I Remember

I remember trying, 

spending time in the mirror and inspecting my walk, 

striding towards then away,

pulling in my stomach,

never admitting to lip hair removal.

Trying to learn eyeliner and to walk in new shoes.

I remember when it mattered 

but I can’t remember the way it felt.

And now I’m full of avoiding eyes,

 and mondays,

and silent screaming conversations in my head

with people who stare at me across tables 

in meetings I don’t belong in,

and breakfast cereals that are healthy,

and dreams that end in tears. 

I am made of spilled nail polish on satin,

and sweat stains,

and clothes that don’t fit right,

and lies that I can’t swallow,

and wanting, 

just once,

to have the words ready when I need them,

and bad breath and never


getting the joke.

And I wish it was 


and I wish it was 


and I wish it was


but that monday feeling is where I live now. 

I remember trying…

but I can’t remember why.





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Spite Houses

The world has become intertwined,
a neighborhood of spite houses,
with border guards under every rock,
peering in every window,
sifting through your trash,
and ripping bits from tossed out letters to wave in vicious triumph.
They stand watch for the mutant
and burn bits of petulance like coal.
Living in a spite house you learn to ignore the damp, the derision and the restraints
(pretty bracelets made of steel)
and the binding may be thin
 like glue poured on your hands
but it pulls tight as it dries and soon the cracks appear.
Calm down.
Can’t you take a joke?
Virtual guardians, 
curators of your opinion,
and standard bearers of the Right 
and Good
according To the Holy Writ of (my)Self.
And those voices raised for clarity
in self defense
and courage
are shot down with flaming arrows.
And as they struggle feebly on the ground
are told it was for their own good.
The sky is too big
too important
for you to fly in unaccompanied
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I Lock the Door

I lock the door upon myself and swallow any cries

and beat the walls with fists made strong with resolve

for I do not want this life of richness

of feelings

of a constant cacophony of want

any longer.

I envy the stoic rock with water battering against it,

 and massive gnarled roots that hold fast in raging winds,

and I want the breaking to be clean and complete,

and the blood to cool,

and quiet,

and quiet…

Until I can stand behind my sealed and barred doors

in statue like silence,

and feel only what little has been left behind,

like smoke,

like salt rings. 

And perhaps someday I may lean against the locked door,



and let it hold me up.



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Bigger Than You

It was the first day of autumn

and the bright air was hardly stirring

when I was caught, red handed, being bigger than you.

And my turtle reflex must have been broken,

for I did not pull back in time to save myself,

and I was judged and found guilty and charged,

swift as a sparrow.

And I should have learned my lesson,

that day,

should have been silent and small with shame,

but the lens shifted and fell,

and through the cracks I saw

that I really was bigger.

And could no longer hear the peevish pounding of your tiny gavel

because I was miles above…

And there was a strange emptiness in my head

that I am slowly filling with better words.

Bigger words.

Beautiful, buoyant words.


It was the first day of autumn,

and the bright air was rising,

and the words were expanding

flying like kites.

And I should have learned my lesson,

that day,

but the kites took my notes and my painstaking homework and scattered it to the winds.

And they laughed until I had to also

with my arms open wide…

And I no longer sit still,

and quiet,

and small.



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Book Snobbery, Fairy Tales and Reality

Book Snobbery, Fairy Tales and Reality





“The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in.” ― W.H. Auden

“In a utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should be respected.” (Frauds on the Fairies, 1853)” ― Charles Dickens, Works of Charles Dickens

“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.” ― Albert Einstein


I was “that child”, the one who wanted fairy tales and magic to be real. As far back as I can remember I dreamed about having supernatural powers (always good of course…well, almost always) having carpets that flew, potions that could transform anyone or anything, the ability to speak to animals. I never understood why Darren and Samantha worked so hard at concealment. Or why Jeannie didn’t dump the Major and go back to live with the Djinn….I mean, LOOK at the decor!!!! Who wouldn’t rather have scarves and pillows and elaborate brass lamps instead of that godawful avocado and mustard vibe?

Music for a fairy tale. Click me.

Music for  fairy tales. Click me.

Books fueled this. Small witches, talking mice, flying nannies, rings and boxes and mysterious rooms and islands all combined in a grand and glorious stew. Why couldn’t I have a wizard for a teacher? (maybe I would have learned math) Why couldn’t bullies simply be turned into flowerpots? Alas, eventually the adulting creeps in. And people stop being indulgent about your whimsy. And your imagination….

You stop inviting your friends over to play make believe. Or, at least, they stop accepting. And you are encouraged to put away childish things. To accumulate the right kind of books….improving books. High tone books. Books with Purpose. The wishing frogs and tall towers and magic mirrors are packed away… Book Snobbery. Where Fantasy books in the annoying “Y.A.” category are barely tolerated. Stuff and Nonsense.(keeping it G rated here. I expect points…) Children should be encouraged to read whatever they reading-on-the-buswant and adults should enjoy the same free pass. You should be proud of displaying your book on the bus whether you are reading Kafka or Twilight. There are life lessons to be found in fantasy. Fairy tales teach you that sometimes bad things do happen. (The original version of some of the most beloved and well known can be a bit brutal.

For example, the Ugly Stepsisters in Cinderella actually cut their toes off to fit into the slipper. Kiddiewinkle Disney this ain’t.. ) But good and kind usually triumph. Sometimes help can come from unexpected areas. And there is always a way out of the woods. I do live in the real world. Drive. Work. Pay taxes. Cook, clean, shop. Watch the political situation (although “real” and politics lately….never mind) When I sit at a stop light I do not think a gnome is changing the colors. I rarely look for dragons. But I still yearn for them. Magic is everywhere and everything. It may not have glittery wings, it may not be vanquished with a sword, there might not be a house dropped on it or a incantation spoken…..but it is here.

Writers poets, artists, storytellers; all know this on some level. Even if we disguise it.The human imagination is ancient. The roots of stories are found far back in oral traditions and the tales were only modified later to make them illustrations of good versus evil. We do research, we discuss, we delve and write learned papers. We collect quotes and materials, and most importantly buy the books buy the books buy the books…. Books are the real magic. The tangible, in your hands, in your face, take you wherever you want to go – Magic. Read it. Whatever the cover, whatever the rating.

If you like it, read it. Do not let any house of cards pompous proclamation tell you it’s wrong. Secretly we are looking for the elves. We want there to be fairies in the garden. We never see a shooting star without wishing. And if you are very, very lucky. You will never lose that. For the Silo, Jaye Tomas.  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8915242.Jaye_Tomas


Engaging thousands online since Spring 2010 – influencing others by learning about ourselves – Lifestyle, Culture, Sci-Tech. Read outside the box.

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Silver Threads

Silver Threads ~

Silver threads caught the light

and disappeared into a shifting pattern

of flowers and vines and a garden

held taut and dust free against the wall forever.

And people filed past it and looked and wondered

where was the garden?

And where is the silver light pouring over it

coming from?

And how can I get there?


Silver threads crackled along the sides of

the mirror lying in a broken pile of old reflections.

And people gazed at it and shook their heads

and tutted about bad luck and seven years,

but no one wondered

where the light went when it cracked?

No one was there to catch it as it poured out

and no one knows how could it be put back…


Silver threads multiply amidst the brown

and I no longer have to strain to see them.

They encroach kudzu-like along my face and neck

and my eyes reflect my gleaming.

And I wonder why the years appear silver?

Or if it is just the light in me overflowing?

And if I can catch it,

cup my hands and share it,

with people who have too much darkness…



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Thank you!

It’s JAAAANE DOUGHERTY!!! Great writing / reading – if you haven’t met her before, today is the day! Always worth your time.

Jane Dougherty Writes

Yesterday the final book in The Pathfinders went on general release. I have been touched by the support of my lovely blogger friends. There’s not much I can do by way of thanks except to give a few books away.

If you have enjoyed reading Abomination and would like to read what happens next, I can offer you a review copy of the second volume Devastation.


If you’re undecided about whether or not you want to jump down that wormhole, I suggest you read this excerpt first. (just click on the image)

Pete's Story

If you have read Abomination and it wasn’t your cup of tea but you’d like to sample something from The Green Woman, you can download this short story set in her world.

Security alert future

If you have read Security Alert and feel you could cope with some more, I’d be pleased to let you have a copy of The Dark…

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