Category: Author

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

My poem “Some of my Favorite Things” has been published by Silver Birch Press today in response to their request for submissions to their my favorite things series. Thank you Melanie and Silver Birch Press. To read my poem please go here:

spillwords.com/concert-at-sea/

Thank you Dagmara at Spillwords.com for your continued support and encouragement!

How can it be
that you can’t be with me

Is it a matter of choice
or just blind circumstance

Am I so much less than
that I can’t find a true love

Someone to love me for me
and not just a weekend freebie

How can it be
That I can’t just say no

A string I can not tether
an albatross around his neck

A person who despises
being apart the same as me

One who declares
all the love in his heart

Who isn’t still seeking
that which is home waiting right now

If the fates were different
if time didn’t move so fast

Perhaps it would be me
in your loving arms at last

Pat my head
said he to all
Then from this bridge
you will not fall

Fail to heed
this bit of advice
and down you go
under the ice

If you are
one of the lucky few
Rub my tummy
to see what I’ll do

Should you hear
a jingle in my pockets
Reach inside then
and choose a lucky locket

Open it carefully
but beware
You could get lucky or be caught
forever in my snare

Silver tears drip from clouds
lined in the same
The trance of a dream
faint within the
fading embers

A moment only
a bare remembrance
of how it was to
run free to run wild
no chain to bind my neck

I dip into a place
wracked with pain
Steeped in betrayal
and deceit
from all sides

My soul lain bare
by the trim of life
Movement brings agony
breath begets sorrow
The end a glimmer of release

To know love is to know hate and accept both equally.

In response to Martha Kennedy’s RDP FRIDAY! BLACK AND WHITE prompt.

Northeastern winds whistle across the Bare Rock Mountains. Voices from the past sing to those who choose to listen, and sometimes to those who don’t.

Those who choose willingly to hear the ancestral songs, lift their arms to embrace the remembrances and the histories of those who came before.

Then there are those that choose not to pay heed to the past. They turn a blind eye to not only the travesties, but also forgo the lessons the ancestors passed from generation to generation over the millennia.

These are the ones who fear the screaming wind. The guilt-ridden, the cowardly, the ambivalent ones who hear their failings in each shrieking gust of air as it passes over them, around them, through them.

The mountains hold countenance over all. The brave and honorable pass with respect, as they have given it. Paying homage to the land and loyalty to the spirits residing there, held deep within the granite monoliths.

To those who scoff at the suffering of their forefathers and foremothers, the great peaks hold only retribution and terror. The spirits whip a whirling lash of biting turbulence against those heretics and nay-sayers of the Old Ways. Against those who try in vain and abject arrogance to traverse the mighty cliffs.

For others, who follow the path of nature. Who care for and nourish the Earth and all of her creatures; for those and only those, the spirits sing.

Thunder rumbles overhead
Rain dances upon my face
Why can’t I feel it?