The Elephants Graveyard

It’s a new moon in the elephants graveyard,

and the procession approaches with a thudding grace

 felt underfoot,

a ripple along the viscera.

And the trees rise black and sharp against the pewter sky,

and the bones

lie piled in solemn spacings,

all deckled edges and memory pressed,

as the moon stands silent sentinel overhead.

It’s a new moon in the elephants graveyard

and the packed earth rumbles in recognition

as the memory keepers close around.

The wise eyes dark with the burden of years,

the air full of tears and longing, 

even the hills sigh as they pass,

the ghosts following like pale mourners,

and the morning will rise only after it is certain,

that their time of committal is done.




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Some new friends for Mr Fray

#sendmeyourfaces  #friendsofmrfray



image1Mr Fray in artwork!


‘Mr. Fray’ is available at Amazon the world over!

and don’t forget to… 


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Show Me Your Faces!

Mr Fray is making friends far & near….



#showmeyourfaces  #friendsofmrfray

‘Mr Fray’ by Jaye Tomas is available at Amazon.





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Genre Wars

I knew this would happen….but I just didn’t think it would be this fast. As anyone who follows me knows, I recently launched my first children’s book ‘Mr. Fray’, the story of a grumpy hedgehog. It was quite a departure from my previous books of poetry, I grant you that. But my muse is not a gracious lady draped in shimmering robes and scattering helpful ideas like rose petals. More the overcaffeinated Miss Trunchbull type.

Anyway, the inspiration for the book came to me when I was gifted a raggedy looking stuffed hedgehog. I immediately christened him Mr Fray because he looked frayed (ahhh…the amazing power of the brain huh?) I had no plan, the story just kind of whomped out to my surprise – mine actually most of all.

Most of the people who have given feedback were lovely, and seemed to be enjoying the story. And then………

**insert Jaws theme music here**

What right do I have trying to bludgeon (bludgeon? really?) my way into kids books? 

Don’t I realize how overcrowded that genre is already?

And…my favorite (grimacing) so far….



I wasn’t aware of trying to kid anyone. Brilliant thing that I am….pulling the wool over your eyes by POSTING ABOUT IT and USING MY NAME. 

I also wasn’t aware that the genre you begin in locks you in for all eternity. (she typed sarcastically)


As always, the wonderful support and humor and feedback from most people is amazing and humbling. 

There is always a troll lurking somewhere, I hope it just makes me appreciate all the good people more. Hugs all ’round.


Genre Traitor
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TA DA! The moment you have all been waiting for…………(with apologies to Monty Python)

Please allow me to introduce you to….



My new (and only so far) childrens book featuring a cranky, grumbling, yet goodhearted hedgepig. (no, there is NOTHING autobiographical about this. Honestly….I have never, not once, been a hedgehog. heh…heh)

Followers of this blog, my previous books and other scribblings will know that this is a new type of writing for me…



But I was inspired by this little guy:


and I ran with it…and never looked back.

I approached a wonderful artist and showed her the outline of the story and she created the amazing images you will find in the book. Angelise Tomasino brought Mr. Fray to life and he is more than I had dreamed of. That’s what a brilliant artist can do for you. So applause please for the lady….she done good.

I know….I know….I know what you are thinking;

“Jaye…..your usual kind of poetry isn’t remotely child-friendly, how did this happen?”

And I will answer you honestly.

I haven’t a clue.

Maybe as I said before (or above) its was just time for…..


It happens! Sometimes it’s good to step out of the box. Sometimes you need to try, even if it isn’t comfortable. Sometimes you need to say….



Moving swiftly along….

Anyway, please get acquainted with Mr. Fray and his friends. I hope you like him.

I do.

Mr Fray is available at Amazons all over the world!

There will also be a giveaway soon….so watch this space!








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He fell to earth,

 and when the breath returned to his body, 

he stared,

 wincing at the sky in disbelief,

and had to decide

to live,

or topple over into panic,

chafing at his human mask,

something to hide behind,

as he adjusted to the heavy air.

Janus had two faces and he wore them like a crown,

but this was no god and more than one version of himself,

 left him confused,

his senses rambling in and out of coherence.

He kept forgetting the right words and his lip sync fell and broke.

“Who will rid me of this turbulent body?”

he cried, 

culling the words from old pages and hoping

the cantrip would work.

Moving uneasily,


through the night, 

hiding from the car lights that slowed when he came into view,

feeling the minutes drop like dying leaves,

he wondered,

if any slight of hand would win the game, 

rigged so long ago,

and convince this odd, turquoise planet

to shrug him off of her skin.


He fell to earth,

a being who was never supposed to know decent,

and the ground covered him after a time,

when he finally stopped fighting the press and weight of it.

And the breath left him in a small, bare wind

scattering leaves and lifting away,

answering a distant call,

answering much too late.

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I close my eyes and reach down,

deep inside myself, 

where it’s quiet,

        for a while,

but the deeper I go the louder it gets. 

The air bends around me squeezing my face

 as the thoughts I hide so carefully from

bloom sticky and black in front of my eyes,

and I panicgrab at the fading pieces of reflected light wondering

why they change colors,

and why they weep, 

and try to ignore the bent and rusting hooks,

that seize with greed,

stringing a feast of regret like forgotten laundry.

And I see that the broken spaces have filled themselves

with any jumble sale junk

strong enough to keep the walls from closing in, 

from taking the flower bouquets of happy memories with them,

to burn as an offering.

I weave the last of the wilting flowers into my hair and pull myself up,

 inch by inch,

knowing I never should have gone back,

knowing that the deep inside is made of teeth

 and crooking fingers that beckon but do not welcome,

and will not leave me in the same condition as when,

I took that moment hostage,

and closed my eyes,





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