All works copyrighted and previously published by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Hello from Lola. And Happy Halloween. My kids are excited about trick-or-treat tonight: Candy, candy, candy. While I break from making finishing touches on their costumes, I am posting some of my poems and stories for Halloween. I am the new person here
Author: Lola Gentry-Dey
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Inhabited between wild things, wonderful things, Who Am I? No longer a main priority, no longer stapled to a better forever determining worth and future. I Am the problems I’m not letting go of. I Am the energy and struggle to do better in this Magical universe, reincarnate
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Too many people stomping around— fractured herds mucking the rivers, shitting the highways, killing the grass. They think they know when they don’t. They rode lame in a hot race and wept when their HellCat lost. Now they cry from twit-faces in their concrete castles filled with Eisenhower
Photography by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. The other day I found a treasure of old photos, some of my old blog posts I’d saved on Microsoft Word, and a plethora of unfinished poetry. Since then, I’ve been rescuing my blog posts and adding them to my site. I deleted those old posts years ago
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. It was here one night among white blossoms and junipers that we lay touching while the rest of the world snored in their small beds. We breathed frost words to breezes on branches breathing deeply in the deep woods with no earthly destination hidden behind the pulse of
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. The boy who lost his mother gnarled like a bear— tough bear he. But away from the bestial he had softness in his eyes— they laughed even when he and his words were sharp and sometimes ambiguous. He showed the plumpness of his belly to his closest friends
Oil painting by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Forgive my excitement if it seems like I’m bragging, but I’m excited right now with my latest accomplishment. I love it when a painting I do ends up well. That doesn’t happen often. But I stayed focused all the way. I’m sure it was because of my
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Earlier today shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men with sleek fast brand-new cars that rubbed and kissed their trousers and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness. Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats where stale memories surfaced and breathed new air striking deals in brown cubicles under the breath of fresh coffee.
Art by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. I took a “Drawing Cartoons” class when I was a kid because I used to draw them in my school notebooks when I was supposed to be paying attention to my teachers. I was a big daydreamer. Luckily, ADD wasn’t a big social issue then, so I was
Photography by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Is photography art? If so, when does a photograph become art? And who decides? Is it when we want a photograph framed and hanging in our homes that it becomes art? I’m considering adding some of my photography to this blog. But I’m undecided on whether to add
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. When I sleep you hide paralyzed in the shadows of my bed where your courage to live vanished long ago. In your world of mocking corpses you rub against me in wingless dreams and knitted walls and empty stares that run from the drum of my heart. You
Artwork by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. It feels good to blog again about my poems and art. Although I have been blogging since 1996, I feel like a stranger blogging again and reaching out and meeting new bloggers here at WordPress. I pen mostly free verse poetry—poems written in open forms sometimes called “Naked
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. I dream fear in radical light shape and shadow— our night sun and day moon know the blood sky the bone wind the muscle and flesh rain the earth-weight traps and prisons where our slippery slopes are built too high on circles of madness which I journey to often
A poet is a dreamer meditating on the reality of forging words into a fantasy of making love to the entire world. ~Lola
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. I journey often to faraway places, many anew, others revisited, spent with treasured friends, rare and unique— life is clever with good friends around us. First-run journeys take me like a child perhaps across rustic bridges, perhaps beyond orchard ways, likely to places to be seen with new
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Late in the valley at a house with her name on the door I writhe upstairs at the hall’s very end beating my pillow and lowing her name. It does not matter— her departure haunts me with the ghosts of our past and the angels that rode her
Geometric drawing by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. Here is an abstract-type self-portrait drawing from when I quit trying to fit in with others and learned how to fit in with me.
Short story by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. I awoke from my nap and remembered I was on a plane home to San Diego. I glanced around the low-lit cabin of thirteen other passengers, most of them asleep and a few with their heads bowed over some reading material. Across the aisle, my mother snored
Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. When I a child when I could, I voyaged out into your cool company— The coldness of boots pulled on at the doorstep before walking that large solitude of no cricket no owl, Walking with silent snow feet among birdless woods tossed among the taste of echoed blood
A dreamer is a poet whose words make love to the entire world I drift to sleep and dream moments with you at my side You hold me love me make me feel wanted and alive You are my secret places spent together meant for two me and you In my life I am one with you and
Beyond the valley sunsets through a nestled paradise for dreamers beside a crystal lagoon where the deep and green go my laughter embraces the wonders here My heart beats warm where waters flow from a sparkling waterfall I bathe away the devil and drown her in the quick I slumber on the stardust seldom ever
Forgive me for bragging but I was a recent recipient of the beautiful digital painting pictured here, a masterful piece of art by a talented artist at WordPress. See paintdigi. I’m very proud to have won, and excited that I’m allowed to reproduce it into a physical piece of art to hang in my house.
My blog is 4 months old and it already feels like a neglected child crying for attention. September has been a busy month here at the Dey residence with the transitioning of my children going back to school and getting them to pay attention to their new schedules. My oldest has been a champ at
A woman from a fishing village slaves in a sweatshop, making shirts for retail stores, selling them at low prices to help save shoppers money to spend at McDonalds after the Little League game tonight. She makes barely enough money to pay the rent of her shared one-bedroom apartment in the city where hucksters scramble
I reflect on and analyze my life when I am alone. I accept what I understand and discard the rest. My spirit cannot grow in confusion. ~Lola
Night falls swiftly on us— our lives are a flash in the sinking sun, ten thousand years of rebounded vibrations— I call it life but you call it hell. You steer my sight to the setting sun and tell me that it’s evening for us all— the night is silence: no more color, no Hawaiian
I think writing a satisfying ending, whether penning poetry or that epic novel, is the biggest challenge all writers face. ~Lola
I spent the weekend drawing and painting while my husband took the kids during the days for some bonding. After morning chores and I had the house to myself on Saturday, I relaxed and napped for a few hours before I scribbled and doodled in my sketchbook. I had so much fun at doing nothing
I admire textures and colors in a finished painting. They speak volumes about the art and artist. I think it’s an attraction I have to abstract design. ~Lola
A follower of this blog once asked if I have a favorite riddle. I do. My dad asked me when I was very young, “You throw away its outside and cook its inside. Then you eat its outside and throw away its inside. What is it?” I couldn’t figure out the answer. He asked me
I spent the past two days creating another blog. I must be crazy, right? I barely have time for this one! I finished designing the blog today, but I plan testing it before I post anything on it. This is my dream blog where everything I post there will be based on the dreams I
The month of July has been a personal appreciation of art. At the beginning of the month, I challenged myself to make one piece of art or create an artistic photograph for each day of the month. By a stroke of good luck, I accomplished that challenge, though I didn’t post every piece of art
Fires In Ashbarrels received a milestone today of 1,000 likes. That’s amazing! Thanks everyone; I’m honored by your kindness!
Finger painting. We’ve all done it. Wasn’t it fun? What more can I say about something that’s so simple to do, so relaxing, and brings so much fun to the table (or wherever you do art)? I paint with acrylic paints but I give my children colored yogurt to paint with. We paint with all
Let’s talk about manipulating digital images. That’s a real thorn for photography purists who hate even macro photography. But I don’t think there are any of those dinosaurs still around. I think every old photographer alive today has digitized their stock photos and then manipulated the hell out of them in Photoshop or other image-editing
The old woman hovers near the woodstove and drags a calloused hand across her crinkled forehead as if wiping away smoke and sweat. She pauses, looking; her eyes flash between her fingers and strike my soul. I feel her in my mind, looking, searching, all the while reading the history there. Where have I gone
Here are more photographs. Today’s theme is water. I have a deep love and respect for water. I grew up around it, lived on it, and traveled to some of its depths. If ever I were a fictional character, I would be a mermaid with the ability to have legs to walk the shore. Best
I am sharing some latest photographs after browsing some vacation files on my camera. Enjoy.
Light and shadow create form, which makes drawn or painted objects look three-dimensional. Too much of either one in your drawings or paintings flattens and distorts the images. Many early drawings I did were flat and distorted. It was frustrating and caused me to quit drawing. Then an art teacher told me to put a
Fires In Ashbarrels received a milestone today of 500 likes. Thanks everyone; I’m honored!
A problem I have with soft-lead graphite pencils is going too dark and making my drawings “muddy.” On the other side of the spectrum, hard-lead graphite pencils don’t go dark enough. Other problems with soft-lead pencils are they lose their points fast and the graphite smudges easily on the paper if I touch it. Still,
This was a wonderful surprise when WordPress sent me this notice. Thanks everybody.
A gentle breeze caresses trees where children play in savanna gray. Meadows laugh whispered breaths on a beautiful warm summer eve. An inquisitive rain slips from dappled clouds; sunlight bright on its mist that kisses my upturned face: soft caresses like satin dresses making love to my bare skin. I lie in the arms of
—1995— Sun-kissed golden down of woven sunlight on feet so small Sundress yellow shines flaxen halo on cushion grass Body electric sitting in the shade glorious Delighted little girl pounces and kisses lips deeply silkily Earthly heaven scent is a warm sunbeam gleeful A bed beneath sheets of pure love as long as rivers run
I am composition | image | portrait | art composition | words | feelings | heart I am human created and creating
My poems are a dialogue with two of my inner selves: the carefree, creative me and my logical, usually condemning, inner critic while I struggle to converse with my omniscient inner child who knows exactly what to say and how to say it. ~Lola
She rode her motorcycle’s heat between her legs from an engine throbbing like constant thunder. The frame and the ride were hot. She shivered like a dangling shoe on the end of a naked foot. She pointed her knees at men she found interesting. The exposure to the frisky wind and throbbing engine were like
Many of my poems are captured moments— vignettes— glimpses of intense feeling or treasured experiences: A first crush first dance graduation— lasting impressions that I relive. ~Lola
Thanks to everyone who has liked my new blog. Under a month old, Fires In Ashbarrels received its first milestone today of 100 likes. I feel like a proud mother!
I am feeling generous today, so I am revealing more about me. My legal name is Lolalia Colleen Gentry-Dey; my friends and family call me Lola. Lolalia is an unusual name, often mispronounced, which is why I prefer Lola. But I had a rebellious time when I was a teen and wanted everyone to call
My favorite poems— best poems— are made of musing memories and all the feelings I remember no matter how quick they still hurt. ~Lola Save
Practice what you know, and it will help to make clear what now you do not know. ~Rembrandt van Rijn
My family and I moved from England and are settled into our new home … finally. Now I can concentrate again on publishing my poetry here. Indeed, new poems are on the way, along with more status updates as time permits.
Some people spend so much time reading between the lines that they miss what was actually written. ~Lola
Several months have passed since I posted any sunset photographs. Don’t worry, I’m correcting that oversight now. Below are 4 beautiful photographs taken during a sunset at one of my favorite lake getaways. I could carry on forever why I love sunsets on water, but I’ll let the photos speak for me. Enjoy.
In conjunction with May being Masturbation Month, I share with you this little known fact about myself. I discovered the computer world when I turned 9 in November of 1989. It was during my birthday that I overheard an uncle talk about his computer and the World Wide Web. Earlier that year, some science guy
By now you know I love mountains. They are beautiful to look at and dangerous to be on. Sometimes the best beauty is viewed at from afar. And sometimes beauty must be seen up close. Beauty is found indoors. Sometimes we trek many miles looking for beauty. Beauty is everywhere, day
I love mountains, woods, water … and boating. One of Alaska’s biggest moneymaking exploits. I’m not a fan, but my family loves it. Big skies, wilderness and water are perfect getaways. Photographing nature is looking and seeing. Big places to live among bigger nature. Finally, a look at the modern
Here is a news clipping from March 28, 2029. We fiction writers can do that.
I could live all my life on beaches. Below are 4 of many favorite beach photographs from my collection. Pebbly beaches and woods are the perfect campsites. Rocky beaches are great places to hear nature singing. Sandy beaches are for lovers and joggers… and people who wish to be alone with their thoughts. Woody lake
As a busy working wife and mom, I have little time to spend at social websites. When I was single with lots of “me time”, social media sites were convenient ways to stay abreast of the daily happenings of my family and friends. But after a while, marriage, kids, jobs, and life in general came
No matter where I go, I am fascinated by rocks. I suppose I missed my calling and should have become a geologist like my friend Ann. Ann loves investigating rocks. I love Ann. Mix rocks with water and I’m gone, like the guy in my photograph!
A funny picture of Neon, one of my cousin Candi’s cats. He always had to investigate the Christmas tree and make sure the branches held his weight. And he was particular about which ornaments went on the branches. Whatever didn’t end up on the floor were the ones he liked—at least, that was our conclusion.
Sometimes you never know who—or what—you’re going to meet on the road.
The humid air stung his eyes. He hated how the steaminess assaulted his throat and made it hard to breathe. He rarely walked, but Dr. Ford said his body needed the exercise if he wanted to get better. The backside of the park was a good place to begin. No one needed to see him
The swan is another favorite majestic bird of mine. It is a royal creature that has mystical allurement—it instantly commands my attention when I see one. And I have seen plenty of swans in my 32 years, especially at ponds and lakes when I lived in New York.
When I lived in southwest New York, the state reintroduced the Bald Eagle into the environment. I don’t know how many eagles were brought in or where the state placed them, but this grand fellow became a common sight in the sky over my cabin. I took lots of photos, but most were blurry. These
The best thing about being away from California’s coast is visiting large lakes. This is Lake Erie in New York, not far from where some of my relatives live. Not as warm or rocky, but still nice to look at—and to relax at.
The bovine is one of the most curious creatures I know. These two were no exception on the day I was photographing butterflies in western New York and Pennsylvania.
The red fox is a favorite animal to observe. They are attentive and cautious like cats, are solitary and hunt like cats, and are listed by science as canines. I think our scientist need to rethink and reclassify the fox’s taxonomy.
UK terrain reminds me of south NY terrain so much that I have quick moments of déjà vu.
Another out-of-focus sunset snapshot. Despite its technical flaws, I love this photograph—the golds and reds are fading and the darkening blues speak of the promise of night and the solitude there. That’s where the artist is most at home: alone with herself but never lonely.
I snapped this photo at my grandparents’ farm 10 years ago. I’ve always wanted to try painting a scene like this. Someday, I may.
Water, skies and sunsets are probably the definitive measurements of what makes me happiest.
I love and fear flying—it’s a total rush!
My mother called from Hawaii one day in October and asked to speak to the doctor in our family. She wasn’t feeling right, she said, and she listed her ailments to my husband over the phone—headache at night while watching TV, blurred vision, dizziness upon standing suddenly, a sore and stiff right shoulder, and tingling
My camera’s focus was off when I took this photo. Maybe the face on the tree didn’t want me taking its picture. I’m always fascinated by Native American lore—lots of magic and symbolism in it. I wonder who carved the face and why. Is it a totem? I say it is, but I’m only guessing.
She really does … by the seashore, but you probably already guessed that.
Seeing eye-catching things while traveling causes me to grab my camera and click away on the fly. It’s best that my husband drives us when I’m on the road. He’s getting better at slowing down when he sees me grab my camera.
My mind is empty among white blossoms. My lips speak not of this bubble of a heart. An attractive woman notices me anyway and takes me as I am. My habits flow to the sea like American motorists on summer vacation. The neighbors complain about our caravan outside their windows in the early morning rain.
Do you launch rainbows? Do you fill the sky with sunbeams and butterflies? You do, naturally now in your ashes to ashes and dust to dust way. You are the breeze, the wind, the sky Hugging the land Dusk in winter Flowers in summer The corner of sounds a few beats in the light and
To be a child again and to hear the waves singing to us. The awestruck wonder of it all—a beautiful and sobering and absolutely exciting time in life. No one is ever the same person after hearing ocean songs.
My dad was the second child born to his parents. My mom was the second of four children born to her parents. And I was the second child born to my parents. Daddy graduated high school and enlisted right away as a signalman in the US Navy. Mom graduated high school 5 years later and
(From 2007.) It is a beautiful August day, 2007. I wonder where I shall be in 5 years, or 10, 20. I can only imagine. Will I still work in finance? Or give it up to be a full-time writer? Or artist? During lunch yesterday, a coworker and I talked about painting. Art is one
I love water and how it speaks and sings to us. Waterfalls sing beautiful symphonies.
The sea on my honeymoon is nearly silent around me. A faint skitter of fiddler crabs on the sand connects to a murmur of the night-wind in the palm trees behind me. My lover tide is making low complaints like the aching earth, caressing and bitter against an expectant land. I keep half-awake the anguished
Since the recent move to my new home, I have been decorating every chance I get. So when I took a tea break and came to my blog today, I could not resist sprucing my page. I chose a whimsical look because I feel impulsive right now. The country is abuzz with the Olympics and
I finished unpacking our last box today and had to be convinced by my husband to stop moving things around for now, that I am becoming a fussy decorator and I need to relax and take care of myself. He is so right, as usual. Finally, our move from Hawaii to the UK is done!
So many American faces are fading like new literature, soft and pale, sinking into the quicksand of poverty. Their government turned their dollars into pennies; One hundred George Washingtons won’t buy a fistfight today, but a hundred Ben Franklins can get you murdered… Franklin kicks Washington’s ass every time. But whose city park does big
Nothing is more beautiful than sailing across sunset water.
Lower your lips to my heart Where our souls touch and flame Where you are ageless in my embrace Protected enough to say you love me Lay with me over moss and leaf Drenched in last night’s rain Their shimmering surf at our thighs Where diamonds and poetry love to weep In this discovery I descend
I like photographing nature from a bird’s-eye view. It’s a godlike vantage to stand tall over our world and to see its beauty from that perspective. We were born without wings, but our imaginations soar with the gods.
Tense silence in my bedroom but not in my head Heavenly hymns hum from fingers strumming Sweet music from songs in mind Trembling chords of delightful tension certainly make this moment more attractive I find a new discovery and add it to old ones But no one sees the babe I’ve become I have no
This adorable rubber creature was chosen to watch over the countryside.
My love’s long blonde hair frames a pretty face A red blouse peaks where no boy ever made mine feel any good My love knows open mouth She speaks fluent oral communication Her lips soft and full taste like silky high life laughs and cries My love knows skin touching Sweet kisses down Claiming me
Flocking at the lake shore.
A sign not far from my home in Leeds.
A winter storm, Southwest New York.
Chikili and his family poured like ants from the backbone of life Sky fire warmed their naked skin And night’s cool breath sent them seeking shelter and warmth Many moons cycled their journey while Chikili and his family chased the sun The seed arrow led them to a river rich with food— they ate and
I love how this digital photograph turned out. I never know what my sunset pictures will look like. Most of the time I leave my camera on automatic, then point and shoot. Sometimes I use the flash. And sometimes I use the extra settings, like night and sunny day modes, among others. The mystery
A cabin of mine in southwest New York.
Woods near my cabin. I love that first snowfall.
A summer flood not far from my New York cabin.
This is at Lake Erie and Erie PA.
While on vacation with my cousin Candi, I decided to photograph her feet. We walked miles that day, and our feet suffered. Pampered baths ensued at the end of the day.
I do not remember where I photographed this at, but I recall how I wanted a pool like this at home.
(Note: This originally appeared as an introduction from me when I began at Bebo. I tweaked it a little for my blog.) I promised myself I’d never plaster myself on the Internet. But here I am a stranger in a strange land, blogging. A friend tells me it can be fun; a roll in the
Wow! 9 weeks have passed already. Crabs— What would the 4th of July be without a night at the beach, watching fireworks and eating crab around a fire? You know you’re from the seacoast if that’s how you spend the holiday. The crab photo here was taken during a hunt at Key West, Florida. For
I love being in and on water as much as being on land. Sailing— My dad was in the Navy and owned a few boats, so I got to sail with him. One of our favorite songs was Sailing by Christopher Cross. When I think of my dad, I hear the song’s beautiful piano and
The number one rule of thumb is: Sharks Own the Oceans— Today is Father’s Day. In memory of my dad, I dedicate today’s post to him. He was the first person to teach me how to dive. Although he died in a car accident because of a negligent driver, safety was always top priority to
Yuck, icky, gross: Eels— Eels are just eww. And the Spotted White Moray Eel is no exception. If you see any eels during your dives, leave them alone. Though they are usually timid and hide, the morays are known to be aggressive. Their bites are far from lethal, but moray eels are toxic and their bites
Here is a common reef fish: The Porkfish— These beauties are distinguished by their bright yellow-gold striped bodies and two vertical bold black diagonal bands on their head. The bands on the head both hide the eyes and serve to disorient predators. Porkfish can often be found in a small group swimming with a larger
This week’s photo is, I do believe, from my trip to Australia. The Pacific has gorgeous reefs around the islands. And where there are reefs, there is coral. And where there is coral in the Pacific, there are… Clownfish— The fish in my photo is a single striped clownfish that has caused disagreement between some
I said last week that coral is both beautiful and dangerous to be around. I was lucky enough to take some beautiful photos of my diving adventures 3 years ago. I Love Coral— You never know what creatures you will see. Well, unless you happen to be a marine biologist. These biologists have a plethora
This is week 2 of some of my favorite diving photos from 3 years ago, scattered over 6 months of sightseeing weekends. My dives were in southern Florida, the Caribbean, Hawaii, and Australia. All of these places have beautiful coral beds. If you’ve never dived, find a good teacher and learn how. Make it part
On this Mother’s Day, I’d like doing something different. For the next 9 weeks, I’d like sharing my favorite diving photos from 3 years ago. I was lucky enough to get a hold of some good underwater cameras. Some of them were used by professional photographers. Shark— This is a Dusky Shark swimming in the
Man’s abstraction is his mad reality— His crazy reality is our despair His ruin-prone proud national heritage befalls us for a wretched dream Ancient fires fuel his greed made savage by marketeers A proprietor evicts a family struggling to make ends meet No compassion He says he needs his money to pay his bills— but
My mom sent to me the following article. I don’t know who its original author is. If you do, please contact me so I can properly credit the article. Before I re-post what she sent, let me tell you that I enjoy reading history, especially history of the USA. It’s no secret that Christianity played
I dreamed I sailed alone down the river Hebrus to the island Lesbos where I found sudden love at the center of a liquid mirror that reverberated with the clear perfection of my face—a sweet face with angel grace as done by the master hand of the world’s finest Victorian painter. The morning sun behind
The war and rain are long; our patience is gone and burns much faster in the zone. The war and rain are long; our broken bones and lullabies char the path to your home where your war torn love bears a daily weight for years alone. The war and rain are mean; their dirty green
Night in the city has a strange sound—the way ice speaks before it melts and pools down, rushes gutters, rages rivers on its interwoven streets to somewhere, past everyone in and out of the shadows at night. The night watchers look on in judgment—not of the melted ice but of each other on their interwoven
Week 1 Alone Silence in my bedroom, but not in my bed Naughty aching, electric steam I lie ready, fingers pressing hot Shivers come to me inside the warm darkness My lips form a perfect O O God O Yes O Yes yes yes yes yes The heightened feeling gets stronger The seconds crash like
Upon broken rocks along the shoreline where the caves of storm nymphs hold scattered remains of every sunken ship, walks Adam’s Lilith—Collier’s too— her body covered by the serpent’s twine— ophidian lover— demon of night and day. They dance surrounded by sweet sirens’ songs that weave their tapestry before a lengthy mirror that looks out
You’re so big— the internet made you huge We decipher your candy whining at your blog every day— we’re some of your best teased hairfriends at your facebook We know your TV faves movie faves favorite faves and all your playlists You like short shorts, bikini jeans, and certain days wrapped in Jamawar You love
Let’s talk more about Boobs. Ah, Boobs, those two soft fleshy glandular organs on a woman’s chest that form an eye-catching groove of separation called Cleavage! Yes, Cleavage! Every girl should have Cleavage! Whether you’re looking to make your small breasts appear to have more Cleavage, or you want to make your large breasts provide
I watched a TV sit-com show the other night, and the guy asked his girlfriend if having boobs was weird. I went OMG, because one time a guy asked me the very same thing. And I said “Yes. Having boobs is weird.” I mean, come on, they’re fundamentally milk sacs to feed babies. After that,
Last night, while looking at the sky on a cloudless night, the young woman saw an expanse of stars and constellations. She had seen stars before. But she had never paid attention to how many there were. The more she looked into the depth and scope of the sky, there seemed no limit to the
I have a grandmother who loves sharing advice in her emails to me. She sent this one, which made me want to share it here. As the title says, the source is unknown. But if anyone knows who the real author is, contact me and I will accredit him or her to the following bit
While we eagerly anticipate traveling from New York to Paris in a matter of seconds, work continues on both travel centers. Although the Paris building is near completion, the outer walls of The New York Instant Travel Center are now in place, allowing work to continue on the interior. Crews from more than a dozen
She’s a bit introverted. She’s happiest when she’s by herself, holed-up from the rest of her coworkers and customers at the department store she works at. But sometimes she volunteers to come out of her office cubby and assist her coworkers on the sales floor. Like yesterday. Things began okay. She helped stock shelves with
Slowly I turn to touch you with my lips Slowly I give you sweet kisses down making you tremble with anticipation Slowly I take you to the edge of a precipice— a teeter at the edge of a fall You cling to me but you fall in the rush of your sweet release crying your
Joe signed the receipt for his credit card purchase when the clerk noticed he had never signed his name on the back of the credit card. She informed him that she could not complete the transaction unless the card was signed. When Joe asked why, she explained that it was necessary to compare the signature
Remember the drought, dry grasses and winds? Our wildfire moon was red —everything else was black char, ash-fog, so thick we couldn’t breathe There seemed no escape but death Fire blocked our roads Stay-put-and-find-shelter fireman filled our minds with dread Our very souls grew heavy with smoke If we were to die by fire, we
She started a journal … a journal of perceptions. She likes the word annotations, but her writings are really just thoughts and observations. Some are superficial because her 9-to-5 job does not allow her time to dig deep. Others—from the “mind well”—are deep … or so she hopes. Poems and stories she has written are
I am told of a home where the courtier and the heretic are hostage to the devil where the good life is the joy of hiking black holes a long way down and a long way gone where there is plenty of oil on the brain in a far country but a sudden country when
I am watching, alive the foxes watching me after the grass is cut, barking seldom but always watching, watching me, faces sharp, red coal eyes, gold afire on the stubble on the hillock, watching, waiting, bright fur hostile, prowling now for the waning hour shadows creeping, slipping inside wire pens that coop our hens. I
Faces fading like new literature, soft and pale, sink into the quicksand of poverty. Their government turned their dollars into pennies. One hundred George Washingtons won’t buy a fistfight today. But a hundred Ben Franklins can get you murdered … Franklin kicks Washington’s ass every time. But whose city park does big Ben stand in?
The touch of your skin is electric air that bends my soul to your fire forever rippling cascading to the heavens to the brink of our primal thrashes and pleasure screams Sex with you can seem like a final clash that brings to the moment a final crash echoing thunder from clouds that float us
Dana skipped out on going to the heavy-metal rock concert. Her mother’s church had her believing that the concert would exhort the crowd to rape and murder. Rock and roll music had always been the catalyst of evil; she’d been told this repeatedly over the years by her mother. Even the innocent-looking Beatles of the
Today at market, shopkeepers showcased brand-new cars and seduced nearsighted and potbellied old men with promises to stop their loneliness. The promises were offers of a future spent speeding on swift wheels. And so the old men were kissed by shiny chrome rubbing their trousers, and were spent dreaming of getting laid upon the smooth
“He’s out there,” my mother said. She rushed from the front window and snatched her cell phone from the dining room table. Her hand trembled while she dialed. She almost dropped the phone twice before she put it to her left ear. “Hello? Police?” Her face contorted into a mask of disappointment. “Sorry,” she said,
Night falls swiftly on us— It is the secret bits of life to do yourself the way you do— A flash in the sinking sun, Ten thousand years rebounded, Vibrations— It is hell. Wild you are but ripe for life In the gray and raging glee— Nobody likes to die, but it is evening here