The rules are simple:
1. Post the last photo on your SD card or last photo on your phone for the 31st January.
2. No editing – who cares if it is out of focus, not framed as you would like or the subject matter didn’t cooperate.
3. You don’t have to have any explanations, just the photo will do
4. Create a Pingback to this post or link in the comments
5. Tag “The Last Photo”
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
In Response to Bartholomew Barker’s Monday Poetry Prompt: Tiger
Tiger tiger in the night
you in your striped coat
full of wild delight
A stronger beast there’s never been
ruling the forests far and wide
until you battled the likes of man
An unfair war this is true
man alone without sword or gun
could not defeat one such as you
But man has never played the same
against beast, nor fowl
on the barren plain
Man it seems has the upper hand
seemingly taming streams, rivers
and raping your land
But in the end wild beasts will reign
and reclaim this planet that was yours
then royal tiger will be king again
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
I was raised in an extremely strict household. Literally, children were to be seen and never heard. Children did not speak at the table, and so forth.
When my children entered the world, I vowed they would have the freedoms I never had. Freedom to explore their surroundings, to learn about themselves and to question authority, respectfully of course, when a task, request or command felt wrong. Not to just bow down to the “because I said so” mentality I grew up with, without explanation of why.
I’m sure most if not every parent who is reading this, is now rolling their eyes and have predicted the outcome of my very noble endeavors, correctly. I raised, unknowingly, naively even; iconoclast children. Rebel mongers. Rule breakers. Social outcasts.
Yet, I can not say I am sorry. My children know themselves, really know themselves. They hold their own in confrontations but are kind, gentle and compassionate with their partners; of whom they also hold their own or capitulate, depending on the issue.
To be honest, it was pure Satans Fire when they hit and went through their teenage years. I did not think I would survive it, but I did; and now I get to watch it play out all over once again as my daughter raises her extremely iconoclastic son.
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
Response to The Sunday Whirl Weekly Wordles #538
Black dust lay across the family
Sequestered in the truck
Books lay broken at their feet
She opened her eyes and called
to her Honey
No answer
Wind blew the silk ash
covering the no parking sign
Leaving her hungry and alone
As the Towers fell around them
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
She travels across continents
bringing food and fresh water
to those on her banks
to her populace
Snaking through the land
feeding monkey, ape and man
Deity for thousands and thousands
of years
Older than old
and nearly the longest on Earth
Narmada River gave us all birth
so protect her now we must
By Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
Response to Weekend Writing Prompt #246: This weekend your challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 51 words using the word Saunter.
What is it about a man’s walk that turns my own legs to jelly, sets my heart a flutter and keeps my eyes locked on his retreating form?
Not an arrogant, false or defensively combative saunter. It’s the natural saunter of a man who knows he’s a man. Oh yes!
Finally recovering and hoping (fingers crossed) not to backslide; I’ve had nearly five weeks to lay here, contemplate, remember, dream. One thing I do regret is the day I had to sell my horse and my daughters horse due to a divorce and subsequent financial distress.
She never forgave me and of course, I’ve never forgiven myself. I came across this picture, closed my eyes and could feel and smell my magnificent Appaloosa moving beneath me as we made our way through the woods, over small streams and the wild gallop back as I gave him his lead across the meadow and back to the stables, where he was boarded.
There’s nothing like the smell of a barn full of horse gear, feed and the aroma of the attached stalls. I was born to be a farm girl that somehow always ended up trapped in the concrete, metal and noise of the city.
So this memory is for my horse, D.J. and my daughters sweet horse, Pal. They went to very good homes and were well cared for. I will always carry their love and affection in my heart.
Gypsie’s Wonderful World of Words 