Muddy Water…#121

Image result for old bridge muddy river image

 

Muddy Water…

 
Down a rutted country road from my

childhood home five miles or so the

muddy Flint Creek flowed south, really

slow.  I could not have been over five

or six, when I walked that road but

never without carrying a big stick.

 
I carried that stick with eyes open wide,

because if a rattlesnake bit you… daddy

said that you might die.In the summer, I

would go there every day skipping and

hopping along; I would jump from that,

rickety old bridge twenty-foot into that

muddy water, then right before the sun

went down I would go home.

 
My daddy never wondered where I had

gone, everyone who crossed that bridge

during the day told him, so you see I was

never alone.  When I finally got home,

daddy would just look at me with a sly

grin, and say with firmness, “Baby you’d

better not let your mother know where

you’ve been.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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In the Darkness of Night…#117

CHICKASAW NATION SEAL

“To my father and all of our Chickasaw family who walked before him on the Trail of Tears”.

In the Darkness of Night…

I hear the cries of my grandmothers and

grandfathers, I feel their fear; I walk with

them in my dreams on the Trail of Tears.

Their feet bloody as they walked the rutted

trail, every scar on their backs is another

story to tell.

 
They planted crops gave blessing and took

from the land only what they would need, a

word they did not know… greed. Strangers

with pale skin came from the east where

living off the land was unknown; my people

taught them how to live, when no longer

needed the white stranger’s drove them

from their ancestral homes.

 
The Grandfathers and their families stood

tall, their backs they refused to bend so the

white strangers herded them like cattle to

a far off land… to die in the hot barren sand.

My people believed the land belonged to no

one, given to all by the “Great Mystery”; still

they died with broken souls never knowing

that their story in time covered the blood-

splattered pages of history.

 
My people watched as women gave birth

and warriors carried the dead, the children

went to sleep hungry with the ground as their

bed. The day came when these great people

corralled on dry barren land, given musty

water and bug-infested corn meal to eat,

in a place with no hope, to the white man

they were bound; a killing field where the

blood of my family spilled upon the ground.

 
I hear you my grandmothers and grandfathers,

your cries do not go unheard in the darkness

of night; for in my dreams I walk with you,

I feel your fear; I wake each morning with the

taste of your tears.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
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Honeysuckle Memories…#114

 

Honeysuckle Memories…

Deep within my memories I sometimes walk to a place where my life began, I take an emotional journey, from time to time. Memories with or without images of those days are like a thunderstorms distance echo, you cannot see it; you know that at one time it was there.

A furrowed road, wild honeysuckle; a crumbled chimney beneath the kudzu vines, the remnant memories of that life and dim images never change.
It was the cotton fields surrounding the old weathered shack that stole my daddy’s wandering soul.

In the warm red dirt life sprung from the blood and sweat that nurtured the white gold called cotton, it broke spirits, and hardened souls. In memory, the image from the past holds but one old leathered face, my daddy’s.

Life goes by quickly, places and people vanish without a trace, time and progress erases the landscape of our lives, memories are made of gold. In the shadows of the mind is a time of how life use to be; and with only a thought I can recall those sweet honeysuckle memories.
©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Hidden Emotions…#113

Hidden Emotions…

 

Conception, birth and then the process

of growing older, dying is in the future

as the lifecycle travels quickly and then

the final chapter written. There are no

exceptions, only an age and date separates

all living beings.
Strength lies in the middle growing, developing

a sense of self…we bloom or we lay in waste

with the fading of seasonal growth. Life is not

totally built around your dreams, but of what

impression you leave behind during your journey.
Weep for the past and drink in the thirst of the

years that may come, be strong of heart and

foresee with the eyes of a visionary. You may at

times feel that you were never young, life being

prison of weary pain, remember this you are not

what you feel.

 

Deep within there is a remembrance and emotion

hidden in the heart, quiet. You may be a ghost of

what you once were…but you are still a living being

and the world applauds the reason for your birth.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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Going Home…#112

Going Home…

Morning, glorious morning, the sunbeams seeps brightly through the windowpane like frost from winters frozen ground. I rise, face the Eastern sky that is where the warmth of the day can be found. I open the window the breeze bathes me with the scent of lilacs that grow lavishly in the spring. While somewhere in the distance, plum dusk lingers as the last moments of night clings.

A robin searches for worms beneath my crabapple tree, I sip from my favorite cup, a hot peach flavored tea. It is time to dress, comb my snow-white hair and take the well-worn path down the hillside toward the sea. At water’s edge, I pause to remember God, to hear his wondrous call, I will dedicate this moment to the Great Mystery of it all. I pray for patience in enjoying these golden years, to hold my head high and face life without fear.

I return home and I hear children playing in the fields far away, I remember the joy of the imaginary castles in the sky that I use to build. I stop to think, have I sat here all day, reliving my own childhood in that special way? I slowly rise from the old oak rocker, did I remember to eat, is it time to go inside, to wash the dried sand from my feet.

It is then that I return to my thoughts as evening shadows come into sight. It is time for me to climb beneath my mother’s old quilts, my eyes will close and I will flow among the starless time called sleep, my God has a promise to keep. I float across a space upon the softness of a sparkling wind, along the way I see family and friends. I know that my soul from its earthly body has gone; where silver sands and emerald seas will forever be a part of me…this is everlasting love, at last I am home.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
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Running in Place…#110

 

Running in Place…

 
Life is uncertain, a 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, leaving their journey to fate.

Life is not all joy, as we float upon the winds

of time; there are rights and wrongs; and

unknown quandaries, setbacks, and living means

many mountains to climb. Life quickly passes,

fair and cloudy days, laughter and tears, and

then the warmth of the older years subsides

ones fears.

 
Life may mean walking in the valley 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, atonement

locked away; we strive and labor as time

passes on. Life waits for no one, your parents

may have taught you the lessons to get you

through those uncertain years, and you leave

the nest filled with a heartfelt quest; now

living as an adult, it is your own mind that

you must trust.

 
Life is a learning ground, you stumble and

you fall, the lessons you were taught might

take effort, then you find that you do not

know it all. Life when you were a teen you

found that you were filled with adventure,

you move forward in the quest; soon you

are older and found that you have tried

to do your best.  Life has turned dark hair

into gray; the pains of just living will never

go away. Life gave you the spirit to live,

when things went wrong you never ask why;

age is now no longer running in place; you

can see the light that you will follow. You

grow silent, sitting broken and bent, you

mind growing hollow.

 

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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Art and Writing…#109

I have shared below a few of my own art collection, during a time when I was in grief over the loss of my child I placed my thoughts, scenes from my childhood into painting in acrylics and watercolors.  My hope is that someday they will become family treasures.  I continue to paint today for my enjoyment.

 

 

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