Thank you……………

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Some of America’s  “Hero’s”, we must always remember them in our hearts.

 

Thank you for your support in reblogging the last post.  First, FEMA should never ask for refunds on money they have given to support those in need.  Second, as Americans we get more support during these disaster’s from private funding…we support and care for each other more than our government does.  Third, our support to other countries also comes from private funding, from the hearts of Americans; I see the numbers that our government gives but does it go to the right people, the people in need?  Time to get down off the soap box…but too many who are less fortunate are forgotten on a regular basis in the USA; they need our voices.  Thank you so much for visiting and reading Libretto.  11.10.2014  ajm

 

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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

http://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=sr_1_6_title_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408684399&sr=1-6&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

Magic of the Seasons…

I dreamed that I was a butterfly, floating with the pale gold sequins spilled by the Locust tree, from my cocoon the dream set me 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 released from its magic cocoon.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann%20johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C292

Rebecca’s Story…

Thank you Elouise

http://tellingthetruth1993.wordpress.com/2014/02/13/where-is-my-mother-part-1/

for this comment which touched the heart of the story…”Southern culture. The look, the smell, the ungodly expectations and the heaviness of tightly guarded secrets. You’ve captured it so well.”   ajm

 

 

The story below was the inspiration for the book of poetry called “A Sachet of Poetry – Adoration, Anger, Asylum and Aspiration”. The poems with thoughts of adoration come from the possibility of love. The anger poems come from thoughts of being placed in a position of abuse. Asylum poetry is derived from the position she was placed in by her mother and the man she was forced to marry when only an innocent girl. Apparition became the final voice for Rebecca, her desires, her wishes, her thoughts on her life and how her innocence was lost behind the walls of an asylum in the mid-1950. Her goal, her most needed aspiration was her death, her death meant freedom.

Rebecca’s story is one of a developing collection and this is an excerpt from her story… 

Rebecca watched her father walked through the double door without looking back. Her mother and husband was telling the family doctor how she had been upset with her marriage and threated to kill herself. When she looked at her arm, the rubber tubing, the syringe was freighting then her mind froze in time. Her vision blurred and the fleur-de-lis wallpaper in her parent’s living room became waves of beige and gold swaying in an invisible breeze. The reason she was there dissolved into an ocean of oblivion.

Still dazed, she woke lying on an examining table in the Shelby County Medical Clinic, beside her was the doctor who had given her a shot and a nurse she knew. Standing in the corner of the room were her mother, husband and two sheriff deputies. She did not protest when the doctor gave her another shot of his magic that sent her to a place where she no longer cared. The wheelchair bumped over each crack in the sidewalk, each time giving her the feeling as if she was falling into a dark black hole. The doctor and nurse put her in the back of an ambulance as her mother began to tell Rebecca’s husband that his wife would never leave him. She steps into the ambulance, and in her own heartless way said in a low malicious voice…

“You see what happens when you try to disgrace me, putting you away for being insane will be more acceptable than have you leave your husband. You’re a southerner, southerners don’t leave their husbands”

Quivering beneath the threadbare blanket she fought violently against the straps confining her to a bed as her mind battled with drugged hallucinations. When she slept they became chaotic dreams. Mostly, she lay quietly watching other unwanted souls shuffle back and forth in a dimly lit hallway or being carted off to where the black box was kept.   She knew that she had been admitted to Challis Manor located at the edge of the Appalachian foothills it provided medical treatments for the mentally ill.   A place where wealthy Tennesseans paid to have members of their families placed to avoid embarrassment; Rebecca was not there because she had a mental or physical problem, she was there because she tried to leave her husband.

http://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406060183&sr=1-3&keywords=ann+johnson-Murphree

 

A Red Bird Day…

Revisiting childhood…

It is a Red Bird kind of day as I carefully walked the bramble-hedged path through the forest that edged our home.  I could hear leaves crunching, not from my shoes… but a lighter slower movement. 

I can hear the crusted creek running beside the path flowing gently through vein like openings in the ice.  I can smell the wood smoke from our potbelly stove. 

I know that on the warming shelves of the old wood cook stove are hot;  biscuits and ham waiting for me to get home from scurrying the woods for nuts and berries, a treat while we sit around the stove listening to grandpa’s latest tale of the war he fought during his youth. 

Then I saw mother watching from the window for signs of my bright colored hat she knitted me for Christmas, she opened the door and waved; I was late and she was worried.  I showed her my overflowing basket, she smiled…I wanted keep her happy so, I did not tell her about the Wolf!

 

copyright.2013.honeysucklememories.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:

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