Tag Archives: LIT

Training Wheels and Little Blond Curls #StolenMoments


From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive.


Training Wheels and Little Blond Curls

Jacqueline Cioffa 1998

Oh little girl

Stop for a minute

Let me enjoy your youth

Your radiance

The sheer innocence of fearlessness

Can I ride with you just one more time?

On your bike with training wheels

Let me float free on your back

As you learn to glide without safety wings

Don’t fret and don’t be afraid

Your youth will never leave you

She’ll grow on with you

As you and I both grow up


Light of Orbs


Do you believe in signs? I try. I want to. Some days they’re impossible to ignore.

I have a funny kind of feeling we’ve been here, lived this place before.

Maybe not in the same order, geography or circumstance. I don’t know, maybe not at all says the practical parts to me.

I’m pretty sure we won’t remember.

I’m quite certain the people I have loved deeply, who have loved me fiercely remain infinitely an existential part of my spirit.

One can hope.

Then again maybe I shouldn’t believe in this world, but a different one where pain tastes like cotton candy, death is celebrated with dance and joy, planes don’t crash into the side of mountains but glide on love. Heinous evil, racism, hatred, fear, greed, guilt are words no longer recognized or used in our vocabulary.

“We are made of star stuff.” Carl Sagan

I love that quote, it represents the fortuitous impossibility we are.

I look for them, the signs.

I do.

I can’t help but want them to be true.

Truth is universal, truth always wins.

The signs help make sense of the free-floating chaos swirling over, above, under and straight through us.

“Humans presume their orbs are unique, very different, when in fact they are not, they remain very much the same. The only variants are in shape, color and size.” – Jacqueline Cioffa

The quotes, imagination and creative worlds they live inside.

The orbs came yesterday in the form of magnificent, silver-light reflection shimmering atop the ripples of crisp blue waters.

I felt serene, almost happy.

I searched ‘orbs’ for a quote from “Georgia Pine” on my Kindle.

Funny, OTB came up instead.

Not funny at all, not to me.

My dad was a lover of the betting the horses and frequent OTB visitor. Like almost daily and I shared his great big, gambling fool heart.

The best of me lives in the orbs I have known and the signs, well…

The signs might not always be there, the sun will eventually die and burn out.

I am predestined to be star-dust set free.


Carl Sagan 

GEORGIA PINE http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T270L88


“Because of you, Opal, after decades of hiding in place behind other people’s faces and names, she longed for a space she could belong. Because of you, Opal, X pitied herself a little less. Because of you, Opal, born sparkly, fire beautiful and quartz strong.”

GEORGIA PINEcb9513868b9528b7066beea4e259a16d

THE VAST LANDSCAPE Paperback Giveaway


“The Vast Landscape” Giveaway is happening now on Jackie Cioffa’s Facebook author page.

Click the Rafflecopter link for a chance to win a free, signed paperback copy.

Because sharing is cool. Good luck!


#’Post-it’ and pass on

‘She was jet-black slick, piercing blue eyes Black Irish’

vast landscape

“The Vast Landscape” is not a book, it’s my sacred truths. The poignant, gut-wrenching 50,000 word love letter to myself. A birth. The restorative breath, choppy inhale and liberating exhale one only understands from their monumental mistakes, regrets, joys and pains.


“Georgia Pine” is the excruciating reality of the tedious average that happens somewhere in the middle. The horrible understanding that your parents will die, you will indeed follow and there is more pain in this one life than imagined. It’s the realization that you do not have enough time or too much to fix all the unfixable.

In the works…


“EverGreen” is no longer about you or me, perhaps it never was. Nature belongs to the knots on the tree trunks and the brief cycles we visit. The old woman staring down at swollen, purple veined hands that hold all the love and regret in arthritic, curled fingers. She is me fifty years from now, saying hello and good-bye from a solitary, vacant room gazing out the chipped, cracked windowpane. Whittling away the wee hours.

THE VAST LANDSCAPE is not a Trilogy for me, but a life come full-circle.

If given the choice, how would I choose this life.

If given the choice would I ask God for a small favor?

Go easier on me this time around, just a tiny request.

In utero we map out our time here from the precise moment we breathe in,

and into whose arms we begin.

Choose well, he tells me choose well.

I chose love how could I possibly go wrong?

Love hurts, he says.

Next time I’ll choose smarter, richer, better.

Who am I kidding, next time I’d choose the very same.

And live it again.

So, are we done?

Not quite, he whispers.

Can we get to this thing called living, forever impatient?

You are.