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Tag Archives: Time

Honey Wine – A 100 Word Story

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Honey Wine

Serena knew that beauty had an ending, that all things fade and die she was in the winter of her years.  All her friends were gone as was much of her family, some forgotten like goldenrods falling to dust upon the wind.  Her eyes yearned, her heart bled for love, she kept repeating the words…

“Old, old, old.”

The clouds of time have spun away like fall she now waited for the last leaf to drop.  All that was left was the sweet memories like Honey wine.  Please she whispered let it go quickly…

“I am so tired of time”.

 

 

2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Books at Amazon.com

Coffee Table Books – 8 X 11

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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

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Coffee Table Art:  $10.00

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Rubble of Yesterday

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Rubble of Yesterday

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 time lays the tombstones of yesterday’s

promises; rubble covered with reminiscent vine.

 

Embers burn within the soul no peace can one find;

there are fewer tomorrows, weep for the uncertainty

of the future and of dreams left behind.  If you could

turn back time would you trust your heart to relive your

life, accepting the future whatever it may be, would you

disregard truth and trust what your eyes see?

 

Yesterday’s promises are hidden dreams, try to find new

excitement in your life, rid yourself of turmoil and strife.

Awake your consciousness, your journey is not yet over,

there are new mountains to climb, forget the rubble of

yesterday, use wisely your time.

 

©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

 

thBPHSKA15“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.”

 

 

Click on author’s book page to view poetry and art books at Amazon.com

 

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Ticking Clock

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Ticking Clock

A motionless weathervane on a nearby church

under a glowing moon swivels and twirls as ice

forms on the jetty wall; the seashore will soon

bring winter to all.  An old fisherman hurriedly

tends to his nets on a boat docked by the shore,

worried he will not finish this daunting chore.

He sits remembering the young men that the ocean

has taken, the day each left the swaying pier; do not

be afraid to die at sea he would shout its going hungry

in winter that you should fear.  Looking up at the

weathervane as it whirled and daybreak peaking in the

East; the fisherman closed his eyes for the last time

watching seaweed float upon the icy rocks; he did not

beat that ticking clock.

 

 

©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

 

 

thBPHSKA15“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.”

 

 

Click on author’s book page to view poetry and art books at Amazon.com

 

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The Changing Spirit…

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ALO – SPIRIT GUIDE

8X10 Acrylic on Canvas

The Changing Spirit…

My world is like a grain of sand upon the shores of time, changing, ever changing, and then washed out into the sea of life. Infinity is in my soul, eternity floats upon the clouds of heavenly moments. My hours caged, my spirit angered at the thoughts of those who have walked away from my gate. My feet have left their mark upon the sands of time, waves of tears have splashed upon the rocky cliff that bares scars of what I have lost, and my mind wanders the caverns of the past. A mother’s grief screams into the endless nights leaving scars upon a heart that is already torn and ragged. Words of doubt have poisoned my faith, the days are winding down, and I was born to mourn.

©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

thBPHSKA15“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.”

 

Click on author’s book page to view poetry and art books at Amazon.com

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Posted by on March 18, 2016 in Aspirations, Depression, Life, Memories, Poetry

 

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The Affair…

Micro-fiction… recently intrigued by  a book of stories with less than 100 words, mini plots, where the reader can use their imagination to fill in-between the lines; I wanted to share my own attempt at this method of writing that I found interesting.  When I tighten up a story, I refer to it as “removing the garbage”.  Writing 100 words or less in creating fiction… almost impossible, but I was not going to stop.  I wrote a story about 600 words then begin to cut it down to 100 words; the processes seem unattainable.  I may have gone too far in my attempt as this mini-sag left but 57 words. 

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The Affair

A silhouette in the darkness, once believing true love existed.  Time had stood still, the body still covered in the sense of a sweet presence. The dread of parting hanging heavily in the air, breathing brought with it invisible matter to wall up a painful heart. A clandestine life finally over, leaving only one heartbroken.

 

©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

thBPHSKA15  “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.”

 

 

 

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