Author: Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Sequestered behind armored walls
so a time as long not remembered
Muscles abandoned sinew and bone
only a living skeleton survives within

Transgression a distant memory
the sentence faced day by day 
Soon to become so emaciated 
the arrow-slit becomes redemption

The day arrived of slipping through arrows-slit to touch his freedom 
He found the bones could not move
without the muscles he’d long forgone 

In giving up his basic strength 
he had condemned himself to hell
In the confines of incarceration a door
remained unlocked upon the stair

In response to RDP Wednesday Prompt Word – MISCHIEF
Hosted by curiouscat99 at ragtagcommunuty.wordpress.com

Oh mischief magic of my dreams
from behind your screens
of what is right and what is wrong
come on out and let us play along

Let go your chains of adulthood bonds
I want to roll and run and jump
and skip stones on private ponds
Run through pastures filled with muck
no broken legs with any luck

Swipe some sweet pecan pies
from the neighbors window sill
lie in the fields and watch the skies
Let lady bugs tickle our bare arms
brush them away without causing harm

Tackle each other as we run and play
not a single worry or grown-up care
jump in the creek and tussle all day
Climb up the highest loft in the barn
decorate it right with grandma’s yarn

Kiss Billy Jo behind bales of hay
run away laughing with my best friend
hand in hand we dash quickly away
Oh mischief maker of mischievous me
let us once more run wild and run free

Daily Prompt Word – Hyphenated Hosted
January 17, 2023 by Linda G. Hill

Roses are Red

Violets are Blue

I hyphenated my name,

Just for you.


But now that you’re gone,

Not much is lost

Took out the hyphen

Saved a whole lot of Cost!

In response to E.M. Kingston’s
Weekly Word Prompt: Portals
January 15, 2023

Portals reflect images
pictures viewed
from different angles
a myriad of perceptions

Inside the lonely ship
peering out through the round
windows sealed against the elements
a permutation of reality

Protected from what is
by the metal plates
forever forged in place
by the imprisonment of life

Unable to legitimately absorb
the heartrending anguish
of being completely alone
the torment of true loneliness

In Honor of Dr. Martin L. King, Jr. Day

I have a dream he said in his speech
The bustling crowd cheered
While the outsiders jeered

Tell them about your dream, Martin
Called Mahalia Jackson above the crowd
And so he did tell us strong and loud

He called for peace among people
Of things foreignly obvious
With intelligent words and quiet solemness

The crowd grew so still, every ear turned to hear
He said go home and wait there with care
Change was soon coming and not to despair

He said that one day these children of ours
Could walk hand in hand
All over this land

Within these Lands he quoted so sweetly
From that hallowed document
That all of God’s people, all men should be equal

To become a great Nation the future must change
For the red, white and blue
We have to be true

True to those gone before us in suffering and strife
To lead us from the dark valley’s of isolation
Into the the loving arms of honeyed redemption

That all of us, men, women and child
Must rise up together and speak
Voices now strong and no longer weak

Even today his words are still heard
In his voice we still ride
For the glory of equality’s pride

The silence broken by the muted shuffle of her slippered feet

Powdery puffs of sugar waft past her right shoulder manifestations materialize again

Memories slip through her mind nearly forgotten flipping the golden pastries again and again

She slid the savory wraps onto the silver tray slices them expertly with her blade takes a moment and takes a stand

In response to Cee’s Photo Challenge: FOTD January 15, 2023🌹 ROSES🌹

One-thirty in the morning
and you are not here
I reach for your pillow
it’s cold and it’s bare

This bed grows bigger
each night I lay in it alone
Beneath mounds of covers
and still chilled to the bone

Three-thirty has passed
it’s now close to six
These little snatched moments
playing life’s pick-up-sticks

In the script I had written
the one for my life
It was me who you’d chosen
in life as your beloved wife

Like the saddest of movies
the most tragic of all plays
Only in our memoirs
will these be the good old days

Too old to look for love
too young to stop looking yet
A date is set the time confirmed
she said to her this could be him

Trepidation feeds anxiety
what to wear and not to wear
Casual clothes baggy and comfortable
dressy clothes constrict and itch

Silky blouse washed and ironed
comfy blue jeans will have to do
Top it off with a matching sweater
key in ignition it’s time to go

The man arrives ten minutes prior
there’s still five minutes to spare
Last look into the dangling mirror
struggling inside the aging car

At the bar he drinks his cola
doesn’t notice when she walks in
Twice she had to say hello
then introduce herself a bit too loud

His eyes grow dull as they rake
her body head to toe and back again
Obvious he has dismissed her presence
not what he had hoped to find at all

Awkward dinner barely eaten
stilted conversation or none at all
An hour later back at home
wrapped up within her favorite shawl

It was the constant munching and twittering that did it. He had tolerated it for as long as he had been able to, he thought. He’d been driven past any humans endurance and felt no remorse, now. Many times he had politely asked her to move her menagerie of bunnies, but she had ignored his requests.

He lifted the heavy lid of the cast iron pot. Waves of savory scented steam rose from the bubbling brew, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He added herbs, a few more spices, stirred and returned the lid, heat wafting from the big top.