Category: Author

One o’clock in the morning
heart is lonely and sore
Been in this state of sadness
since you walked out of the front door

Head is reeling my heart is just full
of feelings I just can not ignore
I’ve tried to put you out of my mind
each time I do you come back for more

Day is finally breaking
light is cleaning up the dark
Shredded remnants of blackness
linger in the sky to leave their mark

Morning pushes the carcass
of another night spent alone
Into the realm of what could be
waiting to hear your voice on the phone

(For Miss Brenda)

Just around the corner
is a little white house
Inside but usually outside
a white haired lady putters about

Her blue eyes twinkle
and her pink lips smile
She always ask everyone
if you can stay a while

Her house is a hodgepodge
of lovingly crafted things
From a fence made of bottles
to an old porch swing

The trees in her yard
so elegant and strong
Planted long ago now
each has its own story song

If you listen well
and if you listen hard
You can hear their whispered tales
across her wide windswept yard

Wind chimes tinkle
with happy jubilee
While you sit a while
and hear of how it used to be

Dear Gypsie-Ami,

Just a quick note to let you know your poetry will be published on The Short of It/I Write Her on 6/14/24. It will go live at Midnight. Feel free to share this post with your friends or on social media.

https://iwriteher.com/2024/06/14/gypsie-ami-offenbacher-ferris/

Also, in an effort to give The Short of It more visibility, please consider reblogging this post on your blog. Hopefully, it will encourage or inspire other fellow writers to participate as well! Thanks again for sharing your work with me! It was such a pleasure to read your poems.
Have a great day!
Susi Bocks
Editor-in-Chief
The Short of It

In response to OFMARIAANTONIA’s Photo Challenge #5 FLOWER POWER

The urge overcame him. With a thunder crack loud enough to split delicate ears, a heavy wind rolled in, dark clouds swept from the sky with its intensity. Moonlight scrawled across the heavens untethered, it was the full moon.

The ritual had not been completed, he was not ready. Not prepared. His loping trample took him through the brambles meant to protect her, in the house, from him.

A slight hum enveloped him. She was singing, her lilting voice sweeter than bees honey, calling him. Calling him to her. He waited, preparing to leap on her the moment she drew closer.

Spring is here! Spring is here!
Little budding flowers cheer,
their heads pop up from meadows fair
a colorful frenzy everywhere.

Pink and yellow, red and white,
such a magnificent colorful sight,
stemlike necks lift to full height,
as fragile petals dance in delight.

A friend to them is the rain,
never are the buds afraid,
deeply rooted they stand tall,
beautiful flowers until the Fall.

That’s when budding flowers grown,
drop their petals until all gone,
burying deep within the ground,
until next Spring they come back around.

We don’t know
life that we squander
until it’s too late

Craving a it all
a plate full of yummy
A forkful of sweetness
how bad it is for me

Never allowed
to have the main dish
Bits and pieces only
no matter my wish

To know it’s all mine
what a thoughtful delight
Not wanting to share
maybe give up on the fight

Not knowing what’s worse
a bit now and then
Or give it all up
and never have it again

Ropes bind wrists
bruised dark purple
against marble pure skin

Legs move restless
waiting for a chance to escape
the flickering candlelight

Waves of hypnotic chanting
slip into her soul
leaving an empty void behind

An ornate fan disperses incense
her pulse slows to its rhythm
her eyes close and she sleeps