Poetry 2014…

 

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Magic of the Seasons….

I dreamed that I was a butterfly,

floating with the pale gold sequins

spilled by the Locust tree, from a

cocoon I was set free. I woke to a

cool autumn morning the season

where all things change, many of

Mother Nature’s children drop their

cloaks returning to the earth from

which they came.

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, the chicory plants will bloom; with

it, the butterfly will be released from its

magic cocoon.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

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The Adventurous Man

Born to be a wanderer since his birth,

born after untamed adventurous times,

his soul still fills with wonder and joy, he

continues to dream as he embarks down

another one of life’s unknown streams.

 

His thoughts never change whether he

sleeps or wakes the imagery warmth of

the sand on his naked feet or a salty breeze

upon his golden skin, still he dreams.  A

snowy mountain pass where eagles fly,

enjoying life only as he can, wandering

the banks of the rivers, sandy shores, he

embraces time this adventurous man.

 

He cries for the earth before it faced the

greed of man, his vision of the world, of God

and his soul, most who know him will never

understand.  Drinking from the stream of quiet,

his voice when heard is a mighty roar, spreading

calm and logic from shore to shore.

 

As the dark waste around him widens spreading

through rivers, valleys and streams, he holds

his vision of a surviving earth close to his heart.

This adventurous man believes in change, in

surviving, in hope, living in today and not the

past; living each moment as if it was his last.

©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

Dream of Reality

 

The light of the moon dances off

lavender crocus, crimson tulips and

golden buttercups; their reflection

on the shimmering pond gives a

mirror image that only an artist

brush could capture.  The Adirondack

chair fits the curve of my body, I am

relaxed, my grandmothers’ quilt keeps

me warm, a candle glows close by adding

a sparkle to my glass of wine, I meld with

the shadows as the night bird sings.  Alas,

I wake to a snow-covered world, as my mind

clears from dreaming of the coming spring.

 

©2014.atasteofreality.annjohnsonmurphree

 

 

Smile…

At my window the wind is shrilling,

great boughs on the pines strain,

dripping water, weeping in the rain.

 

Leaves wild, wet, flying, seeking,

sighing, it is fall, the season has

become old, the night moon is

silver, the days drenched with

sunlight of gold.

 

The emptiness looms around

me, the fireplace, a monster

with fangs of flames leaping;

the autumn chill brings seasons

reaping.

 

Winter will soon be here, it invites

us to rest awhile, be idle, and let

our minds stray, dream of warm

beaches, blue waters and white

foamy bays.

 

The willful chimes of our memories

are like melancholy bells, echoing

the past, the lingering sweetness of

time; of valleys, we have walked

through and mountains we have

climbed.

 

Remember all the lovely things

beloved in days gone by; embrace

life, accept trials and tribulations,

be grateful for whom and where

you are today; smile.

 

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

Broken…

Fissured stones are entwining arms,

limbs dancing among the once pride

of summers bright leaves; now buried

in the decay of the season.

The wild wind of love, solitude in its

stillness, alone the breath echoes and

floats among the winds, no longer in its

majesty; scatters upon the unfeeling

storm.

Mist cloaks the unbounded, drinks in a

vanishing moon, the stars hide behind

bellowing shadows; sullen is the night

as it invokes fear in the weak.

Repose is the broken heart; creeping

among the graves lifeless as wilting

wreaths, diffused and motionless in

the depths of lost hope and

despair.

A cold image falls to the earth, the

night is stagnate as black shades of

death hovers in dank vapors; a life

stilled and soon unremembered.

 

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

Tranquility…

A flame that burns

within the soul, like

flickering shadows

below the clouds,

spirits runs wild into

the ravine.

Mossy ledges dark

and profound while

through the quiet

valley peaceful

wanderings crept;

reflecting upon

dreams while the

sun slept, up in the

heavens the moon

wept.

Mysterious waters

beneath the falls,

bottomless pool

with no end rushes

downward on an

invisible course, a

crevice gives way to

a wild babbling stream;

emerald leaves canopy

the forest floor, a place

where lovers’ hearts can

soar.

Silver skin and dewy eyes,

drink in descending curves

and unimaginable forms;

the sphere, the abyss of

where life is born.

Beneath the pallid stars

and sliding moon is where

hearts bloom, merging their

flames with twilight, yielding

into one mind; ecstasy

plummets into serenity.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

Shifting Seasons…

 

The seasons of the year,

quickly come and go,

spring brought flowers,

summer a swimming

hole; winter the snow

and frosty winds will blow.

 

Many will take secluded

walks, others at the cold

weather will balk; snowflakes

will soon drop one-by-one,

children will run, play and

have fun.

 

Sleet may fall, thaw and drip,

the oldsters will slide and slip;

squirrels scurry beneath the

snow moving around in buried

leaves; birds flitter, dip and

weave.

 

Clouds in the sky fly, the northern

winds shriek and shrill; the sun

surprises the earth with a warm

day, through melting snow peaks

the fearless daffodils.

 

Colors’ appear among hills of

green, wildflowers unfurl to an

awakening world; children and

oldster dream that soon there

will be the coming of spring.

 

White beaches and coral-shells,

salty air and sweet summer

smells, swimsuits and blowing

hair, children and oldsters

scampering everywhere.

 

Finally, summer will disappear,

autumn leaves burning, crimson

Sumac and purple skies;

ornaments will dangle from holiday

trees, ice-covered mistletoe peaks

up out of the snow, children and

oldsters will once again say, “Oh

my, how quickly the seasons go”.

 

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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Sea Giants…

 

In the solitude of the

night crouches Ice

Mountains floating like

pyres that wait for the

ceremonial fires.

Arctic waters move in

time with the rhythm of

the seas mystical lyre,

crossing vast distance the

Ice Mountains never tire.

Sharing the sea floats a

Steel Mountain opulent and

free, a jewel of human design

to ravish the mind.

Radiance and glittering from

port into the black waters under

the gaze of the moon, the vain

and glorious Steel Mountain

could never have foreseen its

sandy doom.

The two mountains were not

prepared to consummate an

unwanted union on that cold

and misty night, in the belly of

the Steel Mountain confidence

soon replaced with fright.

Wealth turned into an evil mate,

its unequal locked in a coffin filled

with water all too soon learned

their fate.

In silence both steel and ice unaware

of the looming catastrophe shared

the same path, the Ice Mountain moved

forward unscathed, while the Steel

Mountain quickly floated downward to

its cold salty grave.

(The Titanic)

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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