Response to Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS October 30, 2021 “Boo!”

Bamboozled by a bamboozler

bamboozles me into


Bootless bamboozlers are the worst

Barefooted boozers they are

boorish jackbooters

Boozers and bamboozlers

together we find

are the boondoggling kind

Boondogglers can trick

but they won’t trade

Jackbooted boozers boor one and all

Beware bamboozled boozers

Watch out for boorish jackbooters.

Charm you they will until fully bamboozled then

off with your boots

………………………they will go



Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

Her sanctuary invaded, she greets the new neighbor yet again, as he enters without a welcome. His man body betrays the child still living within it but, his voice and speech reminds her he is but a young, undisciplined boy who reeks of nescience concerning societal and cultural expectations. Compassion.

The Couch

Tala and Koda

The couch is your home and there you both sit or together you lay here in our small home

Once dinner is done a big stretch and some yawns it’s back to your cushiony throne

A noise from outside gets you up with a start off to the door you run hoping for romp and for fun

It’s that nice delivery man with a nod and a smile he’s delivering the box full of food, toys and new chewy socks

So it is true what I’m saying these two beasts that were playing are now curled up here at my feet the two loves of my life making my life pure delight

Dancing by Myself

by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

Shadows thick enough to hold the edges of my gown up and away from uneven cobblestones beneath my feet, twirl along with me as I dance by myself.

Music drifts through the neglected garden, the high pitched notes muted by the strong arm of the fog; only the low notes, the bass and the drum beat could be heard out here.

Around and around I twirl, the drum beat rising to a crescendo. Fog and shadows merge into one, holding my hand, cradling the small of my back and still I twirl.

A sharp crack, a stone dislodges, my heel catches and down I go, dancing by myself ‘til the end.


Response to Sammi Cox’s writing prompt #232

By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

Question politics

“Ask naught what can my government do for me but what can I do for my government?”


Question hypocrisy.

“…let all men be free in mind and body,” as both are denied and strangled by the constraints of government and religion.


Question religion.

“In order to gain entrance into that heavenly paradise, you must tithe a Godly portion of your earnings to the Church for life,” or be persecuted.


Question authority.

“We know what is right and good for the masses,” herded.

Question the politicians.

Question the educated prophets.

Question authority.


Cancer of Man

by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

Cancer of Man

by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

Coral reefs destroyed A world at its end Humans disappearing disintegrating

People locked inside their confined commonalities Unable to see to acknowledge culpability

Even as good struggles to prevail Darkness threatens Life

Overfishing, pollution, global warming ice flows melted rainforests raped degradation

Ecosystems slaughtered for goods and profit Obscure warnings forgotten

Nature prevails against the cancer of man genocide complete mass suicide

13 Days of Samhain Volume II prompts for 2021 A Horror Halloween Writing Challenge

The Thinning of the Veil Prompt Day 1 – Graveyard Shift by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

Be they human or be they animal, she wondered. Then she thought, mayhap they were neither one, but the monsters in the dark, barely visible through the thinning veil her grandmama warned her about her whole life.

“You stay away from that graveyard, you hear me?” She’d warned in the crackly voice of an old one. “When Samhain comes, the entire graveyard shifts. What should be down comes up and what’s supposed to be up, well, let’s just say it’s not nothing you ever want to experience!”

The female’s companion raised his bow, poised to shoot a thick, deadly arrow through the chest of, whatever it was standing there unmoving beyond the mist. It was small, but standing very close, he would not miss. The veil was thinning. He could slip in and out of it now if he concentrated.

She placed her hand on his arm, halting his movement, delaying the shot. Her companion sighed, lowering his long-bow to his side. If he could just spear one of those pale-haired, mutant monsters that eluded even the most experienced hunters; he would be a hero. He could have any female he wanted.

“Come now,” she said, “tis only the first day of Samhain, we’ve got twelve more to go.”

Reluctantly, he turned his big body away from the mist shrouded veil, following her home.

On the other side of the veil, little Marta tugged at her mother’s hand. “Hurry mama, they’re back! The monsters! I just saw them in the mist!” Marta was insistent, pulling on her mother’s arm.

Her mother patted her small head and smiled.

“Ahh Samhain! When little children’s imagination’s run rampant and the monster’s come out to play…”

Response to 500 Word Writer’s Digest Prompt: Fisherman

My Uncle the Fisherman

By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris

(582 words)

It was my turn. Being the oldest girl in the family, but born behind a dozen male children; I had waited my turn, for years. Boys first, as usual. That’s how it was and how it always would be.

If I had wanted to be first at the sewing machine or to stand in front of a steaming hot pot-bellied stove all day; that would have been no problem.

I didn’t want to learn those things. I wanted to learn how to fish, good and proper like my favorite uncle did. Uncle Louie didn’t stand beside the meandering creek with a switch and sewing thread trying to catch minnows. Nope. Uncle Louie went out onto the Dark Lake and brought home the biggest, meanest catfish anyone ever saw.

Some people said he sang a song out there where no one could see him, and those catfish became be-spelled and hopped right up into his old fishing boat, just to get a better listen.

I knew better. I knew he knew how to fish the right way. He was a Fisherman.

It was cold that first morning and still dark outside. Uncle Louie grilled me as to what I had packed and what I was bringing. I had watched him for years and I knew the right things to bring.

I stood straight as a pole-cat about to get chased by a hound dog, waiting for his approval. He stood with his hands on his hips, gnarled fingers curled into his palms. He eyed me up and down and shook his head, satisfied with what he saw.

A young girl with shaggy hair and expectant eyes dressed in her brothers dungarees, flannel shirt and muck boots that were at least two sizes too big. I had two pair of wooly socks on and more stuffed in the toes, heels and around my feet so the boots wouldn’t come off. I was thankful I had cause of the cold on that October morning.

Uncle Louie turned without speaking and strode out the front door. He didn’t look back. I would either follow him, or I wouldn’t. I followed carrying my gear.

It was a long walk through the woods to the spot where Uncle Louie kept his boat. The oars were laid inside, a thick rope wrapped around a tree trunk kept it tethered to shore.

Uncle Louie stood beside the Dark Lake a long time, starring out at the placid water as the sun rose. I stood, mimicking his every move, not making a sound. Not a twitch, or a squirm; my eyes locked on the wide mouth of that deep, blue water.

A splash! A fish jumped to catch its morning meal. An unsuspecting insect hovered too close to the water to get a drink, it was the last drink it would ever take.

I whispered quietly to Uncle Louie, then pointed to the fading ripples spreading out and disappearing from the spot where it had jumped. He watched for a moment before turning to look at me.

“You’ll do,” he said.

I smiled up into his weathered face. He smiled back. The few teeth he had left, stained by chewing tobacco and strong coffee.

Looking down at me he asked, “What were you planning on fishing with my girl?”

I turned red, but not as red as the brand-new fishing pole he pulled from the bottom of his boat and handed to me.

I learned to fish.

The Walk

Response to Bartholomew Barker’s Monday, 10/18/21 Poetry Prompt: Explain, Remark, Carry

The trail went on forever only the oddly hewn wooden crosses marking the passage of miles

A small boy stood barefoot in the heated dust
of the non-existent trail
waiting for an answer

An old Hawk feather hung limply from his long dark braid barely holding its once tight plait in place

Quietly she said to explain
to her proud little Indian warrior her remark heard throughout the land the trail will carry us home