Altered Senses…#86



Altered Senses…

Existence, scene after scene, characteristic of life’s

environment, and promises that reveal nothing,

the past descends like rain from the sky, washing

away all dreams. Phantoms of youth chanting

within the soul, paths blocked; evil has spread

across the landscape of a lifetime. Loneliness

limits love and happiness; boundaries slow

down the process of moving into the future

shrouded with abundant solitude from where

there is no escape. Rethink the future!





Lost Little Girl…

I do not know if you are alive or dead.
I see your face your voice never

The sun does not rise in the morning, nor
fade into the west without a thought of you.
I mourn, nights are sleepless and morning
eyes fill with fire.

No one more cherished, more loved, my
heart bears scars of torture. Where are you
my lost little girl?

A collection of personal poetry. Ann Johnson-Murphree Poetry Books – Collections of Exposé Poetry are coffee table books 8X11 that will display well in any area. The matte cover is classy and inviting. Within each book the reader will find soul poetry. A length pleasing to browse, read one or more; find a connection, a meaning and a purpose in each poem. These collections of poetry are filled with inspiring thoughts and reassuring words with a factual viewpoint on the many experiences in the life of the poet. Each collection serves as a prevailing reminder that life is complex. That happiness is in our hands alone; that the fear of unhappiness is deep-rooted in the spirit and soul. That depression and despair is real and each individual must find the freedom of mind, body and soul to move forward in their life. Each poem has been created from the fabric of a patchwork life, complex, stress-filled, finding enlightenment and cultivating wisdom. Anyone who will open their mind is free to pursue insight, to find their own nirvana. This collection of thoughts brings the reader along on the multifaceted journey of the poet’s experiences throughout life.






Splendor to the aging body has disappeared,

shaded looks from an old lover causes the

soul to cry. The enemy time is not kind, as both

beauty and strength begins to decay. Time

engulfs the aged, suddenly life changes in

every way.

Of youth we dream, while youth and old

age s begin to entwine. The past is gone

there is no future; the years have gone by

so quickly, we weep. The days are long, were

we ever young, this crumbling body we cannot

change. The prison we live in, the past, the

present brings weary pain.

Suffer, feeble, remembrance hidden deep within

our minds. Emotions felt, we must live the hand we

are dealt, life has not been kind. Frozen in time, ghost

of ourselves, there is nothing left to tell. It is the last

stage of life, some wait for Heaven, while others

continue to live in hell!





The book of poetry “A Passage into Madness” has been ten years of collections; my daughter passed suddenly 2010; my mourning has been hidden within the pages of my  poetry and my life, my pain constant.  most times I find myself in a place of inner darkness, the threat of madness crouched above me; and it does not go away. I was in a fervor to put the words down; what begin as writing, an accounting of me, turned quickly into “Poetry”. I felt like my spirit wanted the accounting, the apocalyptic writing begin; and it closed with shocking revelations into my personal life.


Additional books by Author:


Poetry – Fiction – Non-Fiction…#84



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 that 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 the doctors suggested she be placed in an institution. As a young girl she fought Cerebral Palsy, and she was made fun of by other schoolchildren and sometimes adults, her progress was slow but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she lived with bipolar, depression and schizophrenia disorders. Charlotte lived not only with herself but she endured the “Voices”, a man, woman and child that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about her beginning, her middle and the end of her life.








Are You Afraid…#83





Are You Afraid…

Outside the red door is the gateway leading to the

city of doom, through the open door is another

sphere of everlasting pain, emotionally and bodily.

There is no one to push the gate open, those at the

entrance walks freely knowing there is tragedy

beyond the gate there is fear, secret things, distrust

and lies.

The darkness is the most evil, a blood red moon

framed by the many stars hanging in the blackness.

Cries claim the night, souls in the depths of hell

are lost forever in the darkness beyond the tomb.

Is there hope in death, will memories go beyond

the stars, will those souls left behind be remembered.

Souls shedding their tears of blood; give credibility to

the wailing of fate.

Time is lost on those who use  the love of God in hypocrisy,

the ground will  sink  and the false prophets will ride on a wave of

evil  toward that dreadful shore. Are you afraid?




My Place of Reality…#82


My Place of Reality…


I have spoke of horrifying things, are these

words built from understanding? I am neither

a coward nor a saint, my thoughts are clear,

my plan open to change. There are times when

I live in that “Outer Place”, where no one can

get to me, where no one knows me, where I will

not be bothered by human drama.
There is no place that I can flee; I fear I was born

too early or maybe too late. At night I dream of

Heaven, traveling from star to star. Do I have a

wish in that dark realm… yes, there looking toward

Earth I see the creation. Heaven was not open to me,

nor was Hell; the dream, the darkness of night, mine

was a strange descent into my place of reality.
Within the dream of reality I search for truth,

following a dark stream to the bottom of the

sea, and it is there that I find a blessed place to

dwell. The place that I dwell is not for the faint

hearted, it is on this path that I find true worth,

and within time I may find the creative divine

entity that I may follow. There are no more

delays to this life. I must travel forward on this

hard and dreadful way of learning life’s lessons,

before I return home.






The Vines…#81



The Vines…
I was raised in the shadows of Burleson Mountain, nestled in the cliffs above my childhood home were small caves, these and the surrounding woods were my playground.

There is a rich foliage that grows in abundance covering rocks, fences, and anything that gets in its way. It does not climb trees, but it does climb telephone poles. This smothering vine has no special appeal. It covered the face of the caves creating a curtain to close away the world that I lived in.  Southerners believed it to be nothing but a nuisance.

Visitors who traveled the back road were in awe as to how the vine survived, they thought it to be worthless, but you can eat it.   The leaves, vine tips, flowers, and roots are edible; the vines are not; the old southerners chopped kudzu leaves raw in salad or cook them like spinach leaves. You can cook kudzu roots like potatoes, or dry them and grind them into powder. Kudzu root powder as a breading for fried foods or a thickener for gravy.

How do I know this… between winter and summer garden greens my mother would cook the leaves and root together with a piece of “fat back”, that and a pan of cornbread would fill our hungry belly’s.

Yet it also added a certain beauty to the tarpaper shacks that speckled the countryside. People who live among the vines have made their peace with this dark green neighbor, they understand its need to cover up the abandon shacks and the art it creates with what nature provided. It is deep-rooted in the south’s history, when you think of Kudzu…you think of Dixie Land.


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A Path into Tomorrow…#80



A Path into Tomorrow…#80

Reflection upon 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, it 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 anger ran so

deep. Truth in abandonment can be found,

sanity and sorrow are closely bound.


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