This to shall pass…#249

Image result for trump images free
“I have won the election, and I am never going to leave the White House”

 Are we still talking about Trump?  He has lost the race to the White House, Joe Biden knows how to walk the walk and talk the talk.  I cannot believe that we are getting closer and closer to the final day and Trump is still holding on.  However, now Trump is trying to stay alive with his lawsuits.  Rudy Giuliani is being laughed out of every court room he enters. 

Trump wanted to disenfranchise millions of voters, without thought he would deprive a person or organization the privilege to vote.  Currently, I believe that Trump and his followers are beating a dead horse.  Trump is known to get upset if he does not get his way, like a child he pouts and hides in his room.  He has spoken to the American people a few times since the election; he is calm, reads from a script, he is not the Trump that reads until he cannot stand it and blows up.  I am beginning to believe they have him medicated.   

Then we have Russian President Vladimir Putin, whom I try to follow closely as he scares me; he is a dictator and that is why Trump admires him.   Putin said that he’s ready to work any American Leader, but still isn’t ready to recognize the election victory of Joe Biden.  He continued to say, “We will work with any person who will be given the trust of the American people.

In the mean time we must hold onto the hope of our future, we must, in America, fight the Covid-19 Virus.  We in America must accept the “new normal”, the loss of lives to a uncontrolled virus; rebuilding from job loss, learn to deal with rising cost of living.  We will have to fight to bring ourselves out of the darkness into the light.   

Flying with Broken Wings…#247

Flying with Broken Wings

Author Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree books at: and Barnes&

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 and bullied by schoolchildren, her progress was slow but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she fought physical disability of Cerebral Palsy, living with Bipolar, Depression and Schizophrenia disorders. She lived not only with these disabilities, she endured the “Voices” that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about the beginning, the middle and the end of her life.

Books by Author at and Barnes&

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


A Right to have Rights…#241

Prejudices are alive and thriving within the borders of the United States of America. The blood of the first true American runs red upon the land that we hold scared, the American Indian.  I continue having a problem with the views of “immigration” in this country by the “descendants” of immigrates. These people are now citizens of this country by either birth or becoming a citizen after coming to the United States. The rhetoric has not changed throughout the years. It is like being ugly and poor, if you are not beautiful, rich and powerful your chances of getting into the “upper 1% club” is zero.

My father was born in 1903, he, his mother, grandmother  and their people the Southeastern Chickasaw’s were not recognized as American citizens until about 1940, by then he was married and had two children.  He was born in America, lived, worked and died in America, but he was almost 37 years-old.

In 1924, The Act governing Native Americans did not include those born before the effective date of the 1924 Act and it was not until the Nationality Act of 1940 that all born on U.S. soil were citizens; my father was thirty-seven years old before he was to be recognized as a “REAL AMERICAN CITIZEN”. Many Native Americans, who were granted citizenship rights under the 1924 Act, may not have had full citizenship and suffrage rights until 1948. My father’s right to be a citizen of the United States of American was granted to him by “Immigrates or the Descendants of immigrates”

I have to wonder what my father and those who came before him, those who were drove from their lands, walked the Trail of Tears, those who help build this country would have to say about how we look upon the way those in power, the people we voted into office are reacting to today’s immigration decisions, have they forgotten that we are all descendants of immigrates, your ancestors who came to this country and were welcomed with open arms.  They did not have to go over a wall or under one, their children were not taken away from them, some lost forever.

I believe we need to stop and think about how we look in the eyes of other countries, to people who may want to make America their home, are we moving forward or backward?  If Donald Trump is allow to sit upon his throne in the White House, how many more immigrates will fall to the wayside?  Immigrates built this country, Trump has twisted every law, the Constitution, to his favor and childlike behavior.  As Americans from all races, faiths and color, we need to take back our country, bring it back to the time when we stood at our borders with open arms for those in need, or those being persecuted by their own country.

This is only my opinion and mine alone, of one who watch their father being discriminated against when I was a child. A father who was not allowed, to walk down the same street next to a powerful white man. A father who worked hard to make a living with little education. A father who would take food off our table to give to someone passing through who was hungry and did not have a job. A father who would fight for all people, be understanding of differences, and fight against discrimination. My father, a True American!  Donald Trump is not, he is blight on this land!

Getting off my soap box…elizabethannjohnsonmuphree

Poetry-Waiting for the End…#234

Living under both fugitive and gracious light, living within walls that no longer make a home.  Living with assumptions in a world that scorns.  One cannot demand love; it leaves the seeker tired and alone. The heart is no longer inspired by life; it is dead it is made of stone.

Thirst for creativity, hours to feel un-whole, feeble, no power no control.   Troubled with no rest, walking upon the fallow ground, the fields like deserts, barren no heart no soul.  Youth has gone; strength is gone, one’s foremost self-lost in the past, haunted by what went before.

No music, not even the sound from a rustic flute.  The clouds of an obsessed storm in the sky, it groans with sadness.  Visions clear, to be mute would be golden.   No cares, wandering, nomadic, living from place, to place, another plane, the way is lost. Heart-weary, harsh, a dwelling a void, silence. 

Fear and fatigue consume, will the body die. Evidence is in the stillness of a stone heart, it has grown weary and cold.  The heart beats faster and faster, like a runaway train, sweeping through the soul.  The deep cut into the soul cannot heal. The night-wind blows through a whisper of silver hair, soon it will be dawn.  The night passed slowly. 

Another day under the leafless tree, dew lays upon the body, watching the Robin looking beneath for a worm.  Fall is here and the Robin will go south, soon a cold and frothy sea of white will cover the ground.  Death is welcomed, emptiness, the trembling are now all stilled; time is winding to a close.  Ashes will soon lay upon an icy shore, waiting for the melting ice to float them away.   


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.

New GOP COVID Relief Bill Doesn’t Include More Stimulus Checks, Cuts Extra Unemployment Pay In Half…#230

Yes, the Lobbyist are paying the people you vote for to vote for what big companies want. Your Representatives, House, Senate, collectively Congress they live well, have free health insurance and get paid to vote against you.

The last Stimulus relief Bill had hidden within its folds the following, what will be found out later about this stimulus approval, who or what will get a big check before the American people?

First Stimulus passed out hidden money when Americans were hungry, homes foreclosed, evicted for non-rent payment, the money the government hid could have helped shut down the Virus.

  1. Casinos were able to tap government loans.
  2. $25 billion in loans and loan guarantees reserved for the airlines.
  3. Trump extended terms of up to seven senior military leaders.
  4. Free video conference and phone calls for inmates.
  5. Harbor dredging: Lobbying for ports that need dredging work, like the one in Mobile, Ala., in Senate Appropriations Chairman Richard Shelby’s (R-Ala.) home state.
  6. Streamlining the approval process for sunscreen ingredients.
  7. Tax-preferred treatment to feminine-hygiene products.
  8. Temporary repeal of alcohol excise taxes for makers of hand sanitizer.
  9. A measure to promote sexual abstinence.
  10. Makers of over-the-counter drugs, won inclusion of a long-sought bill to change the federal approval process for new products.
  11. Aerospace giant Boeing Co., chief beneficiary of a $17-billion loan.
  12. $75 million each for the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities, which give grants to museums and artists.
  13. $7.5 million for the Smithsonian Institution.
  14. $25 million for the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C.
  15. $500-billion slush fund for corporations.

Top 50 Lobbying Spenders of 2016, we need to start standing alone and get rid of the people who lobby for special spending funds. Those in “bold” are questionable to me. My choice of possible necessary one’s is healthcare and mail services.  Unnecessary, approximately $108,000,000.  That money could go a long way toward “healthcare”.

U.S. Chamber of Commerce$103,950,000$84,730,000
National Association of Realtors$64,821,111$37,788,407
Blue Cross Blue Shield$25,006,109$23,702,049
American Hospital Association$20,970,809$20,687,935
Pharmaceutical Research & Manufacturers of America$19,730,000$18,920,000
American Medical Association$19,410,000$21,930,000
National Association of Broadcasters$16,438,000$17,400,000
Business Roundtable$15,700,000$19,250,000
Southern Co.$13,900,000$12,860,000
Dow Chemical$13,635,982$10,820,000
Lockheed Martin$13,615,811$13,954,053
NCTA – The Internet and Telephone Assoc.$13,420,000$14,120,000
Northrop Grumman$12,050,000$11,020,000
Exxon Mobil$11,840,000$11,980,000
General Dynamics$10,739,944$10,259,890
Verizon Communications$10,080,000$11,430,000
Altria Group$10,060,000$9,630,000
Koch Industries$9,840,000$10,830,000
American Bankers Association$9,831,000$12,690,000
Prudential Financial$9,400,000$7,962,500
Biotechnology Innovation Organization$9,230,000$8,350,000
United Technologies$9,165,000$11,470,000
American Chemistry Council$9,020,000$10,050,000
Royal Dutch Shell$8,990,000$8,700,000
Edison Electric Institute$8,620,000$8,350,000
General Motors$8,500,000$9,120,000
National Association of Manufacturers$8,490,014$16,950,000
National Amusements (CBS & Viacom)$8,441,000$7,980,000
American Airlines$7,870,000$6,600,000
United Parcel Service$7,767,848$8,155,856
Alliance of Automobile Manufacturers$7,452,500$7,640,000
Securities Industry & Financial Market Assoc.$7,400,000$7,770,000

Let’s get Donald Trump out of the White House, do not re-elect the government officials who would put themselves and their lobbying above a hungry child.  Companies that “lobby” for special treatment, stop buying from those companies.  Support hometown and small business; buy used cars from a hometown business and not dealerships, support local.  Let’s take America back!


Authors Books are on Amazon and Barnes&Nobel

Rubble of Yesterday…#223

Image result for kudzu vine image

Promises of the mind set aside in

the days of youth; visions stored

in a hopeful place to become dim

memories and fade away.

A glimpse into the window of twilight

One finds the tombstones of yesterdays

promises; rubble covered with reminiscent


Embers burn within the soul, no peace;

there are fewer tomorrows, weep for the

uncertainty of the future and of dreams

left behind.

If you could turn back time would you

relive your life.  Would you accept the future

whatever it may be, would you disregard truth

and trust what your eyes see?  Yesterdays

promises are hidden dreams, find new

excitement in your life rid yourself of turmoil and strife.

Wake up your conscious your journey is not yet

over, there are new mountains to climb, forget

the rubble of yesterday, and wisely use your time.


Author’s books at Barnes & and

Brianna’s Pond…#222

Image result for Ponds
Current working draft of a new book…scene set in the Deep South, love does not have any boundaries, race or age.   Brianna Youngblood is dying and Jesse her niece has come home to care for her.

Brianna’s Pond…

Jesse Brianna Youngblood walked into the lobby of the Ayers Hotel in Birmingham, Alabama; her body went ridged, childhood fears returned as she stopped in front of the elevator doors.   The doors opened, she shut her eyes tight and walked quickly through them, she did not need to look to know that the tarnished brass rail was next to her; feeling ashamed that after more than thirty years she still associated the old elevator with a tragic time in her life.

An elderly man walked in behind her, waited for a few moments then began clearing his Throat.

“Young lady are you going to just stand there with your eyes closed or do you intend to select a floor?”  The voice dripped of southern politeness laced with attitude.

“I’m sorry sir, the tenth floor please.”   Her voice apologetic Jesse could feel his irritability, but she kept her eyes closed.

She was not going to surrender her hold on the railing, he reached out selected his floor and pushed the button for the top floor as well.  The antiquated elevator cables creaked and groaned as Jesse counted each floor that passed, then it stopped on the ninth floor; the old man grumbled under his breath as he got off, she was going to see the old woman.   Then the intimidating climb continued but Jesse was excited to be back, it had been five years since her aunt made the decision to change the building from the old hotel to apartments; of course, her Aunt Biana still occupied the entire top floor or penthouse as some tenants refers to it.

Finally, the doors opened and so did her eyes, she stepped quickly into the entrance hall where nothing had changed.  Her aunt, owner of the hotel decided five years earlier to have it renovated into apartments; but the tenth floor was like stepping back into time.   Mirrors in gilded frames, drawings of known and unknown artists lined the walls; colossal vases filled with multicolored plumes stood tall like sentries at the entrance door.  Time had left its mark on everything, the building, maybe the life beyond the door.  Jesse did not know what she was going to find on the other side, but she was home.


Author’s books at Barnes & and

What is it to Grow Old…#160

Watching the body lose its shape, the eyes no

longer sparkle, becoming smaller.  Strength

disappears, limbs grow stiff, and every

function less accurate and every fiber of

one’s being frail and overwrought with life.


Life is not what in our youth we dreamed

it would be! The aging was not to be mellow

and soft as the sunsets glow, these golden

days’ decline with a hurried speed.


To see the world from a pinnacle with creative

eyes, a heart deeply moved. Yet we mourn to

feel and see the past, the years that are gone



Being old is to spend long days not once

believing that we were ever young. Confined

in the cold prison of living day to day with

weary pain.  It is to suffer, being only half

of what we use to be; feeble are many who

are hidden away. Remembrance gone, no

emotion, no life.


This is the last stage of life, frozen within

ourselves, soon to be an empty ghost; whom

do we blame?





Generations of Secrets and Lies – Part 1…#149

Author’s Note:
This facts of this story has two aspects, one is the presumed facts written from the annals of history; and second by the confident oral history from the memory of Mary Jane Overton, a proud Chickasaw.
The Indian Removal Act of 1830 marks a dark time in American history regarding the new country’s relationship with the Native American population. It first called for the “voluntary” relocation to lands west, then the “forcible removal of all Indians”. The outcome would be that they would reside in the eastern United States to the state of Oklahoma.
May 1838 was set as the voluntary removal date, but many Cherokees remained and did not voluntarily move; many of them resided in my home state of Alabama. Eight years later, Major General Winfield Scott was ordered to round-up and remove the remaining Indians. This forcible removal came to be called the “Trail of Tears”. During those eight years, 46,000 Native Americans were forced to leave their homes in southeastern states.
Many sites in Alabama factored into the removal on the Trail of Tears. Five known routes crossed north Alabama taking many from their homeland on foot, by boat and train through towns like Guntersville, Tuscumbia, my home town of Decatur, Huntsville and Waterloo.
The Trail of Tears is roughly 2,300 miles long and passes through nine states over land and water. Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Illinois, Kentucky, Missouri, North Carolina, Oklahoma and Tennessee. Many people were either murdered or relocated with very few hiding in remote locations like Bucks Pocket, Little River Canyon, the mountains, and around the Tennessee River.
Many died from exposure, disease, and starvation on their route to Oklahoma. On this forced march were my great-great grandparents. It is estimated that 4,000 Chickasaw, including any of their black slaves as well as lower class white citizens were in this movement. The Trail of Tears is one of the worst tragedies in American History.


The Native American culture is known for its rich oral tradition – instead of using a written language to document their history, these indigenous people simply relied on their verbal language to share their history, customs, rituals, and legends through vivid narratives.
This oral accounting told to me beginning at the age of about six-years-old until my great grandmother died when I was a teenager.

Generations of Secrets and Lies
Part 1
Mary Jane Overton – “Ma”

     “Fosee, my father belonged to the Mississippi Over-Towne Tribe. In his youth, the        Tribe tried to continue their peaceful life without contact with the white man’s world.   Fosee knew that he was a descendant of many generations of Warriors. Born in a round Birch bark roofed dwelling that stood on the edge of the Chickasaw Tribes town. His parents gave their only child the name Fosee, which meant Bird. His younger days were spent hunting small animals and playing Chukka Ball in the open yard centered in the middle of his peoples circled dwellings”. Ma said in her firm no nonsense tone.
Fosse’s father a name that Ma could not remember held a place of prominence in the tribe. It was said that he was a powerful Warrior and skilled hunter, his wife; Fosse’s mother, again no known name, was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Tribe, her beauty came from Cherokee ancestors, and she was of mixed blood, Chickasaw and Cherokee. Her beauty and gentle nature were the reasons Fosse’s father had chosen her to be his wife.
“My father told me that his father remembered all of the grandparents. However, it was on his father’s side, the grandfather he remembered the most and with clarity. He remembered his elegant clothes made of the softened skins of deer. The colorful decorations sewn upon the breast of his shirts by his grandmother were elegant and of the best beads. His grandfathers white hair flowed about his shoulders and his skin engraved with the scars of many wars from his younger days”. Ma stopped for a moment staring at something no one else could see.
This grandfather Fosse’s favorite looked like nobility. It was said that he would listen intently to the stories this grandfather told around the cooking fires and see the softness in his eyes when he detailed of the loss of family and friends in battles. Within a few short years, after the birth of Fosee all four of his close grandparents had succumb to a disease brought into the town by a white man.


Author’s Note: To be continued in Generations of Secrets and Lies – Part 2

We Felt Like Abandoned Children…#146

Author’s Note:  Once again fellow bloggers I have been hospitalized for a week, this time it was diagnosed as “heart failure”.  As usual I refused to stay down for the count!  Even at this late stage of my life.  I keep saying that I have too much to do, yet!  The post below was in progress when I had to stop suddenly.  I am so happy to see all of your smiling photographs again.  E.


Charlotte Jean Murphree    1958-2010

If you have read my book “Flying with Broken Wings”, the story of my daughter and her battle with mental disease you will have a better understanding of my poetry books that are filled with sad and disturbing poems. The poetry is based on life experiences, and I sometimes believe that no one wants to read poetry, especially sad poems. I felt that my soul was lost without her. My heart searched for her, for years. However, I did believe that her life story would find its niche in the marketplace. I am not the first, nor will I be the last to collapse inwardly with force because of the external stress that is alive and well among the world and writing community. This is my last sad poem…

We Felt Like Abandoned Children

The memory of you emerges from the depths of my heart and soul, like the many rivers that flow into the sea our lives will be merged forever. The hour of your departure, cold and pelted by the fragments of your life, you no longer have to battle with a troubled mind. The days could be filled with turmoil or laughter and love; you lived on your own terms. From the day you were born, you were winged and wounded.

You lived behind a shadowed wall in never-ending sadness, shattered and broken. You were always loved, you never thirst or felt hunger. Anticipation of a future was never hidden from you, when you came from your short-lived darkness and despair. Then without warning, you sank back to that place where we could not reach you.

Then as quickly as you came into the world you left, the hour of departure was cold, the moon hid behind darkened clouds. In the morning light, the black birds of death gathered outside the window where you lay. The stars disappeared beyond the gray skies; tremulous tears lay in the twist of my hands. Your battle over, the white doves of loved chased the black birds away; and in the hour of your departure we felt like abandoned children. Fly, fly away my beautiful child your wings are no longer broken.


Books by author at and Barnes&…