No Entry Unread

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Hosted by Cristina Kemp

In response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge #190

He ran. He ran so hard and so long, he felt his heart pounding within his parched tongue. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Dark brows drew together in consternation.

The dogs were not far behind. A fence cross-crossed then blocked the way, but not for him. He figured he could fit through the slats easily, and did so.

He was so close to freedom, he could smell it in the air. He crawled through the fence, not noticing the no entry sign. He could not read, it was forbidden.

He dove into the drying cornstalks, tripping but not falling before he returned to his full out run. Minutes later, the posse led by the snarling dogs, stopped at the no entry sign.

Someone asked, “Do we go in boss?”

“Nah,” the heavy-set white man said through a half-smile, “he’ll wish he had let us catch him soon!”


By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Picture from

To laugh is wondrous
Making others laugh is satisfying
To make him laugh – heavenly

Thunderstorm Magic

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

W3 Poem Prompt #8
Wea’ve Written Weekly
Hosted by The Skeptics Kaddish

Use the first words of the poem from Kunjal called ‘Rain,’ which have to appear at the end of each line with no more than sixteen lines.

“His first rain, from a little scrawny window, droplets pattering and dew forming,”

The thunderstorm raged around his
parasol, yet not a single first
touch of wet frigid rain
fell on his umbrella received from

someone extraordinarily special if a

tad timid in his bearing and a little
self-conscious about his scrawny

body, which is a groovy window
to the gents soul. Unseen droplets
flow from the umbrella pattering

away from his feet, his arms and
his entire body, pools of dew
from his walk become rivers forming

Summer Warmth

Summer Warmth
By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Monday Poetry Prompt: SUMMER
Hosted by: Bartholomew Barker @ Living Poetry

Heat warms the chilled ground
spreading life awakening messages
to seeds laying dormant in the cold

Tiny sprouts leap forth shaking fragile heads of dirt and debris drinking in the liquid amber light

Trees long asleep in anticipation
of Spring’s sweet gentle nudge
unfurl leaves at Summer’s shove

Sunflower’s bursting in brilliant yellow match the analogous rays
of Summer’s resplendent sun

Worms begin to wiggle happily
deep inside ground frozen
by Winter’s arduous cold

Bees buzz, flies fly, gnats
do what gnats do to survive
living to bite another day

Reptilian creatures stretch
languidly soaking up old
Sol’s heat into disused muscles

Gardens bloom scents laden
with Mother Natures gift
of renewed color and magnificent life

Grandfather’s Stacking Stones

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
(99 words)
Hosted by Charli Mills
Welcome to Carrot Ranch Literary Community where creative writers from around the world and across genres gather to write 99-word stories based on the visual prompt above.

Grandfather say,
When you stack
seven stone perfectly,
you have reached
perfection in your life.
Now I teach my grandson
same life lesson.

I say to my grandson,
You see these seven stones
are all the same but each stone
is different in shape, form
color, texture and smell.
I watched him hold one of
the smaller stones to his nose.

My grandson wrinkled his nose
he sneezed quite indelicately
three times in a row, then lifted
another stone and another, having
sneezed only after sniffing
the smaller first stone the first time.
I tell my grandson to remember.

He’s A Possessive Muse

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

(A response to Bartholomew Barker’s She’s A Jealous Muse – per his request/persuasive suggestion)

I dare not contemplate
staying away at night
enjoying the touch
the kiss of another man

If I should stray away
enjoying carnal pleasures
and the attention of another
the gently rough need of a male

My muse withdraws his stream
of conscious wordsmithing
into an unconscious abyss
somewhere in my mind

Leaving my soul bereft
and my fingers frozen
above my keyboard
arthritic bundles of bones

My muse commands
I give my time my hand
my complete absorption
to his sweet composing