By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
Response to word prompt #229
Caboodle in 78 words
A caboodle is not like a noodle
It can never be less
But I sorely digress
A caboodle can mean lots of oodles
Not a wee little mess
It’s a seriously gigantic abyss
The best is a snoodled caboodle
And a snoodled caboodle is not a mess
It’s not under the legs of a desk
If you find a snoodled caboodle
Take care not to bite or even to eat
It’s not really there and isn’t a treat
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
My body is an adversary
one I can not
fight
Tortured by day
tormented at night
The demon beckons
with pills to break
free
Take these he lies
and follow me
Into the land of darkness
where the damned stay interred
Come to me now
the dark spirit urged
A bright blinding light
reached from outside my
tomb
Listen not to the dark one
his way leads to doom
Suffer you will
and suffer you must
trapped
Trusting, feeling, believing
one day you’ll be
Free
Response to prompt from Gotham Writer’s Interactive workshop – Use color to reflect emotions and/or actions in a poem or story
Feelings in Color
by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
When he entered the house
our house surrounded by lush green bushes
heavy with welcoming pink and comforting yellow
flowering hibiscus
Their scent wafted in through the white clapboard door
he left standing open
I could smell the richness of each flower
Bright pink sharply citrusy
The yellow reminding me of warm, sunny days spent on the beach
He stood there so tall so manly
surrounded within an aura of pastel orange
His face, drawn, pinched.
He knew, that I knew and he was afraid
The orange deepened when he asked if he could come in
I answered in the most neutral voice I could muster
much like the neutral he had insisted upon
when we chose our new carpet together
Neutral, yes, that was how I would stay.
“It’s your house, no need to ask to come in,”
I muttered in neutral beige
I like beige, it’s comfortable, safe
I would stay here standing on my beige carpet
and remain neutrally beige he responded that this was our house
I felt my neutral slip, melting into the darker color
of a green so dark it was almost black
A red that I dared not release, least it consume me
He moved towards me, his hand imploring
His sea blue eyes lined with tiny rivers of broken vessels
Had he been crying? For whom had he been crying?
For me or for her?
Beige dissipated fire red filled my eyes
filled my soul while my once warm
beating heart turned ice cold blue
Can You Fly?
Response to Monday morning poetry word prompt
aerodynamics
Aerodynamically speaking humans can not fly
Not like a bird on the wing uses perfectly constructed wings
to fly
Speaking of aerodynamically speaking
that is to say
of a bird on the wing
a peregrine falcon is the fastest
flyer by far
Below the deepest blue of the sea
where nothing can fly
the many legged crustacean one
cooked oft in a pot is more aerodynamic
than a car
A car proposed to travel man around
could never fly
it’s aerodynamic’s designed by man
not yet
can not get it off the ground
But if a falcon can soar as a bird
on a wing
and a lobster can fly through the watery abyss
since a car is fashioned from all of these
then why oh why can’t I fly?
Time to Write
Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
My daily schedule wound so tight.
Dinner’s served, the dishes are done,
Not one little thing’s been left undone.
Beginning to write, I cannot wait.
Fingers lift in reverent repose,
My eyes drift down and see ten tiny
toes.
“I cannot sleep, a monster’s under my
bed! Mommy I need you, to chop off
their heads.”
I lift the trembling bundle with hands
all set to type.
Turn off the computer
Maybe tomorrow I’ll get to write!
Tomorrow has come and gone by the
wayside
Another day filled with snacks and
lunches and carpools
Wondering where can I write? Where
can I hide?
Then it’s time to fill that washer with Tide
The library stacked with
confectionery tomes,
Calling me bribing me hooking me
tempting me
Just one I tell myself now adult,
Only one I swear I won’t get hooked
Then the hungry kids and even the
dog wonder why I haven’t cooked!
I bid farewell to my one true love
That of a book and those vexing
written words
My downfall it is to not have
discovered ’til now
I’ll be unable to write once more
Until probably next Fall!
– Response to Monday Word Prompt Arctic, Destroy, Experiment
The first word of the day is arctic,
to think, to ponder, to write
is cathartic.
Then the second word jumps
up from the page,
it’s letters destroy the first
in a haze.
The last word describes this poem
to a tee,
definitely an experiment
from you on to me.
Oh wait! I see I must now pause
he’s inserted a picture
of old Santa clause.
Santa please know it’s
with warm hands and toes
I lay here and wait
completely reposed.
He’ll come here tonight
from his great Arctic home
man’s experiment failed
he’s bringing my tomes!
It sits at the end
of a street
made of dirt
Once somebody’s dream
a sweet home
and warm hearth
The windows all paneled
in bright colors galore
desiccated pieces upon the floor
Ghosts gather round
in ethereal shrouds
up and down the shabby old stairs
Patient as they wait so close
ramshackle hosts bound
to a ramshackle home
No where to go unable to roam
invisible chains hold their invisible forms
unheard cries from those so old and forlorn
In the far distance the dogs
barking their ancient songs
of families now lost and forever gone
A puffin is not a ruffian at heart
Neither is a penguin
and definitely not a startled
starlings start
A puppy can be one
unable to know
the difference between
a playful pat or a ruffians blow
Polar bear cubs
love to play rough in the snow
Bouncing and trouncing
but of course we all know
The one to watch
for out in that cold tundra
is Mama’s Bears ire
she’ll put you six feet under
A rabbit, a deer,
an old one eared fox
even the meanest of mean
great antlered ox
Know nothing of man
of his needs and his wants
until that big shotgun
tears out their guts
Then when they run
across mountains and more
each docile sweet beast
All ruffians galore
Yard
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
A man’s greatest challenge
is to bring life to a bare yard
A fathers greatest joy
to see his children playing there
Against the odds of nature
into sand and soil
He plants the fertile seeds
pressing deep into the ground
No matter sand or desert
without shade or rain
Tiny shoots of tender green
delicately open to the sun
Finally reaching toward the sky
higher and higher do they climb
Only to start all over again
Mowed down by Dad’s loving hand
Response to Writer’s Digest prompt 50 words
If two halves make a whole, then shouldn’t it be
twalves or twole?
As I pondered this twisted riddle we shall now call a
Tiddle,
I came upon these there and those and wondered aloud
If said out loud, why couldn’t they just be throse?
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 