My eyes, or: My true self

Poetry Partners #123 'My Eyes', a 'Quadrille' (44 words) by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris of 'Gypsie's Writings, Musings, Quotes & Poetry' Laying alone in my recliner hard to move now My eyes see everything yet my eyes see nothing at all Vivid memories bombard my mind while I canโ€™t remember what day it is Still my… Continue reading My eyes, or: My true self

Ocean waves, or: Sharp wheezing

A haibun I remember looking up at the sun and clouds as I pulled my father's body across the ocean surface. We were wearing full scuba gear; Papa was barely breathing. Getting him to the jetty was the only viable option. high sun sears ocean waves aglow sharp wheezing d'Verse Haibun Monday: Look up! At… Continue reading Ocean waves, or: Sharp wheezing

Sweet, or: Sour

A butterfly cinquain I spat the orange juice out into the sink drain; eyed the carton; and notified Papa, who chuckled at my innocence. "Have you forgotten you've already brushed your teeth?" #TankaTuesday The above butterfly cinquain was written for Colleen M. Chesebro's 'Tanka Tuesday' prompt: Poets were prompted to write syllabic poems based on… Continue reading Sweet, or: Sour

The case of the stiff fingers

Papa's fingers Papa was supposed to visit us in August of 2018, but his unexpected death came that July, just before his intended visit to Israel. I last saw him in person in the summer of 2017. One of the last memories I have of Papa is him showing me his right hand. He bent… Continue reading The case of the stiff fingers

Memories are the key not to the past…

I love having my ghosts, and I love having my memories.-Debbie Reynolds (1932 โ€“ 2016) When memories fade, can one ever really return home?-Floyd Skloot (b. 1947) Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.-Ugo Betti (1892 โ€“ 1953) I acknowledge the privilege of being alive in a human body at this… Continue reading Memories are the key not to the past…

Transfer, or: Orientation

A 'Found Poem' Based on Peter Schneider's poem 'Lost in Plain Sight' I wake up, waiting, wanting to speak my mind, I think. Why do I have this empty cup clenched in my right hand? To fill in with... name, date? I greet my neighbor (isn't her name Susan?) with trivia, punch line. She smiles… Continue reading Transfer, or: Orientation

Just(ice), or: Allen Ginsberg, Z”L

An American sentence Dear Allen, seventeen syllables don't suffice to do you justice. What's an 'American Sentence'? Allen Ginsberg, inventor of the American Sentence, felt that the haiku didnโ€™t work as well in English. Ginsberg decided to remove the line structure of the haiku, maintaining the requirement of 17 syllables total. He felt that removing… Continue reading Just(ice), or: Allen Ginsberg, Z”L