The Pen



It’s the pen that makes me strong,
makes me bold,
and sings those lush and intricate verses into the air…
not caring if they seed storm clouds or lightning.
It’s the pen that guides my feet,
thin and faltering stepping lightly so I don’t hurt anyones 
carpet and can pass unseen and unblipped on their radar.
It’s the pen I say,
sweeping both blame and praise away from me while 
holding the dust pan awkwardly,
some crumbs always slip through,
 but I whistle them away 
and keep carrying the tune
no matter how poorly.
The tune carries the brave face and the pen carries us both,
and I just hope no one needs to set me down,
or drop me,
any time soon.
It’s the pen I say.
I blame the pen.
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Write What You Know


“Write what you know”

they all agree,

and nod gravely.

And if that is true,

if this be the only rule,

then I must drop my pen,

close down my laptop,

leaving the page blank.

For I know nothing,


Not in a mocking, Jon Snow kind of way,

but still nothing.

I can write what I think,

and that is a many faceted stone,

a complex beast indeed.

But to know


is to understand the not,

to understand the already broken,

to let the empty bowl remain purposeless and

let it fall from your hand.

Ignore the shattering…

But all too often my mind,

and my restless whimsy rush to fill those cracks

with gold…


Write what you know.

What about what I can dream?

What cloth I can spin out of nothing,

to drape across the not,

to fashion into a figure I can name,

once named it is known.

And then,

and only then,

(the rules say)

can I write it…



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Rest in Peace Ursula Le Guin. You left us sad ~ but so much richer.


“Only in silence the word, only in dark the light, only in dying life: bright the hawk’s flight on the empty sky. —The Creation of Éa”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

“My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it.”

“We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains.”

“Go on and do your work. Do it well. It is all you can do.”

Ursula K. Le Guin On ‘Starting Late’ as a Writer





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2018 or Happy New Year….running a little late.

New Year!

New Me!
Nope, just the old me with new socks…
Ahh well
I am a little more honest in my resolutions nowadays….I mean (eyes wide open) What could I possibly improve on?
Humility you say? 
Just kidding.
There is Much room for improvement but that does not happen by List. Although Lord knows I have tried.
I have created some truly awe inspiring lists….but that’s an obsession / story for another day.
Here’s what I know for sure about me in 2018:
  • There will be writing, there will be a new book out soon (or two!). 
  • There will be traveling and tea and the worst ever puns. There will be sarcasm and tears and laughter and Prosecco and dark chocolate hidden in the desk drawers for “emergencies”.
  • There will be lists.
  • Oh yes…..there WILL be lists.
Wishing you all the best and brightest of 2018 
and, above all, I wish everyone Peace.
~ Jaye
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It’s right there….there.

My hands could clutch it and I could run run run


not looking behind because,

as everyone knows,

that’s when you fall,

that’s when the monsters get you…


you are the monster.

So close I could smell it,

almost taste it.

There’s no one looking,

no camera blinking,

could this be the moment?

But once again I think too long,

and too crookedly,

thinking around corners that aren’t geometrically possible.

Over thinking would be a relief…

What I do is full immersion think.

I don’t just dream in the language,

I thirst and anguish and stomachache and breathe in and out

in the language of a fallen world,

which – so far – hasn’t even twitched yet,

but in my farseeing head has already burned,

the ashes smudging my face and collecting in my throat

the cough shaking my already trembling frame…


And still,

it hangs there before my eyes.

And all the planning and practice and preparation,

and fear,

in the world,

won’t budge it…

Unless I lift my hand.

Until I lift my hand.







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Alone in the Room


Look at me!
they cry
waving to the music
and the laughter…
I’m alone in a room.

The party is always in another place,
the welcome mat is never outside of my door.
My mailbox is empty,
and when I don’t open the curtains for three days
and have learned to live without the light,
no one notices.
Once in a while I find a place on the couch
near the music and the wine,
try to absorb and blend
and relax.
But when the smile starts to hurt,
and the tears threaten
to fall,
too fast and too often,
I know that I’m better off,
 back in the room,
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A Jolly Good Fellow

For he’s a jolly good fellow…


Everyone knows he’s a great guy,

it’s just his humor,

you’re too sensitive

you’re too emotional

and why were you there then,

why were you wearing that

and what did you think would happen?

For he’s a jolly good fellow…


It’s a mans world, 

a dog eat dog world,

you need to toughen up,

lighten up,

learn to take a joke,

just a joke,

it’s just a joke…

Boys will be boys. 

A woman’s place, 

a woman’s burden, 

a women’s prerogative is to change her mind

but that doesn’t mean we have to listen heh heh… 

Her lips said no but her eyes told me yes.

Which nobody can deny…

Don’t hit your pretty little head on that glass ceiling,

it might muss your hair,

and while you’re at it can I get some coffee.


You’re too hot to be single,

sweetie honey babe…

But I already bought you dinner,

you’re not a tease are you?

You’re not a feminist are you?

You’re not a dyke are you? You are? Can I watch?

Which nobody can deny…

Calm down.



Jeez is it that time of the month?

I warned her…

She was warned.

She was Warned.

For he’s a jolly good fellow,

And so say all of us…



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