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Reflection of Poetry and Beyond the Voices
Sorrow
New Paperback Release Today at Amazon.com…
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
Bound.
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.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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?
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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
motherless.
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.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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?
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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
forward.
Life quickly passes, fair and cloudy
days, laughter and tears, and then
the warmth of the sun subsides ones
fears.
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.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
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