A Liar’s Life…#79


liars life


A Liar’s Life…

Standing in a grave yard alone to mourn,

to stare at the mound of dirt; at the shell

of one who loved but a few, a seed of

kindness never sowed, love they did not

seek, now only silence lies beneath.


Entitlement is all that remains grief, no

greeting, unwanted presence, gestures,

and attitude in death there was only

greedy ploys. Gluttony bloomed before

the setting of the sun, looking for more

to take; their life took on a forged tongue.


Open jeers, false deeds, honor lost, the

price of greed can be at a great cost. Roars

the misty breath of strife destiny has finally

caught up with a Liar’s life.



“Life is short, live it. Love is rare, grab it. Anger is bad, dump it. Fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet, cherish it.”





Authors Book at Amazon.com



And…Barnes and Noble





Days gone by…#78


Images and the thoughts that follow.

days gone by


Days gone by…

I have set aside promises I made to myself in my youth; my hopes and dreams have become dim memories. I gaze through the window of my future and I see tombstones of yesterday’s promises; all covered with reminiscent vine. I weep for the uncertainty of my future and the dreams I left behind. These ambiguous days is where I start my last journey, climb the mountains of my memories while trying to forget the rubble of yesterday. I ask myself, if I could turn back the hands of time would I follow the same path, of course, I would!



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It’s a New Day…#77

new day

Tomorrow is a New Day…
“The Dream”

It is morning and I find myself facing the eastern sky to bless the new day; I watch in awe as the coolness of the night melds with the golden rays of the sun. As if a stranger to my own body, I run down a furrowed road the wind caressing my face I am at peace, living in the moment, in the right place.

I leave the road to follow a path into unfamiliar woods, I stare into the darkness beyond the trees; I realized the only thing I had to fear was me. I did not have to worry about leaving footprints behind, no one would care, within time, there would be nothing to find.

I walked out of the darkness into a meadow, a sea of green grass and heather spread before me like purple froth upon a stormy sea; I began to run wildly at the anticipation of being free. As I reach the foot of a mountain my life, seem so very clear, I knew freedom was very near.

At the summit, I leaned over the rocky ledge, suddenly I begin to fall; will I die when I hit the bottom I thought, and knew that there was no need to cry out no one would hear my call. I plunge toward the valley below jolted to consciousness by moans that fill the void where I lay; I opened my eyes dawn was outside my window, and I realized I had been dreaming; it would soon be another new day.

I go to bed each night hoping to find a quiet moment in time where I can dream while embracing the hunger in my heart; I believe in dreams, within them I may find in life a new start. Yes, it is once again morning and I find myself filled with hope, a new day has come, as I watch in awe the coolness of the night melds with the golden rays of the sun.

Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree




A Sheepherders Life…#76

As a writer I love to take writing prompts and create short-short stories, the words for this creation…Sheepherders, Grass, Gypsy, Father, Heaven.  Sometimes they come easy other times difficult.


A Sheepherder’s Life

On a dark hillside, the sheepherders and dogs are tired, their long day is over and they are ready for the warmth of the fire. No bleating, cries of from wandering wolves, all is at rest; there is a shimmering moon and bright stars, their roof is Heaven and their beds the earth. The sheepherder’s whisper of the day and what will come tomorrow, they speak of past happiness and sorrow.

They talk of keeping the wolves away on this warm summer night when hours of darkness will cover the land. They watch the sparks from their fire ascend into the purple night. Tomorrow they will have to move to a new meadow or hillside, the grass where they lay is only roots. They smoke their pipes and talk of gypsy-lore, the sheep, the dogs and herding, a gift from God. This was their father’s life, now it’s their life.



Flying with Broken Wings at Amazon.com – Barnes & Noble.com






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.

Wild Mountain Rose…#75


wild mountain rose


Wild Mountain Rose…
There is a legend up on Mossy Ridge that children hear while listening to the old folks weaves their tales around their supper table at night –


Two gentle spirits walking the rutty mountain roads under the mystical Tennessee moonlight.
These stories begin many years ago about an old Cherokee and a little girl he called his Wild Mountain Rose –

Folks …

First, saw her drinking from a cool mountain stream all legs and dirty yellow hair abandoned by her family so the stories go, but no one is sure of that, if the truth were told. The first time the old Cherokee saw her, she was sleeping under a bush folks call the Mountain Rose –


She was with him no matter where he would go. Folks would say that without old Willie Youngblood she would not have survived –


Knew that without her, he himself would have died. The years went by quickly and they both grew old, time had touched their hair with gray –


Could only dream about their younger days. One cool spring morning Willie woke to find her gone from his side, he sat for hours head hung low as he cried –


He found her lying peacefully she had died there on a soft bed of leaves, a mournful death chant was the only way the old Cherokee knew how to grieve. Now if you know where to look it is in the Tennessee Mountains where Willie Youngblood’s Wild Mountain Rose can be found –


The damp rotting forest floor in a shallow grave up on Mossy Ridge near the entrance of Chicopee Cave. The following winter Old Willie died and they buried him next to his Wild Mountain Rose –


Say in the moonlight two ghostly spirits can be seen sitting on the banks of Chestnut Creek or floating along the rutty mountain roads. When the sun comes up they disappear, or so the legend goes, but everyone on Mossy Ridge knows that it is Old Willie and that golden haired pup he found those many years ago –


Wild Mountain Rose.





One – hundred word starter story, I have titled it “Run” together with a visual.



Run, Run, Run…

Adeen Gantry’s held in a caged sleep fought tears that seep through closed eyes; her mind wrapped in a dream of images and hateful voices. The images of portrayal held her prisoner within her sleeping mind. Untruths and greed prowled across her senses, relatives looking for gain from tragedy from the death of her father. They brought unbearable pain to the blameless and found joy in tittle-tattle that held no truth. If they touch your life, it will never be the same. Adeen woke, packed her bag walking quickly from her inheritance… the Gantry Mansion; then she begins to run!



Other Books at Amazon




Give Me a Break…#73

Well hello my wonderful followers…it appears that I will add September 2019 to my list of “GIVE ME A BREAK”. On September 18th I landed in the hospital again…this time with elevated sugar levels. This did of course put me in a race to bring them under control. Today is the 24th and I can cross my fingers, eyes and anything else I can cross that we have come up with the right dose. I am now at 61 units of Insulin. I do hope I can see the end of the tunnel with this setback? I am anxious to get back into the throws of writing today. In the words of one of my favorite writers, Anne LaMotte, I am working on the first “SHITTY” draft of Generations of Secrets and Lies. In organizing my many chapters, events and heartaches I have determined that if it is not shortened, it will need to be a series. This is fine too; it is a saga that covers eight generations at this time. So I wish all of you good blogging, and never give up on your passion, no matter what may get in your way, I believe it is all worth the time and effort. I will try to give you another update soon.


All books located on Amazon.com  under Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree