Category: Author

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Whiskey Jack you look so sad tonight
not so brilliant blue or famous
as your cousin the striking Blue Jay

Your lamented caw so far out west
calling for family you will never meet
Cousins all well known just not you

Norway to Russia they will live
Revered in Tibet but not gray like you
You wear the color of the Rockies

Listen carefully and you can hear whispers of John Denver singing
Rocky Mountain High with you

Should your habitat be burned
damaged or destroyed by man
You do not fly and you do not flee

Little Gray Jay of Whisky fame
your smart family starts all over again
Foraging for sticks rocks and food

A spirit bird in Canada you are
called Whisky Jack or wiskachaan
by the Indigenous Algonquian

Mimicking other prey birds you
keep danger at bay or sing a sweet
lullaby just to pass the time by

Gray Jay do not be sad this day
other Jay’s can not use their feet
to quickly snatch all silvery things!

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

I purchased a lottery ticket, handing it to the bedraggled man sitting on the curb. He whooped, I smiled knowingly.

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

This road I have traveled
upon these many years
The twists and turns
sudden starts and unintended stops

Have taken me through
wondrous jungles resplendent
with cawing parrots and
cackling long-toothed monkeys

Up mountains so incredibly high
to breath the air would freeze
unprotected vulnerable lungs
Glistening snow covered peaks

Standing on the deck of a ship
riding storm tossed waves up
to one hundred feet high
causing most passengers to weep

Then gliding into a paradise
full of tall coconut palms
coffee plantations with white
men’s mansions dotting the hills

Back to a home devoid of love
lacking affection and care
Reaching for that paradisiacal
arena dreamed of as a young girl

Now the road stretches before me
much shorter than ever before
Blind curves and an uncertain end
Does Paradise hide around the bend

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Monday Poetry prompt GARDEN
by Bartholomew Barker of Living Poetry

My sweet hibiscus
you bloom so beautiful
so bright

Brilliant fiery reds
purest white of whites
purple delights

With leaves of darkest green
to leaves a translucent sheen
reflecting light

By dusks fading light
you close your beauty away
for the night

Only to return with
dawn’s morning rays
just a few days

Until your beauty subsides
you curl your wonder away
fall and decay

Making way for another
to bloom and give wonder
to this gardener’s delight

Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Reposting for Earthweal open link weekend #119

I am Mother Earth
birthplace of all living
and non-living things upon me

Be it animal, plant, water, dirt or sky
it is I who hold the key
to their creation or extinction

Those that are gentle upon myths skin
may live in peace and prosperity
such as the lovely butterflies

Those that rend my skin
pollute my rivers and seas
will not see my gentler side

But the rising tides of my anger
and the swell of hot magma
from my very being and my core

It is I who rules this land of mine
all these millennium and I who will stay here long after you are gone

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Sarah @ Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #414

While tending my garden green
pulling weeds and tending my beans,
a blue-bird sat upon my shoulder
Word-Weaver, she said to me,
Can you please weave some words
to save all of our trees?

As I sat upon my garden bench
contemplating the little birds wish,
a big old toad jumped up beside me
Word-weaver, his deep voice croaked
Can you please weave some words
to save our swamps and streams?

Walking along the river bank my mind so full I could barely think
A loud buzzing filled the air,
an army of striped bees said to me,
Word-Weaver can you weave some words to save our flowers, please?

My mind whirling, I strolled down
to the seas edge and was amazed
to see the biggest whale I’d ever seen out in the deep blue waiting for me
Word-Weaver, he blew to me, please weave some words to save our seas?

The Earth beneath my feet shuddered, a vine full of luscious purple and white blooms curled around my waist then the blossoms opened and Mother Earth spoke, “Word-Weaver, would you weave some words to save me please?”

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Sadje’s Picture Post above for May 16, 2022 #WDYS – #Whatdoyousee #134

__________

I am not a man
do not try to mold
me into your image

You are not a woman
do not deem to understand
my mind, my body, my soul

I am a woman
I own this body
I have been gifted with

Do not dictate to me what
to do with the seed of your loins released in your pleasure

Do persecute, arrest and prosecute those who pleasured themselves
without care or responsibility

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to Eugi’s – Weekly Prompt May 10, 2022 Guiding Light

Across the wide and open sea
my deepest love waits for me
A lantern could not guide this night
Only loves pure and brilliant light

Leads me to where he will be
At home again on sacred soil
Beside the Moors and Cypress trees
Beneath the moon on bended knee

Within his palm will be a ring
a circle of gold with gilded stones
He’ll ask of me to be his bride
We’ll mark our vows on aging tomes

What’s this the Captain does advise
The seas they’ve angered the tides
do rise to shake and thrash
the ship to shreds

I fear my love I shall never see
this ship will soon be lost at sea
As it slides into a watery grave
That light of love begins to fade

Farewell my love for it is true
Another I have never loved like you but now it’s time for me to go – Goodbye my Love
Goodbye

Cee’s Photo Challenge

#stinewriting Blog Flower of the Day

By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

The Sunday Whirl Wordle #553
Hosted by bwarren
Prompt words are:
star shelf growl slip open flower crow against prowl beneath beat shot
_______________

The drumbeat of insanity
opens his mind to hate
to prejudice against the innocent
Evil leads him to prowl for those
he believes beneath his star-power

Not a growl did he offer his prey
slipping between pots filled
with the bright flowers of spring
Black crow flies in warning
no one sees, no one hears

Then a shot times three
brought death thrice over
Inside a mother pushes her
child beneath a shelf
A man standing guard – falls

The mechanism made by man
allows a boy to kill six more
Still we fight for our rights
our right to buy, carry and kill
a weapon forged in the bowels of hell