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.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

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Then the Tomb…

Conflicts rampant in the world,

musty tombs fill quickly; tales,

rhymes of the times, repeat of

ancient crimes.  Vanity, regret,

no joy, plagues fester from hate;

fools come in the night, rob virgins

of their innocent light; children

unable to live their lives.  Women

fair in looks, proud, hear their

laughter, jaded, men chase after!

The aged they smile, sing a little

ditty, old and forgotten…what a

pity.  Moralized and wise, sneer as

you may, their looks have faded away.

Their life of treasures lay in wait for

the vultures; respect the elderly…lost

in future culture.  Marble slabs rolled

back, the open earth consumes, fear,

death and then the tomb.

©2014.thenthetomb.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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Yesterdays Follies…

Music, music, breaking bread,

isolated, beauty dead; fingers

frail cannot hold the glass,

remember the wine and roses

days, live, laugh, love time will

quickly pass.

Heart young, hands soft shading

emerald eyes, always considerate

and wise; long days and nights,

summer heat, hearts together

beat.

Warm eyes faded and dry, memories,

lying in cool green grass, the scent of

blossoms floating to the sky.

Cool ocean sprays, sunlit yellows flay,

misty shores, foam, Gulls high whistling,

sails worn and frayed.

Remembrances, breath upon cool cheeks,

sand swathe bodies; only memories, the

madness of youth, memories are old

people’s follies.

 

©2014.agedfollies.annjohnsonmurphree

 

Don’t Waste Time…

Everything has an ending,

weakens and dies, youth

spent foolishly; time cannot

be bottled no matter how

much one tries.  The

sweetheart of your youth

within time is forgotten,

charms of the flesh go away,

bones age, cobwebs in the

brain, and dementia is rotten.

Hands once felt softness; old

eyes yearn, in wild youth flesh

burns.  Sweet youth of yesterday

withers, today old memories turn

bitter, bodies decay; no need to

worry it is the way.

 

©2014.dontwastetime.annjohnsonmurphree

Infinite Hope…

What does one do in these bad days, my mind that of an old woman, I will clear my soul if I can.  It is in old age that we try to be kind, in younger days we walk through life without worry and blind.

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 that is 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.

copyright.annjohnsonmurphree.2013

Beyond the Voices

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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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Disappearing…

Growing old, no finery, aging

body, luster gone from aging

eyes.  Vanished beauty, shaded

looks from an old lover; the

soul cries.

The enemy that is not kind, as

both beauty and strength decays.

Time engulfs the aged, suddenly

life changes in every way.

Of youth, we dream, while youth

and old age begin to entwine;  we

mellow with each setting sun, our

minds fight becoming old, of truth

we decline.

At last, we see the world with fading

eyes; hearts becomes weak.  The past

gone there is no future; the years have

gone by so quickly, we weep.

The days are long, were we ever young,

this crumbling body we cannot change; the

prison we live in, the past, the present

brings only weary pain.

Suffer, feeble, remembrance hidden deep

within our minds; emotions felt, we must

live the hand dealt life has not been

kind.

Frozen in time like ghosts’, nothing left to tell;

it is the last stage of life, some wait for Heaven,

while others continue to live in hell!

 

 

****

 

2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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Beyond the Voices

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Homecoming…

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.

 

****

 

2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

All eBooks at the address below:

Beyond the Voices

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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

call.

 

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.

 

 

****

 

2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

All eBooks at the address below:

Beyond the Voices

http://www.amazon.com/Ann-Johnson-Murphree/e/B00CGBLQZO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1375763518&sr=8-2