Note from Author :
When I create poetry, some of my followers believe that it is personal, no, the idea may be built upon ones personal perception or glimpses into my life, but it is not to be taken as fact. My blog is filled with ideas when creating, but I believe that the meaning is not only found in the act of reading (and re-reading) poetry. Sometimes we start writing a poem with one idea in mind, but by the time we reach the end of the first draft, another idea or theme has emerged. Other times, we might write a poem and realize years later that there are layers of meaning in it; perhaps our subconscious produced something we were not aware of at the time the poem was composed.
The very act of writing poetry opens us to the meaning of our experiences and ideas, especially if we are willing to give up control when we write and let ideas and words flow freely. Free writing is an ideal practice for generating mysterious raw material. I find my poetry to be dark, eight decades of experiences gives me a wheelhouse of raw material on many subjects. Please enjoy.
Deaths Hideous Show…
She asks that her bed of death
be free of greedy heirs, her last
breath she favored, not me.
Greedy did not bring them to
their knees. I kept back tears I
will not weep! There are worst
plagues than tears. I would now
find the freedom that my life
has been denied; then at last,
I can give up my hope to find
love from she who carried me
within and gave me life.
Spare me the whispering crowded
room, family and friends that come
and gape and go; spare me the
ceremonious air of gloom, which
makes death a hideous show. The
future that undiscovered mystery,
which one feels deaths wings.
Bring none of these to me; let me
be silent in the dew of the morning,
this world that I was born. The
same world that will continue to
last when I am dead.
I find that the universe is my home;
my mind treads on every day, which
brings the sun, the moon, the stars;
oceans, streams and lakes; every blade
of grass flows within my veins. Keep
from me all mortal strife, and praise
each little breath for from it I will
find my eternal course in life.
Spare my feeling as I gaze upon each
day, let me grow, stay composed, mind
clear. When my time is near let me,
accept it without fear. Let my spirit
go to work no more, to wait no
more; I ask that you shed no tears.
Author’s books at Amazon.com and Barnes & Nobel.com
Charlotte Jean Murphree – 6 Months