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Coffee Table Books – 8 X 11

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_11?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C201

 

On a Blue Bird Day

It is spring, warm breezes float through magnolia trees.  A gracious woman of the South rises from past memories; her thoughts behind the ice blue eyes. She sits on the bank of a pebbly brook under a Blue Bird sky, the scent of lilac rises from her starched dress.  She dips her fingers slowly into the cool water; she is old and life has passed her by, and the depths of her truth never known.  In her secret place of selfishness her hate for an unwanted child; she stops to ponder her own question; does she deserve the name “Mother”.

 

©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

 

 

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Ann Johnson-Murphree at Amazon.com

BOOK SALE

June 12 – July 12, 2016

Six Poetry Books Available :

All  – $5.50

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_11?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213

 

Coffee Table Art:  $10.00

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Benevolent Memories

I have enough memories from the past to last me for the rest of my life. My bountiful memory will not bury them from which they were born.  A small country church, a chorus of crows; the splashing sounds of the brook running through the Birch trees. The wind caressing the colossal row of Oaks in the field.

Death, a road away from the weathered house of worship, followed by black feathered angels. No longer will the water beneath the Birch cool, nor will the winds surrounding the Oaks embrace flesh.  The rocker on the porch is stilled, no hand waves goodbye. In a cobwebbed corner of the room, the sun shines through a cloudy window, as the image of tattered curtains dance in a nearby mirror. Childhood is dead.

©2015.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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http://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree/dp/150029070X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1418359355&sr=1-2&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree+paperbacks

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http://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1418359355&sr=1-3&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree+paperbacks

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http://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500168645/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1418359355&sr=1-4&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree+paperbacks

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http://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1418359355&sr=1-5&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree+paperbacks

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http://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Voices-Ann-Johnson-Murphree/dp/1500426709/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1418359355&sr=1-6&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree+paperbacks

“Our past is the map we followed into the future!” eajm

 
4 Comments

Posted by on September 19, 2015 in Poetry

 

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Shattered

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On a warm summer day, an old soul returned to a

place where parts of it remain for years. Waiting

while misplaced pieces of it floated through life on

waves of tears. Many gathered on this day all had the

same ancestral blood flowing through their veins. Some

came out of respect; the unbroken circle… was there for

gain.

These mortals had tried to keep the old soul away from this

final commemoration. They did not care about its many years

of painful isolation. Death had not fractured the unbroken circle

had gone unchanged for years. The return of this old soul brought

to the cloistered multitude panic and fear.

Disregarded, invisible with no right to be heard, the Old soul was

damned in their every fearful word. Watched closely, made to feel

like a thief, an intruder daring to be a part of their hypocritical grief.

The old soul tried to enter this circle of mourning, doors slammed in

its face. A reminder of why it was not wanted in this protected place.

Unwanted at birth, cast out on a journey at an incredible cost, to

penetrate the unbroken circle was a battle that would forever be lost.

The old soul believed there was a time to grieve, a time to pray. A

time to remember when an innocent soul simply forgotten and tossed

away.

On soft breezes, those that gathered could be heard with a pretense

of moans. Their voices echoed memorials where truth was silenced the

real story hidden, inside of the unbroken circle truth forbidden. The old

soul stared down at a mound of dirt waiting for love that the grave could

not offer, while the unbroken circle gathered and divided their coffers.

A loving soul had returned to where a part of it remained years, it gathered

up the pieces of its heart and wiped away its tears. The shattered old soul

had returned on that warm summer day, to grieve the loss of never hearing

“I love you” or feeling a parent’s gentle touch. It needed to tell the unbroken

circle when children are unloved their lives are crushed.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
5 Comments

Posted by on June 28, 2015 in Poetry

 

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Naked Before God

Death, life’s breath gone, naked;

bones to dust, gone.

Civilization mad, existing; bones to

dust, gone.

Raw sinew can no longer hold together

humankind, truth prevails; bones to dust,

gone.

Bones to dust, gone; humanity naked

before God; bones to dust, gone.

©2015.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

http://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=la_B00CGBLQZO_1_6/191-6859780-5082916?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1431610332&sr=1-6

 
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Posted by on May 14, 2015 in Poetry

 

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Life’s Decay

Hope, passion, the simplicity of love so plain, enfolding together in one thought; evil no more.

Mute are the vows forgotten, worthless in evils presence. No joy, no laughter only decaying lies.

When innocence is dead, no one will know why, evil will have made the capture of the senses complete.

No one will profess to know that evil is the killer.

Yet, God will know when you are revealed in the Nakedness of your evil self.

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00CGBLQZO

 

 
4 Comments

Posted by on April 7, 2015 in Poetry

 

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