and


Youth to old age, life passionate and wild,

yet within time the aged returns to the

days of a child.  I do not ask from my bed

of death to be free, I do ask that my God

let me die in dignity.

I ask that death allow me to find the

freedom that my life denied; that I am

strong when my family is at my side.

Spare me of the whisperings of a crowded

room, that there be ceremonious air and

not one of gloom.

I have lived without glory or fame; no one

will remember my name; no one knows

when I am bound for death, only God knows

when I will take my last breath.

While the world around me in silence lies,

move me outside so I can see sunshine once

more before I die.   Let it bathe me in the

wonder that I was born, across my face its

beauty spread, like the sun I ask only for

your smiles of love when I am dead.

I pray for no sickroom, no mortal strife, no

turmoil for a little breath, let it be a natural

passing, no struggling with death.  Let me go

composed, fearless, mind clear, willing to let

my spirit go somewhere else to wait for

everyone that to me is so dear.







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Envisage My Heart…


Come to me in my dreams,

only then shall my heart be

whole once again.  My heart

waits; I pray to end these

hopeless days.

My message rises toward the

heavens, to a world where you

live without time.  It is in your

new world that I wish to be, to

have you always with me.

Come to me in my dreams,

only then shall my heart be

whole once again.  My heart

waits; I pray to end these

hopeless days.







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Beyond the Voices


Magic of the Seasons…


I dreamed that I was a butterfly

floating with the pale gold sequins

spilled by the Locust tree the cocoon

set me free. I woke to a cool autumn

morning the season where all things

change, many of Mother Nature’s

children drop their cloaks returning

them to the earth from which they



The nearby brook reveals a frozen sparkling

bank as ice crystals form at its edge, the

pure water will always run free; of winter,

it has no dread.  Dreams floating within a

liquid eye, relives the wonders of spring that

brings the lovely butterfly.


Alas, we must wake to these frosty days; wait

for the early darkness, the harvest moon

shining down upon mounds of freshly mowed

hay.  Masters of cadence the landscape

transforms, winds leap and the maple trees

weep, soon Mother Nature will put her children

to sleep.


The language of Mother Nature is never old and

never new, as she speaks to the world under a

sky of blue.  Then spring will once again arrive,

and the earth will warm, Mother Nature’s

children will once again bloom; and another

butterfly released from its magic cocoon.







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