Nature
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
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
It is time to paint SPRING…
Living in the midwest I am certain that the entire country believes that we have had enough of snow. I am ready to paint Spring.
Early Snow
Winter by the creek and below…outside my door.
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
EBooks on sale at Amazon.com:
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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
EBooks on sale at Amazon.com:
http://www.amazon.com/Ann-Johnson-Murphree/e/B00CGBLQZO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1375763518&sr=8-2
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