Sunburst Orange Safety

                                 photo 1                                             Right here I’ve been. Five years, or six? I lost track. From this chair. In this room. I recover, over and over. I type days and days, novelties. My view, the intimate, safe space where I am free. To be. The color I am. Black circular with the pinpoint hole starving for the light. Sick, oh yeah. I have been that. Not today. Today I am less unwell. I am sunburst orange,  slightly out of focus. The sun is out. Time to teak the lounge chairs. Put away summer season. This room I love, this space can wait.


'One Times Four' Georgia Pine.

Maybe I overthink it. Maybe I’m the fidgety, free-spirit bound by an overweighted body, so yes I do. I overthink it.

Perhaps, I think too much. Anticipating the one thousand steps in front of me, stuck inside the tens of thousands behind my back. I don’t know. I can’t fix the past, weave a sparkle plenty doll future where the waters remain oh so calm, indigo swaying temperate.

I. don’t. know. I call it straight, as I see it. Then, there are the convoluted thoughts, ice cubes smashing angry against the glass. We’re all connected, until we’re not.

Simplistic words of a child.

Until they’re the heartbreaking sounds, gut wrenching final good-bye from a beloved.

The precious one, we can not, will not, refuse to exist without. I overthink it, how could I not.

The Vast Landscape and GEORGIA PINE. symbiotic, extensions of my time here.



-excerpt from GEORGIA PINE.

by Jacqueline Cioffa


Georgia pulled the rocker close to her grandfather’s, almost touching. She needed to be near, reassured by the sounds of his breathing. Side by side, gliding back and forth. She had nowhere to go, nowhere she’d rather be. Mostly, she rocked while he nodded off. He was her most favorite person. She refused a life without him. Georgia knew what was coming. Maxine wasn’t the only one with a gift, she didn’t brag. Her grandmother was a fading memory, but Georgia could still recall the tight squeeze of her hand. How overtired giggly they got when she tucked her in. Harry whispered secrets in her ear.

8/8/14 Global Meditation for Peace


Two human silouhettes meditating in front of the earth by night




8/8/14. Global Meditation for Peace.




Is happening today, around the globe. Set your best intentions, positive healing thoughts. Many of us have more than enough, too much stuff. Excess is the new millennium philosophy. Take two minutes, a minute to meditate, pause and reflect. Children are being blown to smithereens, missiles shred civilian planes from the sky, war and chaos are the new comfort. Others (our brothers) suffer, while we sit comfortably watching the news on one of seven TVs, aghast. Grateful, this tragedy is not happening in ‘my insular world.‘ It is happening, indirectly. This is our collective planet, on lease for a short while.

8/8/14. Today, an army of peace warriors are sending light and good wishes into the universe. Hundreds of thousands strong. Be mindful.

Be aware.

Me too.

Peace prayer.



Gratitude. trinkets. family, spirits, best intentions, OM…<3 PEACE.

At Your Local Bookstore

Walking into my local bookstore with a stack of my books, was another scary, gratifying, humbling, indie author adventure. On a good day, I’m in sweats, zero makeup, typing away. When I started writing The Vast Landscape, I never expected the amazing, overwhelming, heartwarming, visceral response to Harrison, and her story. The book, my book sits on a bookshelf next to John Green, Donna Tartt, and yes, E.L. James, in excellent company. So, while I hate to dress, apply lips, concealer and blush, go out into the real world with my cardboard box of dreams, I do. In spite of the million and one reasons not to, insecurities, horrible PR & Marketing skills, hand tremors and anxiety. I do it because no one else can & my bestie tells me I have toBig dreams start small, one by one by one. I am Indie proud.

Support your local bookstore because, they’re smart.

BOOK SIGNING to follow… in Sept. O’yeah

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photo 3 c3e5d1d7bf47669de3423ad8cd72acca








Father of Mine

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Xmas, 1970. Santa brought a white doll house, with a blue roof topped with a shiny, gold bow. Wooden furniture and a funny man with kind, hazel eyes smiling at me, full of pride. I was 2. How could I remember? How could I know, dare to imagine, how full of happy this man would make me. This oh so amazing, lightning bolt father of mine. How magical growing up in our family would be, how jovial he would make it. He kept a solid roof over my head, our heads. Every single good I am came straight from his heart. He was Christmas, the Easter Bunny, Disney, the every hero in my bedtime stories. Being in his company never got old or monotonous. He taught me the most important lessons by example; be kind, be compassionate, be humble, don’t judge, keep it simple, give whenever, as much and wherever you can. Keep on giving, give it all away. Don’t boast, don’t ask, do it in secret. Because, you have more than you need. However much you have, share it. Don’t hold onto to things; grudges, ideas, envy, they won’t matter. Take care of your mother, she won’t ask but she’ll need you. How could I know, when he said goodbye forever, a lifetime of his love would not die. I miss him, my daddy. Me, the adult woman forty-four Christmas’ past. I miss the one who made life brighter, better, more meaningful than yesterday. He’s never far, lives in every wall, every memory, every room in our house. It might be impossible for a two-year old to remember playing doll house with her daddy, one long forgotten Christmas. It’s not impossible today. I recreate the dream, close my eyes and I am back there, on a shaggy, spotted, brown and yellow carpet by his side. He’s easy to remember, impossible to forget. I loved him before I ever knew I was capable of great big love, and I’ll love him every day after. My heart tells me so, and I am half a heart his precious baby, adored daughter. The other part belongs to her, my mother. And there’s plenty of room leftover. He showed me how to keep stretching, expanding the muscle.

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Happy Father’s Day, daddy. Thank you for teaching my heart how to smile, for loving me  so complete, so big, so much better than I could’ve asked for.


Drowning, on Repeat

I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord

the dark squashes me in broad daylight

And I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, Oh Lord

big moments, big, big grandiose moments

important things

still waiting, still hoping, oh Lord

do you hear me, screaming

silent plea

Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord, oh Lord

faith is a five letter word hard to swallow

rocks, pebbles slice and cut going down

I bleed red same as you

Well, if you told me you were drowning

I’d jump in and regret it

I would not lend a hand

yeah, I would unwilling

hatred, tick embedded disease

I’ve seen your face before my friend

don’t have any

friends, strangers, foes, allies, enemies

who cares

But I don’t know if you know who I am

how could you, hide my face

so complicated, hard to navigate

Well, I was there and I saw what you did

everything I thought true

wrong, wrong, wrong

big moments don’t come

I saw it with my own two eyes

I misunderstood, got it wrong oh Lord

I did that, sole responsible

I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life, oh Lord

keep waiting, hope dwindling

fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight

Lord can’t save me now, joker, charlatan

penny player

all in

thick of it

Stranger to you and me

DRUMROLL, Phil Collins

Play, repeat

Oh Lord, I forgot

love that song

Phil Collins, In The Air Tonight partial lyrics

copyright Drummerworld



“It all comes back to a red metal bench in the woods on a small hill by a nothing- special pond. The air is sweet and wet and fall is here for now. Ducks sleep near the brisk, damp water waiting to take flight to sunnier places, offering no solution. I shiver and squirm in my own discomfort, clenching the bench, determined to will myself better. I’ll sit there god damn it, you fucking divine coxsucker, I’m as stubborn as you, until there is something to look forward to. I’m not pretending rosy and cheery just maybe a hint of curiosity.”

-excerpt The Red Bench by Jacqueline Cioffa



Something Beautiful

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Because life is hard enough.

Everyone deserves something beautiful. I was never the girl who liked flowers.

I discovered I loved digging in the dirt instead, leaving the hidden seed behind.

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Waiting a full, grueling season, wondering which plant and flower had survived the gray freeze of a long, biting winter.

Just like one hundred cycles before, the sun reappears. I wonder if the flowers will thrive long after I’m gone. 

I do this for me, not money or fame. Just like the words I lovingly leave on the page. 

To create, a little something magical.

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Because everyone deserves a taste of beautiful.

Because life is hard at times.

Life is beautiful and hard enough.

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I am no different.

I am so very different from before.


Oddities of a world, in free fall.

Every thing is change. 

The Vast Landscape.



Gotta keep up. 


So they say.

Who are they?


Hush now.

Walking away.