Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words

Category: Author

  • In Bloom

    For Wordless Wednesday and Bloghops Various

    Pink Dogwood Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
    Bradford Pear Tree Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
    Bradford Pear Tree Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
    Bradford Pear Tree at Dusk Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
    Raven Tree Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

  • The Meeting

    The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #595 hosted by bwarren

    Faux halo glows
    ominous above
    the serene face

    A woman sighs
    numb to his
    killing mind

    Voice of an angel
    the thought leaping
    into her thoughts

    A twig of alarm
    slides into her consciousness
    a quiver of awareness

    His killing eyes mesmerized her
    a dark knowing between them
    Was she to be front page news?

  • The Tree’s Top

    In response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #301 – TREETOP
    The Big Tree in Orlando, FL approximately 400 years old

    Two years old
    I am sure the top of the tree
    is definitely attainable

    Ten years old
    muscles and bones strong
    midway up the treetop visible

    Thirteen years old
    I climb until I see the treetop
    I reach for the summit

    Tumbling over and over
    children’s laughter ringing
    in my ears – I fall

    A vicious bully’s
    trick defines the
    rest of my life

  • Sailing Away

    Courtesy of The Outdoor Voyage

    PROMPT: Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
    In response to Fandango’s Provocative Question #153

    He would be gone three months, he said. Four at the most. Not really so long, he said. Four months at sea, away from me, by choice.

    A sail of a lifetime to be sure. Filled with daily challenges, adventures, bonding with family, testing his skill as the skipper of a large, privately owned sailing vessel. His days consisting of open water, ports of call, exotic landscapes and free roaming wildlife. His nights packed full of rivalry, drink, wine, good food and companionship. No time for missing anyone back home, her or me certainly.

    A difficult relationship made more so by distance, prior commitments and life, now made excruciatingly impossible for me, left at home, alone. Day upon day of abject loneliness, an alone he has not and will never experience. A week goes by of talking only to the dogs, if I remember to talk at all. Each night a torment, watching the hours tick by in agonizing slow-motion. Even the minute hand dragging as though mired in molasses.

    Sleepless nights turn into restless days. Isolation and desolation eating away at an already damaged heart. Body craving the touch of another. A caress, a hug, a smile or a kiss. Aging comes quicker now, mortality a very real threat for either of us. Wondering if this will be our last goodbye.

  • Garden Escape

    Picture courtesy of pinkpix.com In response to bwarren’s Sunday Whirl Wordle #594

    garden locks creeping steal feet seems steam stars free fall joyous space

    On bare feet I steal away
    into my garden beneath
    stars frozen in the dark
    magnitude of space

    Steam rises from grass
    laden with cold evening dew
    warm air locks onto cooling
    leaves forming an ethereal universe

    Up ahead my tree seems to open
    his arms awaiting my creeping form
    with joyous abandon I fall into his
    branched strength – finally free

  • The Midnight Hour

    Courtesy of Dreamstime.com
    In response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #300 – MIDNIGHT in 94 words

    The church bells rang out, stopping on the eleventh gong. Crowds were gathering in the street outside, a light rain fell keeping the ever present dust confined, but only a bit.

    Horses whinnied, hushed voices rose, muffled by the block walls separating me, from them. The window too high to see through, only letting in the meager light of wavering torches held in the hands of my accusers.

    I dozed. Guards roughly pulled me to my feet, walked me out into the night. It was time. I’d do it again. I was not sorry.

  • Storm

    Picture Courtesy of Kingdom Roofing

    Raindrops slide down
    the white gutter
    attached to the blue house

    The metal is cold
    surviving yet another
    Winter’s gusty bite

    Drip drip drip
    water droplets
    cascade to the ground

    A clap of thunder mars
    the quiet solitude of the night
    vibrating sleeping puddles awake

    Little artificial ponds overflow
    sending tiny waterfalls
    to bombard rock and dirt boulders

    Ants block entrances
    into their hill homes
    with saliva packed sand

    Beetles hide beneath
    bright green leaves
    sagging beneath the rains weight

    Insects scurry up
    and out of harms way
    avoiding being maimed or drowned

    Only man foregoes
    the warnings of nature
    ignoring the oncoming flood

  • Literary Conduit

    Picture courtesy of Dreamstime.com

    In response to Carrot Ranch Literary Community’s February 20, 2023 Story Challenge
    Prompt Words – Literary Artist     in 99 Words Hosted by Charli Mills

    To turn emotion into a word, an experience into a sentence and a life into a story; that is a literary artist. Peering into the unseeable, deciphering hidden messages, unraveling puzzles into a stream of aesthetic words pleasing to both reader and writer.

    To be a conduit, a messenger. To bring reverence to the wonders of the Earth. To stir fascination, acceptance and protection about the myriad cultures this world has emanated. To exalt over our majestic animal species and keep their plight alive within the human conscience. To continue to be my best. A writer. A literary artist.

  • Double Entendre

    In response to Christine Bialczak @ Stine Writings Simply 6 Minutes Challenge to the photo above

    Alejandro rode quickly upon his magnificent white steed. The river behind him had turned white, signifying an early Mountain snow melt. Soon the river would overflow its banks and would most certainly, wipe away his village.

    He donned his black mask, pulling back on the horse’s reigns. The white beauty reared up on his back legs, his front legs kicked high. As soon as his hooves hit the dry ground beneath him,
    he stretched out into a full run.

    The masked man barreled into the village, yelling to anyone he could see, telling them to run. The villagers raced to the highest cliff where they watched their homes and meager businesses being washed away.

    One of the men turned to Alejandro and thanked him profusely, then asked,
    “To whom do we owe our lives masked one?”

    The horse reared again. The man’s voice rang out clear and true,

    “Zorro!”

    Courtesy of Buds Art Books

  • Listen

    Graphic by YoungDigitalDesigns

    In response to dVerse’ Quadrille Monday Prompt: MUSIC (in exactly 44 words not counting the title)
    Hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg

    Listen past the constant hum hum
    of cars pounding tired tires on broken
    pavement

    Hear the music of Nature living
    her heartbeat strong beneath your
    feet

    Smell the richness of the fertile soil
    she provides to all those willing to
    toil