Poetry and Art


A silent shore, seductive Moon, a sinister Sea, clouds in the wind, a shadow lies upon the white sand alone.

Stilled on the sparkling crystals, almost villainous, primeval and water worn with broken sides.

Once imperturbable, aloft upon white shafts of waves, beautiful and bold, now ancient and vacant.

The old sailing ship finds its burial ground upon a deserted island in the mist of morning.


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Sorrow Born out of Greed…


On a warm summer day, an old soul returned to a place where parts of it remain for years.  Waiting  while misplaced pieces of it floated through life on waves of tears.  Many gathered on this day all had the same ancestral blood flowing through their veins.  Some came out of respect; the unbroken circle… was there for gain.

These mortals had tried to keep the old soul away from this final commemoration. They did not care about its many years of painful isolation.  Death had not fractured the unbroken circle had gone unchanged for years. The return of this old soul brought to the cloistered multitude panic and fear.

Disregarded, invisible with no right to be heard, the Old soul was damned in their every fearful word.  Watched closely, made to feel like a thief, an intruder daring to be a part of their hypocritical grief. The old soul tried to enter this circle of mourning, doors slammed in its face.  A reminder of why it was not wanted in this protected place.

Unwanted at birth, cast out on a journey at an incredible cost, to penetrate the unbroken circle was a battle that would forever be lost.  The old soul believed there was a time to grieve, a time to pray.  A time to remember when an innocent soul simply forgotten and tossed away.

On soft breezes, those that gathered could be heard with a pretense of moans.  Their voices echoed memorials where truth was silenced the real story hidden, inside of the unbroken circle truth forbidden. The old soul stared down at a mound of dirt waiting for love that the grave could not offer, while the unbroken circle gathered and divided their coffers.  A loving soul had returned to where a part of it remained years, it gathered up the pieces of its heart and wiped away its tears. The shattered old soul had returned on that warm summer day, to grieve the loss of never hearing “I love you” or feeling a parent’s gentle touch.  It needed to tell the unbroken circle when children are unloved their lives are crushed.




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From Pat Cegan at Source of Inspiration…a worthy reblog if you are in the process of a “rebirth” in your life.

Source of Inspiration


In the past, I have tried
to be open-minded, to respect
the other’s right to their
opinion and lifestyle. At times,
though, I have crossed the line,
too willing to give the person
the benefit of the doubt, to
allow them to blame me. Was
it a need to please rather than
a virtue? Was I unsure of my
own boundaries, thus could not
keep others from crossing them?

Today I know better who I am
and what I am willing to accept.
Doormat style has be abandoned,
replaced by a knowing of my
personal worth. Thank-goodness!

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Casualties of Times

The homeless cannot sleep on

winter’s cold nights, they gather

around a burning barrel, men,

women and children, forgotten,

shattered and despised; in the

distance a baby cries.  Begging

for food, living on the streets, no

jobs to be found, families no longer

sound.  Government talks end up

in contradictions, poverty is the

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 will it be

humbled and beaten back into servility?

Trust departed, a cardboard box in the

streets is where the homeless make their

beds, hope disappears and the future to

the homeless is dead.



Altered Senses

Existence, scene after

scene, characteristic of

lifes environment, genetics

and promises that reveal

nothing, the past descends

like rain from the sky,

washing away all dreams. 

Phantoms of youth chanting

within the soul, paths blocked;

evil has spread across the

landscape of a lifetime.  

Loneliness limits love and

happiness; boundaries set

slow the process of

moving into the future…

nevertheless, the future may

be shrouded with abundant

solitude from where there is

no escape.  Rethink the future?







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A Liar’s Life

Standing in a graveyard alone;

to mourn, to stare at the mound

of dirt; at the  shell of one who

loved but a few, the seed of

kindness never sowed, love they

did not seek, now silence lies

beneath.  Entitlement is all that

remains, grief, no greeting,

unwanted presence, gestures, tone

and looks in death there was joy

and greedy ploys.  Gluttony bloomed

before the setting of the sun, looking

for more to take, life took on a forged

tongue.  Open jeers, false deeds, honor

lost, the price of greed can be at a great

cost.  Roars the misty breath of strife

destiny has finally caught up with a

liar’s life.





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My Apologies the Free download has problems…

My sincere apologies  “My Journey into Art”  offered as a free download on April 15 cannot be downloaded.  Just received word of the problem at midnight!  I will have this available as soon as possible.

Ann Johnson-Murphree

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The Warmongers

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(Authors note:  I fully support the men and women in the service of my country the United States of America, I feel sad about the men and women of other countries who feel the obligation to follow the commands of their leaders.  The pain in the death of loved ones has no borders, no boundaries.  I cannot tolerate those who create war, it should be a declaration that they place their children in the middle of these war torn places.  Maybe, just maybe they would “think” before they “act”.)

The Warmongers

What will you do when the earth is no more; will those of you in power regret that you started another senseless war.  Political warmongers around the world your ugly heads and threats rise, rise, rise, are you blood thirsty, are you only contented when you see others die?  In the safety of your guarded homes, away from the death and destruction, you have no pity…your lives unchanged throughout infinity.  You will bury no sons or daughters, your children are safe from your greed, it is the souls of the innocent that fills your murderous needs.  You do not walk through the scattered bodies, the maimed; all of the citizens of Earth must follow your orders to build your media fame.  War, despair and death come from the laws for which you believe your people should abide, you have slain our children, you play war as we mourn and cry.  You are filled with sin, you have no grace, how can those of you that create wars ever look God in the face.




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Crazy Old Lady…

Once all satin and lace in the right places, boldness and bravery you possessed, your honor others did not protect.  Shunned by piety, sought by sinners, the road to hell paved by the winners.  Below the towering trees, you sleep snug and tight, to have a house of brick and stone you had no right.  Now body plump, hair gray, wrinkled dress, time has left the lady of the streets frayed.  Children sneak and try to spy, your mind gone before your body to the great by-and-by.  Now an old lady you toss your head, remember your beauty, your wicked deeds, speed of time is not on your side and you will grow older and older before you reach the great by-and-by.  In you, ourselves we see, overlooking our own blundering notions, jealous of your freedom to do as you wish with such devotion.  Crazy old lady your life in words cannot be described, and least we forget…we will all be judged together in the great by-and-by.

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