Photo by Gino Santa Maria at shutterfree.com
A baby in a manger
wrapped in thin linen smiled at the simplicity of a rhythmic thumping drum Over his head a stables roof the songs of barn animals serenade his first lullaby a mother and father by his side It mattered not to the tiny child that others had much more than he the healing light within his eyes would bring joy to all for many years In this world of violence and crime where wealth and fame eclipse love and care wrap your heart in the barest linen and remember
Tala and Koda In My Bed Picture by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
Cold wind howls in obscure octaves,
the notes lost among the cacophony. Obsessed it is, the blustery wind. Endless search. Swiping Christmas decorations from eave and porch, tree and bush, attempting to hold on to mortality. Useless endeavor. Bitter air follows the whipping gusts, the bite of it coats all it touches with its frigid tenor, to ice. Crystal sculptures. Trees falter, statuesque trunks bend, and fold beneath the weight and wrath of Mother Nature’s moodiness. Angry deity. In my bed close to the frosty window, freezing air drifts through warped sills aged by time and neglect and time. Endless loop. Beneath the heavy blankets and quilt, alone Christmas Eve on this wintry, wet, windy night before the Miracle; my pups bound up to sleep beside me. I am blessed.
Edited by Gabriella Marie
Very honored to announce that some of my poetry has been selected for publication in
HIDDEN IN CHILDHOOD: A POETRY ANTHOLOGY Edited by Gabriela Marie Milton to be released late January 2023!!!
(aka Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris) Tomasina Kat
In response to
prompt, Bartholomew Barker’s “Why Do Cats Hate Christmas?”
I have been asked it seems,
tasked it seems, by a poet more learned than I To explain why we cats you see, do not like Christmas you see, or really no holidays at all. First off and number one on this poem, Having taken a poll just for this list. Is the loss of our favorite spot, our sacred resting berth. You push us away blocking the way to our sunny window sill! Secondly my dear sweet human, in my sleeping place you set A prickly Christmas tree then forbid a cat from climbing it! Third and might I say quite devious of you humans, You place upon that Christmas tree hundreds of baubling baubles! They jiggle and sway all of the day taunting, teasing, torturing, Our feline kind not to bat, not to swat, lest we all go blind! Fourth and this causes a quite a tiff, you have turkey and ham, Cornish hens and fried Spam, but do you deem to share any at all? Fifth and hear me human’s mine, this is the most important Reason why cats truly hate Christmas after all! Have you ever seen a little kitty cat, jump from inside a wrapped Christmas box, a gift for that little boy or girl? No you have not, puppies galore all over the floor, But Christmas kittens, there are not!
The temperatures have dropped today
the Winter air is bitter cold Hibiscus leaves have curled and dried only stalks and roots survive Soon those too will fade away leaving deep buried roots behind Gardenia blooms a sweet memory tucked inside their stems until Spring Bleeding Hearts and Sunflower discs lay in wait for the warmth of the sun To restore their lovely greenery when Winter’s wrath is done Wrapped up like Christmas presents my favored Palm Trees stand Bound around with burlap bags protecting their wispy fronds Feeding their roots with supplements keeping them healthy and strong My Cypress tree is truly bald more naked it could not be Just beside it’s barren form two trees of bright evergreen Underneath their long limbs sprawl a remembrance of past splendor The mulch is laid and piled around the base of each and every bush Christmas lights will fill the space now barren of blooms and flowers My garden sleeps in frozen ground the silent night’s begin again
In response to photo prompt above by crispina kemp for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #215
I can see you
there beneath the hue of reflected leaves and trees water colored silhouettes rippling on the water below me You with yours in your watery world moving about with fluidic ease under the eddies and gentle swirls of your aquatic universe I see you you there can you see me here here by the edge standing alone my world edged with sharp planes compact masses of steel for homes Your world filled with soft grasses golden sand stretches no barriers skimming and swimming in perfect unity you your family your friends No walls to pen you within Wind blows and the tide shifts the current carries you away to a new and better life a different adventure every day Do you see me standing here – still?
In response to
Bartholomew Barkerprompt ’s 15 Minute Gift Ideas For Old Bohemian Poets
First I had to decipher listicle
as in a poem of numbered form Second I found I was rhyming listicle with popsicle and then testi…. Better not. My third thought turned to wine Something not too expensive to satisfy the palette of an old curmudgeon poet just fine Aged not old. Fourth I had to review or at least recall the occasions I’d noticed that poet in his finite curmudgeonly grace raise his glass in salute to one and all With a smile. Fifth I researched diligently that worldwide library Google free to determine what kind and what color to offer a critic most innocently Highest alcohol content. Perplexed at number six with no end as to when to stop poet-ing a listicle I forgot to buy those red spirits for my old curmudgeon-like friend Merry Christmas Anyway My Curmudgeonly Friend!
A thick voice laced with a good amount of angst and a heavy Cuban accent, echoes from the bathroom at the end of the hall.
“Lucy! Lucy! We are out of toilet paper! Bring me the toilet paper please!” His voice holds a note of urgency. Lucy looks up from her masterpiece, Ethel takes off, the apartment door slams shut loudly behind her. “Lucy! Lucy! Are you there? ¡Ay, caramba Lucy!” The voice rises in pitch. “Um, no, no I’m not!” Lucy stutters. “What?” The voice asks, the t in the word ‘what’ nearly silent as his frustration mounts. “Oh! Oh!” The red-headed ball of confusion mutters. “Ok, ok, I’m coming! Keep your pants on!” “Lucy, what are you saying? Mama Mia, Mira que tiene cosa!” Unintelligent Spanish verbiage fills the narrow hallway. “Here you go Ricky! Merry Christmas!” Lucy pushes the entire concoction through the bathroom door. Ricky, “ Lucy! You’ve got some ‘splainin to do!”
Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
Boxes and boxes
of shiny decorations fill the organized Christmas tub Baubles and trinkets toys and lights tinsel, garland and stars wait to trim the tree The newest go first naturally it may be and next the revered most loved ages of history Interest peaks finding last years treats each hung on the tree with great care The sturdy little ornament hopeful for a turn some years it’s left behind inside its cardboard mew A tree it seems was much too small no room for any extra and sometimes it’s just forgotten Still within its core it carries a light waiting for the day it will sparkle and shine the only one on a tree –
Sunday Whirl Wordle #583 Hosted by bwarren
breath, spill, yellowing, bluff, torn, fairy, flush, soothed, greedy, safe, raspy, hiss
fairy looked down at herself. She soothed her torn and yellowing tutu, a spill of tulle loose upon her body. Her raspy breath, greedy for youth, made a soft hiss as it left her thin lips. She watched another fairy dancing in the moon lit night as she pirouetted on top of the grassy bluff. Her face, her skin, her body bore the flush of youth. The young fairy would stay safe this night. The old fairy turned away, resisting the dark one yet again.