Category: Author

(100 Words)

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ September 30, 2022 Photo Prompt Challenge 100 words exactly.

I was prepared for every contingency, I thought. I had a bathtub full of water to flush toilets with, or boil over the hot coals of my grill if needed for use in cleaning and brushing teeth. Pantry-full of nonperishables and items I could eat without cooking.

Both dogs safely inside, enough dog food to last a week. Books to read by candlelight. Candles, matches, lighters, charcoal, check. Seems like I have everything, all bases covered.

The lights flickered twice and then the electricity was gone. Darkness and quiet filled the house. Everything I needed was here; except you.

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Gliding along in the O.T. Canoe
paddles splash alongside
in unison – out of unison
The synchronicity intrinsic
to the bond of the two within

Speed boats and Trawlers whiz
past the slow and steady canoe
their wake rocking us side to side
The noise of the motorized
floating vehicles subsides

Splash Splash Splash
the two paddles continue
pushing the long green canoe
through reeds waving in the breeze
towards a shore scattered with birds

The canoe nestled safely aground
waves caress the sandy beach
sea gulls call and egrets take flight
Oyster shells line the embankment
I revel in the quiet of nature


*O.T. – Old Town Canoe Company

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Bartholomew Barker’s Monday Poetry Prompt Word – SMOOTH.

Upon your silvery green leaves
raindrops slide joyfully
Bouncing once – twice
then soaking into the ground
toward the outstretched roots
of blossoming flowers

The crystalline beads fall from above
a dance of life-giving merriment
A smooth iridescent drink
of clear Earth Mother’s milk
Replenishing all it touches with
rejuvenated vigor and health

Saturating fields and gardens
meadows too with soothing essence
Touching the withered with magic
making that which is green brighter
Calling forth sprouts and stems
into the light of a brand new day

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Pretty by day
your buds swirling about
Open at night
White flowers a delight

So pure and so sweet
a tight bud at dusk
In darkness you open
an true clopen

Your leaves drinking suns rays
as the day passes by
Your lovely bouquets bloom
by the soft light of the moon

Bringing joy to the night creatures
insects and humans all
But the greatest reward you see is for me
the one who planted you near my oak tree

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Although the intake of mushrooms was required to complete her Shamanistic studies, she had to admit she felt very uncomfortable about it.

The key element to ingesting them safely, she could hear her spiritual advisor or guru stating to the small group; was to remember to drink lots of liquid before, during and after the ceremony

She expected the mushrooms to be dirty, unspoiled by human hands. Yet, they were washed clean, not a scar visible from the picking of or slicing of the coveted fungi.

It was her turn. She opens her hands from their lotus-like position in order to receive the solid piece of meaty, highly-hallucinogenic material. Her guru looks deeply into her amber eyes, then flicks the slice expertly onto her outstretched palms and motions to her to eat. She eats.

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

What did I do?
Besides loving you
Caring for you
Nurturing you

What did I do?
In your sweet young life
To have earned such disdain
That brings me such pain

What did I do?
That keeps you away
No visits or stays
Not even on Holidays

What did I do?
That embarrassed you so
Not meeting your wife
Not part of your life

What did you do?
To the one who stands for you
Loves you beyond any other
This lady who’s your mother

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

How bad can it be?
Perhaps she won’t see,
if I lay on this couch,
be a silly old slouch.

I’ll pretend I don’t know
then maybe she’ll go.
Keep my eyes closed tight
avoiding the fight.

Oh, what do I see as I lower my lids?
Caught red-handed just like a kid.
Laying right at my feet,
now I’m in it deep!

Her towel that I found
I can’t say I’m proud.
Threw it up, threw it down,
coughed up the threads on the ground!

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to dVerse Poets Pub Poetics: Spicing It Up Hosted by merrildsmith – Use at least three of the spices listed in your poem: Aleppo Pepper
Arizona Dreaming Basil Cinnamon Coriander
Cumin Dill Fennel Seed Garam Masala Ginger Krakow Nights Lemongrass Mulling Spices Mural of Flavor Mustard Seeds Nutmeg Paprika Saffron Sea Salt Sesame Seeds Sunny Paris Thyme Tuscan Sunset Vanilla Zatar

I have to admit though it pains
me to confess this
A cook I am not
and never will be

I haven’t the patience
nor even the thyme
To fiddle with fennel
or flavor with dill

Not a spot of paprika
no pinch of green basil
or is basil brown
Never ever have used

Forget all about mulling
over convoluted spices
And however do you flavor
with a tincture or mural

No I think I’ll stick
to my nightly routine
Take it out of the freezer
microwave and be done!

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In a small town in the back
country of Arkansas
On an even smaller country farm
a girl child was born

Third in the family
second girl child
With the eldest a sister
the next was a boy

Her parents were farmers
with chickens and pigs
Growing parcels of cotton
some corn and a horse

This horse was a mean one
biting human and fowl
His end came the day he bit
my grandpa as he plowed

Only one baby more
was born after the third
Another tiny girl child
making three girls and a boy

The second baby girl born
September 19, 1936
became this ladies mother
a mere twenty-one years after

It’s been twenty-five years
since that second girl child
departed this Earth to reside
with her family on a faraway farm

When it’s my turn to depart this Earth
leaving behind the living to continue
I hope to follow the path that they took and see them all on the farm again

____________________________

Post-Note – I post these pictures to show what a lifetime of cigarette addiction looks like. My mother died young, age 57. I’m 64, an age she never saw.

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

The Sunday Wordle #570
Hosted by bwarren 

Eyes that know no normal
No clue how to play the word game
Search the world over
Journeying further and longer each day

Time is a sweet healer
Or can rattle the strongest reserve
Using pills from a bottle
To escape the false gilded box