Free

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

Feelings in Color

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?

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

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!

Silly Word Prompt Poem

– 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!

Ramshackle – Response to #227 Word Prompt 97 Words Only

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

Ruffian Am Not!Response to Monday poetry prompt

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

“Weekend Writing Prompt #226 – Yard”

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

Portmanteau

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? 

Toes

Please don’t stick your cold nose in my toes
Around my toes I wear nice warm
clothes
Not a furry little doggy nose
Trying to sniff and lick my pinky toes

My socks are to stay on my chilly feet
Not as chew toys for those sharp little
teeth
Socks are made to remain discreet
They are not treats I wear on my feet

That hat you have hidden under Dad’s
chair
Is Grandpa’s hat that covers his hair
It’s not your round chewy toy hiding
there
Go get that hat from beneath that chair

Mother’s scarf from India it came
She doubts she’ll ever go back again
Tearing it up is such a foolish game
Still you grabbed it and after you she
came

Come here my little rapscallion puppy
This blanket displaying a bright orange guppy
Is yours now from me all warm and
lumpy
I will always be happiest with my new puppy