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A Path to this Moment…

Reflection on conception, an unwanted
soul cast away because of greed. An
image of the future, lost in time, starvation,
did not kill the seed.

It lived, did not go away, destiny or fate,
Life without love surrounded by hate.
Yoke around the neck at birth, emotional
Scars during its journey on earth.

Tomorrows’ path long and steep, search
The past, a need to prove why hurt and
Anger ran deep. Truth in abandonment
Can be found, sanity and sorrow closely

And then they say “goodbye”.

Ann Johnson-Murphree

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The Rocking Chair…

Who will deny me the love of an old rocking chair,
snuggled up in it with someone who always cared? I cherished
it from the very start and the stories I heard as a child while
sitting there still lives within my heart.

Washed with tears, grained with heartaches, soaked with wisdom,
an honor to be there with my great-grandmother in that old
rocking chair. In childhood I lay quietly listening at the
gentle words that wise old lady taught me to live by, you may
not be the best she would say…but you must always try.

She taught me truth and the Chickasaw creed, I learned early in
life that she and God would be all that I would need. She was
my teacher, her life was hard work and prayer, when I became too
big for her lap and I would kneel beside that old rocking chair.

I was there when her eyes begin to fail, when her hair turned
grey, she had memorized the Bible, and the crochet marker became
frayed. She taught me so much as I writhed in my shattered world,
she dried my tears then gave me a toothless smile always reminding
me that I was God’s child.

I was there when she took her last trembling breath, I watched and
I knew that she was ascending to the grandmothers and grandfathers
in the sky, and I thanked God knowing I was blessed. It was almost
more than I could bear, as I watched my great-grandmother die in that
old rocking chair.


Hands of Hate…

Hands of hate belonging
to a mother that cut into the soul
like a swordsman’s steel.

The human statue ever so small always
stiff and frozen, the face burning
with passionate dislike causing
trembling and terror.

There was no sorrow worn upon that face,
only scorn and sullenness brought on by
a lifetime of bearing an unwanted child.

Heart of stone, no tears would ever fall
from those eyes that could bring harm by
only a glance.

To the world that did not understand, a
world that did not feel the threat or
face the harm saw only pride and grace.

A quietness on the outside, a certain
charm; the soul carried arrows and sling
that could pierce and bruise.

Those hands of hate tore apart a child’s
heart and it would forever lay slit open
and bent was this the invisible hands of
hate’s intent?


The Declaration of Losing…

Losing is easy, winning
is a learned ability.

The day I was born was a loss
that was not easy, as my mother
in so many words declared “get it
away from me”!

I would learn that love does not
always grow within the womb, the
effect of my birth was that I
learned the ability to endure being

My daddy brought me back home after
three years of me living with his sister
in hopes that my mother would learn to
love me, that day was a loss.

The winning lesson learned from my
non-caring mother was that we must
accept many things in life, things
we cannot change.

Life is filled with mischances, the
loss of a love, a parent, and of
innocence, the loss of a sibling and
a child.

The declaration of losing is learning
to accept fate, overcoming hardship
and survive.


Praying in God’s Waiting Room…

Again, death is in the air, the room

is silent but the sound coming from

the hearts of those there speaks

loudly…stop we are not ready for this.

Death forces people to take leaps of

faith, see into the skulls of the one

fighting to live, pray that they are ready

to write these words on their souls…

the end!

In death no one knows the hour, hearts

stand still waiting for that last breath,

words fill the air from the silence…

stop we are not ready for this. Is death

this secret club that no one wants to join;

each on an invisible island trying to look

into the picturesque past?

In death the finality, the value of life comes

closer, a silent cry for help, help me, in

death everyone reaches for God…stop we

are not ready for this. Waiting…

the minutes become hours, the hours a day,

in the silence the spirit cries please let me go,

in the silence those who wait cry give us

another hour another day…is anyone ready

for this?


My Books are located at:

The Certainties of Life…

Life is an uncertain race where

most people do no more than run

in place, there can be happiness,

sadness, and around every corner

a surprise; yet hope blooms.

Life is what one must create within

their allotted space, or sit on the

sidelines and wait leaving their journey

to fate.

Life is not all joy floating upon the

winds of time; there are rights and

wrongs; and unknown quandaries,

setbacks, and living means moving


Life quickly passes, fair and cloudy

days, laughter and tears, and then

the warmth of the sun subsides ones


Life may mean walking in the valleys

of despair until fate starts an upward

climb, living with happiness, or grief;

always trust the heart and mind.

Life lived in harmony with others, loving,

caring and expectations met; seeds of

livelihood sown, repentance locked away

for God to judge; we strive and labor until

we pass on.



Ann Johnson-Murphree eBooks at Amazon:

In the Mist of Grief…

Memories emerge from the darkness

of the night becoming one with my soul

like the rivers that flow into the sea.

These hours before dawn are like a cold

rain pounding into my heart.  The grief is

fierce as it raises then returns to consume

my spirit, assaulting my senses.  The depths

of my courage wounded, I am listing in a sea

of sorrow my life filled with more grief than

many can bear.  I search for a miracle, hope

merges with despair, is my destiny to lose

all that I have ever loved.  It is the hard cold

hour before departing this misery.




Do Not Weep for Me, but Understand My Pain

My world is like a grain of sand

upon the shores of time, changing,

ever changing, and then washed

out into the sea of life.  Infinity is in

my soul, eternity floats upon the

clouds of heavenly moments.  My

hours caged, my spirit angered at

the thoughts of those who have

walked away from my gate.  My feet

have left their mark upon the sands

of time, waves of tears have splashed

upon the rocky cliff that bares scars

of what I have lost, and my mind

wanders the caverns of the past.  A

mother’s grief screams into the endless

nights leaving scars upon a heart that

is already torn and ragged.  Words of

doubt have poisoned my faith, the

days are winding down, and I was

born to mourn.