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
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
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
A poet is a dreamer meditating on the reality of forging words into a fantasy of making love to the entire world. ~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
—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
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
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.
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
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.
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.
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 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
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
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!
This adorable rubber creature was chosen to watch over the countryside.
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
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
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
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 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
It is eventide over my head, like old bourbon in a glass, straight up. We have come shyly as mosquitoes near still water, our flashlights adrift over dark girls in their secret boxes; their nights belong to the wind. The lake loves me in secret. In my canoe I am an enigma from the shore.
Alone in my bedroom but not in my bed My hand plays the music in my head Naughty aching electric steam Fingers strumming trembling strings of delightful tension pressing hot Shivers come I discover a new chord and add it to the old ones My lips form a perfect O O God O Yes O
I considered posting some love poems today. Love is a common theme in my poetry. And the longer I considered this, I started thinking about all the times when love wasn’t a common theme in my life. I think my cousin Candi has always been in love. As far back as I remember, she’d always
Across the wilderness growing hot, I’m quickening with memories rushing to come to me in heated hardness. I run from them until I must rest. You surf in on a Pacific memory, find me and fill my mind with your sweet and sour past. I diet on the sweet parts—my weakness, always. Sweet is sugar
Again we are moved, obsessed, reaching out, entwining. Enter me, I plead. Sate me, I beg. Below my window moonlight covers us as we climb higher; the peak is ever closer, closing in; all the right switches are being connected. We find our sweet release in each other’s arms. We come together, trying not to
There it is in black and white, this feeling that drives me to sexual intercourse. It’s old tingles that used to come in color when I was barely a teen. But the passage into adulthood has clouded the rainbow till now I come alone in storms, my eyes searching with a half-smile for the sunlight
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 at such a time, invisible and dull
It was here one night among white blossoms that we lay and were touched while the rest of the world snored in their small beds. We breathed frost words on branches, breathing deeply in the deep woods with no earthly destination, hidden behind the pulse of dawn throbbing upon a trigger’s touch. You were delicate
The gypsy woman hovers near the stove and drags a calloused hand across her face as if to wipe some smoke before the eyes which flash between her fingers in the blackness of the room. Looking through my mind I see the history of myself: Where have the avenues in my life taken me? Her
Do you remember how we crept along fences young together I, at twelve, stumbled through the other side of eternity never to think we’d ever become middle-aged Do you recall homesick high-school weeks making us feel gentle like days of a last breathless uncertain chord played— a warm rich memory of an old woman’s concert
I have been trying out some new watercolor paints. I think this is one of my better experiments. This is a lake not far from where my dad grew up. I love the bands of pink in the clouds.
Sometimes I still dress in past transgressions— I like how I look; old styles are comfortable in vogue color, length and brand. But you would strip me naked; dress me in a style that won’t embarrass you— dress me like the Christ you wear on you even though I’m everything you want: my sex, my
I’m trying to write some erotica for my Colleen Ackerman site … tell me what you think of this. Diary: You should write for a living. OK, go ahead. Me: Have you ever had this fantasy? You’re in a nightclub, and you see this gorgeous chick sitting up at the bar, alone. She’s wearing one
“Do you want to try it? Just to see what it’s like?” She turned to face me on my bed, and offered me her trembling lips. We moved our faces, bumped noses, tilted our heads. I looked into her eyes. She wanted this as much as I did. I pulled her into an embrace. She
I first met a Sidhe when I was 20. Leanne O’Brian was Irish and believed very much she was an actual descendant of a Leanan Sidhe (pronounced lan-awn she). She was beyond gothic-punk and World of Darkness games. She was real and beautiful and captivating. Leanne fascinated me with her Sidhe tales. I knew little
I am in Hawaii right now, staying with my mom and cousin. My cousin is a nurse. I’m recuperating from an accidental overdose of acetaminophen and alcohol. If you want, you can read about it on the internet. Just look for how poisons can cause coma. Yes, Tylenol is also a poison. I awoke from
The young woman came across an ad in the Sunday paper for an upcoming movie called The Golden Compass. She grew instantly excited and babbled to her mother and aunt how this is the greatest thing ever. Of course, they give her that look, the Mr. Spock of Star Trek look, the one with one
I clothe myself in my past transgressions And I like how I look in them Their style Their color Their length But you would strip me naked of my past Just to dress me like a doll you like But I’m not you And you can’t change me— No you can’t I dress myself in
She started up a journal again. Not a diary; not those odd books we keep during puberty when life is full of mysteries, marvels and angst. This is a journal of perceptions. She likes the word annotations, so she has titled her book Annotations on Life. (Perceptions of a Wonderer was her second choice …
Not long after the young woman posted an announcement on her MySpace site, telling her followers she had a new job offer (one that would cause her to move again), her email box was inundated with messages telling her to go for it. She read every message, chewed on her nails as she mulled their
Naughty aching Eyes wide open I sit in bed ready Naked Knowing this feeling Almost like dread: Anticipation of the climax almost to me The feeling gets stronger As the seconds crash like waves washing over me I close my eyes Sweet Surrender Dew Bubbling forth Trickling down Over folds Moist and glistening My core
She met him in ’92; she was a Goth seventh grader like one of those kids from South Park. She read Kerouac and Roethke and Ginsberg and Plath; not really understanding their works, but really making a connection to their words: music to her soul. Abstract expressionist art had grabbed a hold of her, too,
The young woman had difficulty dealing with the fact that she’d be going home and seeing her mother for the first time in almost 4 years. What were they going to talk about? Everything they ever discussed turned into a power struggle of how her mother was “Mom, Authority Figure” and how she, the child
There is a saying that goes: “Love yourself before you love anyone else.” This is the reason I masturbate. After all, I’m always learning something new about myself. For me, it’s a connection to my soul—the core of who I am. But loving yourself is more than masturbating. It’s how you think, how you dress—how
So MySpace has this thing where you can add your high school to your page. The girl who looks like me said “No thank you.” Deep down, she knew why. Feeling nostalgic, though, she visited websites of the place that could have been her alma mater had her mother not decided to homeschool her. The