Category: Author

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

I sat beneath its picture there
depressed sad and alone
that night with rain cold and wind
howling at my windows hard

Staring at its lovely blue-green form
I thought I saw it’s big flipper move
Shaking my head I squinted my eyes
sure as I was it was all in my head

Then a soft voice slid from the beak
stout and strong with a whisper
so sweet I sat down on the floor
with a plunk I landed feeling no pain

Turning her head she spoke to me
a gentle wisp of a sound with bubbles
around her neck and face then she
smiled and bid me not be afraid

How is it, she asked, that you gaze
upon me day after day and year
after year longing for the sea
but you remain here sad and unwell?

Astounded I could only remain mute
shaking my head and scrubbed
my eyes to find her sitting on the floor right next to me there

She lay her heavy heavy head upon
my knee and cocked her neck
to gaze up at me so serene and calm
like this was commonplace

To speak with a blue turtle from the aged picture on my wall How? I asked at which she smiled I had no idea a blue turtle could smile

Smile she did showing teeth
and tongue and she said it was time
for us to begin our trek to the sea
where we wanted to be after all

I felt a gust of wind and a cold
spray on my face tasted salt
on my lips and tried to stand up
finding flippers for feet

And a strong tail where my rump
should be then I twisted my neck
to find a shell on my back
glistening blue and gold against

A deep sunset surrounded by miles
and miles of soft sand that warmed
my soul from my top to my end
I asked her in turtle about her name

Again she smiled and she winked this time saying I had gotten it all wrong you see as she was a he and I was the she together we dove into the deep blue sea

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Bartholomew Barker’s Monday poetry prompt – Native.

She spoke to Manetôwa daily
In her soft and aged voice
Morning noon and night
before each meal or perceived slights

Great Manetôwa protect this girl
blood of my blood bone of my bone
her parents now reside with you
I know I will be there soon too

I hear your distant call
Oh Great One in the Sky
Soon to see my mother
my father and the others

My time was long
my life was blessed
I pray I’ve passed all your tests
In truth I am ready for my long rest

My soft brown skin is saggy now
not firm and strong as once it was
My braids once black as night
now reflect a white moon bright

Many years have come and gone
families slain to steal our lands
What once was pure clean and good
reduced now to ash gray wood

Great Manetôwa hear my prayer
look down from your mountain high
Protect and keep my children safe
especially the littlest waif

Into Your soil I’ll commit myself
Your essence healing broken spirits
Until one day when it’s right and true
We’ll all return to honor You

Monday Windows a response to Stein Writing by Christine

My front door window – early morning.

Please vote if you’d like! My entry is #3 on the list! Thank you! 🙏

Congratulations, Gypsie-Ami! You are a finalist in the Your Story #118 contest – you are listed as #3.

Here is the link to the voting page where readers can vote for your story until October 7, 2022, for a chance to appear in the January/February 2023 issue of Writer’s Digest magazine: https://www.writersdigest.com/wd-competitions/your-story-118

Best,
The WD Editorial Team

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

It was an obsession, complete and total lack of impulse control. The library was one of the best places to stalk, the line of bookshelves worked like magic to camouflage even the softest thud of a footfall.

If one needed to hunch over suddenly, it would look perfectly normal; as though searching for a book on the bottom shelf. The flickering fluorescent light helped to disguise my presence to him. The remembrance of his cruel rejection forced a quiet sigh from my lips, just before the monsoon of tears ran down my cheeks.

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Tuesday writing prompt: Write a poem using the words bolt and veil. Hosted by
Devereaux Frazier and Beth Amanda for Go Dog Go Cafe.

It lay just over the tallest hill, but seemed as far away as the sun to her. The veil of freedom, heavily guarded and not traversed in over one hundred years. There was a good reason for this, death.

The veil hovered over the foothills like a shroud. It beckoned the unwary, called to the weak and spit out the despoilers and oppressors. It knew, the veil knew and could not be fooled. One step into its mist and the persons heart intent was read, tried and judged. If the veil deemed a person worthy, he or she could pass unharmed into, into what was believed to be, paradise.

However, if a persons heart held darkness or there was evil found in the soul, death was immediate. The veil had once been used as a barometer of good versus bad, in that, when a person committed a crime, they had to face the veil for judgement.

Eventually, use of the veil for this purpose had been outlawed, deemed to be cruel and unusual punishment. A huge, electric fence was built on the half moon front of the mist and there was talk of building a wall to keep people out.

Still, there were several attempts a month as people scaled the fence, suffered electrical burns and attempted to cross the veil’s border. Some made it through, others were spit out mangled, disfigured and dead.

The young mother strapped her newborn to her back tightly and securely. He was her life, her joy and her tragedy. After an ultrasound, early in her pregnancy, a severe birth defect was found. Her government offered medications, provided her with pamphlets on how to nurture and raise a challenged child, then sent her on her way.

They also required that she sign a contractual agreement stating she understood abortion was illegal. She would be prosecuted for attempting an at-home termination of the pregnancy and she would not harm her child after birth. She had been placed on a government watch list, in case she did try to travel else where for a termination procedure.

She had obligingly signed the forms and walked home. Now she stood at the bottom of the electric fence, her baby wrapped in a protective rubberized blanket and waited for a signal from one of the descendant volunteers, which would be her cue to climb using the rubberized mitts and her new, very thick sneakers.

A bird call, the hoot of a long extinct owl and it was time for her to bolt. She bolted!

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

(This weekend your challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 31 words using the word “Return.”)

Return to me
from whence you’ve gone
Not over the sea
still gone too long

Back to your life
away from me
Back to your world
where you’re meant to be

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

What sin did I commit
What wrong did I do
To incur this wicked
wrath from You

When fatigue grabs my body
through and through
and I lay down to rest
What is it that You do

Plant ants in my bones
and feathers along my thighs
You tickle and taunt
keeping me awake all night

Once reclined onto my soft pillow
I can no longer lay nor can I sit
My legs carry on with their peculiar uncomfortable fit

They twitch they kick
they jerk and squirm
so I rise again to pace
away the feelings and burn

Praying this night to find some rest
sleep deprived I am at a my worst
Whatever did I do to deserve this blasted restless leg curse

Reblogging with your permission. 😊

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
(300 words)

The somnologist glanced at her day planner. Her field of sleep afforded her an intriguing career. Her nine o’clock appointment was with Mr. Kirkpatrick. His fascination with ferris wheels had led him, on her advice, to purchase a working replica of one. He slept soundly every night now.
Ms. Robbins’ case was more delicate. She did not have any hobbies or particular fields of interest, save one. A hand-held device assisted with her more lascivious needs and did the trick.
More clients arrived for their appointments. Lunch then, more clients and then the last client of the day, a first-time, new client.
The arrival bell rang at her patient entrance and she beeped him in. A tall, well-built man walked into her office. Nice looking, she thought. He did not display the tell-tale signs of sleep deprivation, as so many of her patients did.
After greeting him and motioning him to either the chair or lounger, she sat behind her desk to observe him. He had one of those well practiced, testosterone filled smiles that could entice the most timid of females to become little more than a pile of hormonal mush when bestowed upon them.
Luckily, the sleep doctor was immune to those kind of parlor tricks. The new patient, Mr. Antonio Blaque, seemed slightly disconcerted by her lack of response.
He shook her hand, remained standing, she assumed it was an intimidation tactic that would have not a bit of effect on her.
“I understand you provide your clients with what they need, enabling them to sleep?”
“That’s a simplistic way of putting it but, this is true,” she answered.
He walked behind her, a purple scarf in his hand.
“Good,” he whispered, tightening the scarf around her neck in a tight, deadly, grip.