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


“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


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”


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


I came upon these there and those and wondered aloud 

If said out loud, why couldn’t they just be throse? 


Please don’t stick your cold nose in my toes
Around my toes I wear nice warm
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
Socks are made to remain discreet
They are not treats I wear on my feet

That hat you have hidden under Dad’s
Is Grandpa’s hat that covers his hair
It’s not your round chewy toy hiding
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

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

Why Can’t You Hear Me?

Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

You can’t hear me

I am speaking beneath your voice

droning on and on

a muddle of senseless prattle

You know I am speaking

You know I can hear you

You do not have to shout

and stomp about like a circus clown

I am listening to you

I can understand you

I remain stoically silent

after so many years

you notice my muteness

Your hands on my shoulders

wanting me to speak to you

I can not speak to you

speechlessness arrests my voice

invisible words of loneliness and despair

spill from my throat but you can not hear

My utterances remain without form

See my words drowning in sorrow

Hear my words ravaged by pain

Feel my words buried in heartache

Heed words mired in rhetorical anger

Why can’t you hear me?