The Empty Pine Box…#337

[Fighting with Words, Poetry or Prose are My Weapons.]  EAJM

The Empty Pine Box…#337
Horror haunted- trying to lay out one’s days – schedules
Keeping relentless. Isolated yet fearless, in this desert land
Called Cancer -"Oh God!" I say, "Object of evil – the devil!
I tell this soul with sorrow laden if, with the angels of healing
Protect me in this desert land called Cancer –
I walk on the black sands of time, unbroken in mind but sound
 In spirit.  Take this loneliness from my heart, keep evil from my
Soul.  Protect me in this desert land called Cancer –
I dream of demons, shadows surround me, am I protected?
It is in the night that I feel weak and weary.  It is the waking
That I find myself drenched with sweat.  Was there someone
Rhythmically shaking me awake.  Protect me in this desert land
Called Cancer –
The box in the corner, a pine box, empty.  Without fear, I face
My terror; my heart pounds in my chest.  I pray many times a
Day, my soul grows stronger.  The shadows are gone, only the
Drenching of my cloths give way to the nightmare.  I whisper,
“Please, no more”.  Protect me in this desert land
Called Cancer –
I believe that I hear the Black Crows calling outside my window.
It is a myth that they bring death, I close my ears to the sounds
Of the Ravens.  Birds or Beast, they break the confines of my soul
And I know they too will be gone soon.  I have wheeled myself
In front of my terror, depressing, frightening, evil. 
Protect me in this desert land called Cancer –

Author’s Books…

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Fear and Pain, a Gift…#336

 
It is through what I call a “brain fog” that I create “Fear and Pain, a Gift”.  I try to gather and put upon paper my thoughts.  I have stopped thinking of a day, one, two etc.; they run together and get in the way of what I want to say.  I send immense love to all of you, so many have kept me in their thoughts, as I have you.  You will never know how precious your prayers are to me.  EAJM

Fear and Pain, a Gift  


What is growing old all about?
It is not a new question for me,
I have given thought to the
Subject since I was young. 
Unloved by my mother, though
I always loved her dearly; she
Was emotionally absent in my
Life; as was my daddy in many
Ways.  So, at the start of this
Flight into the Imagination, the
Answer was Simple.  I would die
Very young!
II.
I did not want to be alone and
Unloved, dying young would
Prevent my fears from coming
Into the light of day; where I
Must face them.  Afraid to face
The truth, afraid to face reality. 
I provided the shell that would
Protect me.  I would not give into
My fears, and never have been
Afraid to die.
III.
Then at a very young age, I was
Married and gave birth to my
First daughter.  I was about to
Take a journey that would give
Me joy, unconditional love.  As
Each day passed I felt the strength
Of a “Warrior”, I was given the
Responsibility to take care of my
Child.  Strength, not decay. Each
Nerve in my body strung with a
Fierce message that it was not in
My youth that I dreamed it would
Be!  The golden days lay within
The realm of being a good mother,
As good as it could be, from day
Break to sunsets glow.
IV.
I soon looked at the world in a
Different light, my heart both wept
And shoved the fullness of the past,
Those years would lay dormant.  If
Not but for awhile!  I was never
Young, I lived in the hot prison of the
Present with a bruised mind and
Body.  What I felt deep within my
Heart would fester and grow, but it
Would never be a part of my being
A mother.  Masked emotion would
Be my past, present, and future.
V.
To suffer was the plan, not one from
Me but from as higher power.  I am
But a hollow ghost, a phantom of one
Who was given the greatest duty? 
The last stage is not one in pain and
Agony, but that of one that has been lifted
Toward the Heavens and on Earth has been
Given the greatest gift of them all, five
Wonderful souls, my children and being
Their mother.  Five brilliant children who
Love me unconditionally. I and my love
For them keeps me moving forward.

Day 2…#335

The first cancer treatment is a day behind me.  Today is worse than yesterday.  Weak, shaky, slight headache.  “Bad” blood cells have increased within one week from 70% to 80%, that window of 20% looks increasingly that it is going in the wrong direction.  Chemo is aggressive; I have 4 days to get to feeling better before the next round.  I have a wonderful physician, best in Wisconsin.  No, I have not given up…my body is at war at the moment.  Short note, but it’s about all I can manage today.  This brain fog I am in leaves no room for creating; however, I may try to post some older works.  The book has been set aside for now as well.  Have a great week, peace and praise to all of you.

EAJM   

May 28, 2021…#334

Dear Followers and Readers, it would seem that over the past few months that I have been on the downside of health.  I have been in the hospital twice, and I am still fighting a health problem.  I just had my third fall, and I was in the hospital at the time.  This, of course led to a barrage of test.  The results more test than I care to count.  The final diagnosis on Thursday May 27 was bone cancer.  Needless to say my life has done a flip-flop and many adjustments must be made; over the next five months I will undergo chemotherapy, and most knows what that does to the body.  I am permanently over those months unable to walk without assistance; a wheelchair will allow me to move about without falling.  This plan may have a good outlook, walk alone, or I will have to continue with this mode of getting around.  My immune system is gone; therefore, I have to monitor my visitors.  I will continue to work on the blog when possible; since life for me is confined I may get more done that first thought.  I have a work of fiction that I want to complete.  I will stay busy and fight with all I have to beat the odds and the seven year life span that the doctors have said I have to live.  I want to thank you for your continued support and hope you will continue to stop by to see any new entries.

All my love and adoration,

EAJM

The Birth of Madness…#333

Cotton, Southern Gold

The oppressed give birth to madness.  Loathing emotions
Born out of the pits of darkness holds an
When anger and depression fuse together,
Emptiness and void that can never find
Contentment.
Madness thinks of death, is in harmony with
Stillness.  It feels pain, lives in blackness,
Hopes for nothing; survives as a opponent
Living life.
Be aware…
Its name is madness; a spawn created of
Anger and depressions fusion.





©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Life…#332

Life

With each mornings shaft of light 
I begin my conflict of words, sometimes 
I let the tears fall and sadness engulfs 
me.  Sometimes I smile!  I tell myself to 
“hush”; it is too late my soul dies further 
toward the end as time goes on.
Sometimes I am weak, my heart locked 
away too long?  Thoughts are concealed, 
feared, live and move forward out of blame.  
The heart beats on as the voices in my head 
feed from the heart with each beat.  My words 
continue quarreling with my mind.
Has life been no more that random destiny’s?  
How lighthearted my life has been, lies, 
lies to keep the outside world in dumbness.  
Daily I drink from the cup of dissension, 
and erratic thoughts, words, look into my soul, 
despite pending doom I float thoughtless in 
the river of my life with my words clinging 
to my throat like gnarled fingers.     
Buried in the cesspools gathering on the 
shore the river flows with ambiguity.  Life is 
eternally blind!  My words flow from within, 
buried in knowledge, found by fire.  The 
mystery of my heart beats, words line by line. 
 Am   I  worthless.  Hour after hour the 
words demand power, read what pulses 
through my veins.
Life flows, arrives and moves on, from 
morning glow to evening sunset; it winds 
through the valley’s filling with expression.  
The words, a story from the hours past, they 
rise from within to the page swirling in the 
cesspool at the river’s edge.  They cannot move
 on into the river of life, they must remain as 
the past.  I wait for the morning shaft of light
 and life.      

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Mothers Freedom…#331

Image result for mothers freedom

Mothers’ Freedom

It is good that I cannot remember the day of my birth, 
although since, I have questioned why I am on this 
earth; my mother did not want me she wanted to be 
free.  I understand the poverty in which I arrived, I 
still did not understand years later, when she told 
me she would have been happy if I had died.
She told of not having even an aspirin for the pain, 
and that she feared the future and afraid her that her
 life would never be the same.  Mother told of the old
iron bed with cornhusk mattress that stood on a bare
 wooden floor.  Of how they kept out the cold with raw
 cotton from, the nearby field stuffed into the cracks 
of the homemade door.
Delivered by a neighboring mid-wife, weighing only 
two pounds my mother told her to take me away, 
while saying, and “I hope that she will be gone by the
 end of the day”.  It is said that my father took me into
 his well-worn hands, whispered to me, you can live, 
and I know that you can.  He placed me in a shoebox,
 put me on the front seat of his old pickup truck and 
carried me away.  He would not see me until my 
birthday, exactly three-years from that day.
Left with a dear old black woman that I until this day 
refer to her as mother: you see I knew no other.  She
 packed my clothes in a clean cloth sack, she cried, 
but she knew that one day my father would want me 
back.  He looked at my birth mother saying that I would 
never again go away, she responded without feeling 
saying, “it would be he that took care of me if I stayed”.
The years, they quickly flew by, my mother she was 
never at home, then the day came that my father died, 
I recognized her but did not see her cry.  Me, I soon had 
children of my own and knew what kind of mother I 
wanted to be, and unlike my own, even with children, I
 always felt free.
I had not seen her for many years when I heard that 
she had died, too late to feel a mothers touch, too late 
to hear her say, “I love you so much.”  I cried, but not f
or me, I cried because at last she had been set free.

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

The American Dream…#330

Image result for the american dream
The American Dream
There was a time when  life flowed
Slowly like a perfect meadow stream,
Fresh was the air, blue was the sky,
And everyone had a chance to live the
American dream.
These things that use to be will never
Come again, we have put a hole in the 
Sky, all because of our selfish greed, we
Are destroying earth out of self-seeking
Hunger for the things that we really do
Not need.
The sky is no longer clearly blue, only
A dingy hue, the rivers and streams are
Filled with debris, between Heaven
And earth a cloud of toxic waste, yes
We are destroying this planet and doing
So with increasing speed. 
Our wetlands are taken away sold to build 
Summer a get-away, gone are the lands, 
Forest and streams that wildlife was free to
 Roam, today it is where greedy people build 
Million dollar homes.
Listen, are the birds still singing a joyous 
Song, animals are not happy because our 
Backyards are where, mountain lions, foxes 
And deer use to make their homes.  Their 
Lives changed, their feeding grounds gone, 
We never give it a thought where did we 
Expect them to call home?
 Nature tries to correct our mess with hurricanes, 
Tornados, fires and such, but Mother Nature may 
Think that the rest is up to us.  It appears we do 
Not care and one day all there may be are crumbling
 Buildings, bridges and monuments all turned to dust.
Where you ask is that American dream, its lost 
Among the rubble of crooks and banking schemes?  
The planet will die and waste away in fishless oceans
 And down dirty mountain streams. There was a time 
When the life flowed slowly like a perfect meadow 
Stream, fresh was the air, blue was the sky, and everyone
 Had a chance to live the American dream.

Other Books by author:

  • Fragments of Time
  • A Passage into Madness
  • Asterial Thoughts
  • A Sachet of Poetry
  • Rutted Roads
  • Rhythm Rhyme and Thoughts
  • Reflections of Poetry
  • Beyond the Voices
  • Honeysuckle Memories
  • Echoing Images from the Soul
  • A Journey into the Soul

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Flying with Broken Wings…#329

Flying with Broken Wings
Flying with Broken Wings is about the life of Charlotte Jean Murphree. Charlotte was not a famous person, in fact, not too many people knew her, but those that did knew there were many facets to her life. The book tells of fifty-two-years of daily testing of her will to carry on and the misfortune she faced. As a baby and young girl she was made fun of by schoolchildren, her progress was slow but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she fought Cerebral Palsy, Living with Bipolar, Depression and Schizophrenia disorders. Charlotte lived not only with herself but she endured the “Voices” that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about her beginning, her middle and the end of her life.

Other books of poetry by author:
  • Fragments of Time
  • A Passage into Madness
  • Asterial Thoughts
  • A Sachet of Poetry
  • Rutted Roads
  • Rhythm Rhyme and Thoughts
  • Reflections of Poetry
  • Beyond the Voices
  • Honeysuckle Memories
  • Echoing Images from the Soul
  • A Journey into the Soul

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

#Mental Health

The Brighton…#328 

Image result for brighton insane asylum images
Brighton Asylum

                                                                                The Brighton  
Note:  The Brighton asylum was located in Illinois USA.  This piece is a story in Poetry about one of its patients.
1900, bleeding, freezing and kicks to the head,
Shock therapy this describes Brighton a home
For the insane; their treatment of patients until
They were dead.
It was Brighton’s’ policy for the insane, physical
Abuse, water torture, and lobotomies, convinced
It would eventually set the patients mind free. 
There are those who believe that a spirit lives there
Still, caretakers thought she had run away.  They
Found her lifeless body in 1979 incased in one of the
Walls when they demolished the building; they called
It an accident not a crime.
Cold, lifeless bones unclothed, how she had died no
One would ever know.  Her name was on her dress
They say the shape of a woman can still be roaming the
Land where she died, at night a ghostly figure floats up
And down the road, many have heard her cry. 
A haunting you might say, Brighton a real house of
Horrors where murder, suicide and brutality reigned while
Bodies frail and bloodstained were constrained.  Torn down,
Yes, but its dark history remains, but the torture within should never
Be forgotten.              

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)