Guest host for poetry prompt





This past week I was invited to host one of my favorite prompts over in Twitter land. Because of my never ending love of poetry, my addiction really, I participate regularly in poetry prompts on twitter. From the very beginning I discovered with participating in them I was without a doubt finding another outlet to build my characters through the emotions I was exploring through the poems I would create.  And to have to write a poem in 140 characters or less, I was finding  I needed to be resourceful with my word choice. As a result I was leaving out those uncessessary wors like the pesty “just”  or “that”which are like monkeys on a unseasoned writer’s back.

So thanks to the lovely MadStormQueen who started the Madverse prompt, I was able to observe over a twenty-four hour period the creations of many many talented poets armed with the same words I gave them to create a poem. A freaking mazing does not do it justice. I was blown away by all the submissions. Below, following my two submissions,  are just a few of my favorites that really stood out to me that were submitted. Enjoy and thanks for reading!







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Sneeky Peek at Six Seconds

Just so ya’ll know the book AKA Six Seconds, AKA the third installment in the Full Throttle Series really exists…ahem. I’m pimping out the playlist that I’ve blowed the hell up while writing this story of Cash and Dani. I mean hello, Holt’s brother?!? And Dani is a hot mess. I’m still trying to figure out if her and Niki are gonna get along. These ladies are as different as night and day but for having one thing in common. They got a thing for a Maddox.

Note Rob Zombie shows up a few times here. He’s like my Poe to music ya’ll. Feel good, bat shit crazy kinda music. Makes for the best scenes!

Enjoy! And I promise…it’s coming. Oh…and here’s a pic that  offers much inspiration for Dani. She is almost too much for me to handle at times. Oye.




Date Night with Ghosts


So, I have this friend. Great guy. Even has a cool nickname. Rocki. Totally gonna use that name in a book one day. Except it’ll likely be a kickass female MMA fighter or a drag racer. So Rocki, much like me has always had an interest in the paranormal. Well he took it to the next level by joining a local group, The Coastal Virginia Paranormal Group  and began ghost hunting.

He’s shared with me his experiences on his hunts including the photograph below (look out the window, lower center…see the face?!?)  he snapped at the group’s headquarters, The Ferry Plantantion House which of course has its own share of resident ghosts with a lot to say. To say I have been impressed would be an understatement. From the recordings he’s made (what the serious hunters refer to as EVP’S ) to the images he’s managed to catch, to simply listening to his own personal accounts, I easily found myself on the edge of my seat (okay one night I’ll admit under my covers….that picture scared me dude!)


Upon hearing my excitement and knowing my interest in the undead and everything in between (minus zombies…I don’t get down with them..*gasp*) Rocki poses this question. So Jen why don’t you come along one night. Meet the group. Do a hunt with us. It’ll be fun, he says. You’ll like it, he says. You’ll without a doubt get addicted, he says. And what do I say without hesitation? Hell yes! Count me in! Should I bring the popcorn? Wait what????

So here I am, one week away from my  date with Casper and his cousins. No not really. These are refined ghosts. Of historical importance. Hmmm, I wonder if one of them is hot? To say I’m a little nervous is well not cutting the corn. Yes, I just had a Children of The Corn vision. I’m all over the place freaking out. I mean come on Jen, you’re the one breathing dude. What could they possibly do to you??? Note to self. No horror flicks for the rest of the week….Truly though, I’m excited…and scared shitless. I’m such a talker. Bring it, Whitey. Wait that’s not racist is it?  I’m equally scared black or white yo.

Okay, so seriously, seriously, focus Jen. I’m quite looking forward to this opportunity not only to meet what I’ve been told by Rocki to be a great group of people who bring forth their individual talents and interest to paranormal activity but also an amazing backdrop for the night, The Ferry Plantation House. I’m a history and architecture geek too so this house….a 1830 Federal style farm house (see where I’m going with the Children of the Corn reference) with history dating back as far as 1642, surely comes with alot of back story AND I’m being told the home of not one, not two but ELEVEN ghosts!  I can’t wait to learn more about it, meet this amazing group and maybe actually have a paranormal experience. Say a prayer for me. And if you know any good know, just in case. Wand at the ready.

Ferry Plantation House  Circa 1830






you gave me the key
to finding your every destructive ability

the waves i found upon that dark path
like a crashing flood of your own blood bath

with courage and my love for you
I pushed through it, knowing I needed to

for without embracing that history
your  actions would have remained a mystery

but when i let myself go there
I found my own darkness and despair

so I turned to you my friend, seeking the same end

how empty and betrayed I feel when you say
I can’t help you, find your own way

Infected-a short


In the silence its breeding ground she knew. How it twisted it’s coils about her. A ticking time bomb she was. The pounding of the clock as the seconds passed. Each one resounding her torture. Just a few more moments and it would be over. Quieting the demons, eyes dead ahead, head high, determined not to succumb to its weighing strength. Voices about but in muffled bursts of excitement. For her attention, her concentration only on him.

She knew when he was coming. She could smell the remnants of the soap he likely scrubbed himself down with repeatedly from fear. And the fear, he wreaked of it. But it was different. Almost intoxicating to her. Not vile like the others. Not hatred or desire to destroy, but simply intoxicating. Her veins, they floated in a way, in his direction. The pain diminishing ever so slightly but it was enough for her to notice that first time he appeared. And it was for that reason his presence captivated her each and every time he came.

As he got closer the tapping of fingers along metal off in the distance grated in her head. Squinting her eyes, shifting her head back and forth in an uncontrollable rage, she heard his footsteps falter. Sucking in a breath, tasting the stale air, she closed her eyes and counted to now what took ten seconds before she could tranquilize the noise from her mind. Each day seemed to take longer but she avoided thinking of it.

She opened her eyes to find him peering upon her with hesitation his face revealed. And as she forced herself to sit still his gaze changed, softening into a courteous smile. He was the only one really that was nice to her in this cesspool and for that small fact, she was thankful. He began his walk again towards her and she fought back the need to reach out to him. Such an odd sense of reaction she thought.

He reached for the chair next to her bed, the metal scraping against the floor, again filling her with rage but with him near, somehow she gained the power to push it away. She noticed then for the first time that he had a book in his hands and upon sitting down, the sound of the spine cracking as he opened it left her teetering, gritting her teeth. But she focused on his actions. This was new. He’d never done this before. Or at least, not that she could remember. Some days seemed to fade into the next and her mind, it played tricks on her.

He sat in silence which baffled her yet continued to captivate her. And then without notice he stood and almost whispered, “I’ll be back tomorrow my love,” placing the book in her hands and then was gone. As she sat in silence, she peered down at the book, its pages full of images of a girl, a beautiful girl.







These early morning thoughts before coffee. I never know where my mind is going to take me. This morning with the television on in the background I hear a documentary about wolves. And like often times, something so simple can trigger something so groundbreaking.

When I was a teen I can recall it began. My fascination with wolves. I could not soak in enough of these misunderstood beasts and even took to collecting figurines to adorn my bedroom with. Yes, amongst those Teen Beat posters strewn across my walls of omg he’s so hot boys, was my quickly growing obsession with wild animals. Oh yeah my friends totally got that…not…My first true sense of refusing to conform. I just didn’t realize it.  It wasn’t intentional.  But truly is it ever? Are we just not being true to ourselves?  I guess at the time I didn’t really go full circle with why I was so attracted to them but now as an adult, looking back, I get it. At least *chuckling* I think I do. Sometimes I’m even too weird for my own self.

These magnificent creatures as I said living among the wild have always been misunderstood. Free spirited, untamed and undoubtedly impossible to be tamed. Because the world did not understand them, their anything but consistent behaviors, they were deemed dangerous. Make shift fences built to keep them away for fear of killing livestock. Laws created to ensure the decline in their reproduction. Overall humanity feared them and still do. Natural born killers they say.

Really? Wait for it…

Ignoranace is not bliss. It is archaic. It is irresponsible. It is living in a box, afraid to except diversion. Afraid of the unknown. Because you don’t understand it, it must be bad. People suck.

Me, my writing and overall my personality…I relate very much to the wolf. I’m a textbook introvert. Big shocker I know.  I have a hard time conforming  to a certain style. I find myself all over the map when it comes to things I’m interested in. My music, art, reading, the way I dress, my writing. Pretty much everything. I am in essence a hybrid I suppose.

And with that feeling comes a sense of not really belonging in one place. I have struggled with this my entire life.  I find myself at times now trying to fit in. Trying to conform. Trying to be “normal”. Over obsessing with what people think. All the while, inside, the wolf cries.

I have so many different aspects of me that I keep hidden. Simply put, from fear of being misunderstood. That is why I write. That is where my poetry is born. That is where the shit show of characters in my head comes to life. And none of them or my words have a filter. I cuss. I’m obsessed with sentence fragments and these puppies right here … are my bff’s. Straight up I’m different and for the most part I’m cool with that.

A lot of us introverts I’m sure relate to the wolf. I’m certain I’m not alone. Out there in the shadows you are lurking. Just shoveling along. Doing your thing, not giving a fuck or doing your thing wishing you understood why you are the way you are. It’s a roller coaster for me sometimes. Some days I beat myself up for being this way- Not literally, truly I’m a wimp. I can play some mad soccer though-Then sometimes I relish in my diversion and thank my lucky stars I’m not living in a box, staring at the world with rose colored glasses.

I guess the moral to my morning rant is don’t be afraid to howl. Do your thing. Don’t lose sense of yourself. Don’t let anyone convince you to be otherwise. We are all different, yet bleed the same. And on a side note but albeit very important one, if you so desire, check out the wolf. In some places it’s threat of extinction is quite real. We can’t let these beautiful creatures die can we?

Thanks for reading.







Cocky Confessions: Holt Maddox of Shifting Gears by Jenny Hayut

Today Jenny Hayut’s Holt Maddox from Shifting Gears in the hot seat. Tell us about your woman and how you met. Nicolette owned my heart from the moment I saw her  swaying her hips in that chair lis…

Source: Cocky Confessions: Holt Maddox of Shifting Gears by Jenny Hayut



how easy it was to fall under his spell

with each encounter it only grows

where darkness shows me a light

forging my voice with every need,

spilling my darkest of desires

yet like a poison it finds me in silence

this seemingly distorted sense of reality

I’m left tripping on

piercing my veins


desperate to hold onto any sane moment

that remains amongst voices of doubt

and yet still all I can imagine,

all that filters my mind

is when his hands will seek me out again

my poison, my pleasure my pain

my every waking moment….
















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