Who is Blogger/Poet/Fiction Writer/Artist Ann Johnson-Murphree?



5.Holiday Snow



Ann Johnson-Murphree

Ann 6.8.2014

Ann Johnson-Murphree

Author Bio…

Born in northern Alabama, father was a Native American (Chickasaw) sharecropper who managed a farm for a businessperson from Decatur, and a mother who worked in the local cotton mill during the Depression to pay for Beautician School. Although her mother lived in the same house, she was emotionally absent since the Author’s birth. The author, raised by her father, Native American great-grandmother and an African-American woman all were great storytellers.

Instead of playing like most children, she roamed the countryside alone or with her father and at night she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. During the summer’, she lived with her fathers’’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; it was there that she would discover a library, and mingle with her aunt’s circle of friends that included local writers, artist, and politicians. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was the weekend retreat and filled with these people from a different life than her own. This aunt encouraged the imagination of a young Ann with the gift of her first journal, which she filled with stories over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child.

Nonetheless, with adulthood, the desire to create buried itself deep within, the dream wilted but did not die. It lay dormant, gaining experience all written in hidden journals. These experiences, the contents of these journals became short stories and poetry reading to share with the world.

Throughout the years along with her father, great-great-grandmother, and her beloved Aunt Francis, other influences were, Faulkner, Capote, Fitzgerald, and Harper Lee. Later in life, I discovered the warm and comic writing of Grace Paley. The Collected Stories”, the vivid poetry of William Carlos Williams; the strong poetry of Phyllis McGinley, and the world’s most exciting women, Maya Angelou are some of the poets at the top of her list.

The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world; it fills the pages of her writing, the heartache, the abuse, and the denial from her mother. Today, at a stage of life where she enjoys her children, grand and great grandchildren, her four-legged companion Mason, she lives in Southern Wisconsin…far from her southern roots, writes and paints daily.


Southern living, tragedy, memories, and nostalgia… 2014

By Dr. Karen Moriarty – Karen Moriarty, Author of “Defending A King ~ His Life & Legacy” [about the incomparable Michael Jackson]

“As a former teacher of English and creative writing, I approached the reading of Ann Johnson-Murphree’s “Honeysuckle Memories” with real enthusiasm. Poetry is not a wildly popular genre currently. However, I have always enjoyed it, partly because it can be consumed in bits and pieces and at any time of day or night. This book did not disappoint. I consider poems the poet’s personal journey of heart-soul-and-mind. This collection of poems is about Southern living, tragedy, death, and memories. The poet-author’s background as a child who grew up in northern Alabama, a sharecropper’s daughter who farmed for his living, colors much of her work. I enjoyed the flow of her writing, her style of combining prose and poetry, and her reflecting the imagery from her earlier memories in vivid terms.

I recommend that you buy and read this book. It is priced well — to entice the potential reader to venture into the realm of poetry. Ms. Johnson-Murphree enjoys, above all else, sharing her love of writing with others who will enjoy it, understand her better, and share her personal journey.”








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Ann Johnson-Murphree

In the Minds-Eye…

Imagine being on the edge

of eternity where hours have

no end, is there day and night,

are the stars close and bright.


Does the moon hang below

Heavens invisible veil; do the

stars hang by silvery threads,

and are the clouds soft like

feathery beds.


Are there beings living on planets

scattered throughout the Universe,

are their lives better or worse; do

they have a God like ours, do they

have greater powers.


Is there actually a Heaven and Hell,

are these places fiction or fact; only

time will tell, in truth one must die…

to find if paradise exist or if it was

all just a lie.


Imagine being without sorrow or pain,

if it is all true, we have nothing to lose

and everything to gain; we can allow

our imagination to wander away; but

remember to live life day-by-day.



eBooks by Ann Johnson-Murphree

Books by Ann Johnson-Murphree




Beyond the Voices by Ann Johnson-Murphree (May 29, 2013)







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Echoing Images from the Soul by Ann Johnson-Murphree (Apr 12, 2013)









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Honeysuckle Memories by Ann Johnson-Murphree (Apr 19, 2013)







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My Journey into Art by Ann Johnson-Murphree (May 10, 2013)







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Rise You Are Alive…

Waken your languid

body; golden threads

of morning are rising

above the sapphire

ocean, there will be time

to sleep at journey’s end.

Waken your languid mind;

arched shadows are

shattering, trampling to

earth as night hides behind

the mountains.

Waken your languid soul;

there are empty roads to

follow while life waits

for your heart to flourish, to

move from sunlit pallets, from

languish slumbers, rise you are






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The Visiting Place…

An image of the heavens,

the wind of angel wings blow

across golden pavement on

an endless road, no place to

go when the lost search for


The road runs through a crowded

place filled with souls, none had

a face; a loving mercy on angelic

winds went swiftly by; somewhere

in the distance a compassionate


In this place lives loneliness and

shame, far from the gates of Heaven,

a place where even the angels look

away, a visiting place; no one who

passes through wants to stay.




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When and Where Will It End…

Life scarcely sustained, black is

the night, vicious is the pain.

Deadly gloom walks by my side,

this life I sometimes cannot abide,

I have looked to the heavens, no

peace did I find, neither God, Satan

or I can control my mind.

Clouds like whispers move here and

there, my thoughts find no solace I

have searched everywhere.  Bitter

silences, graceless, disillusioned concern,

reflect upon the hopelessness, darkness

spent into the light, intent, and fright.

Defaced, lost, a wilting world, nothing

sacred, lonely soul, waning time in a deadly

whirled.  What lays in the end, weakening

breath, doors closing, the door to death, I

lived my life within a stormy sea of abuse;

I now must cry out in regret.





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