Our Differences

Lola Gentry-Dey:

Busy with work the past week; I did not write anything new for my blog today. Here is a reblogged favorite poem:

Originally posted on My Tangerine Days:

You will see that I have changed the look of my site. 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 an elegant look because my blog is my quiet place where I do a lot of thinking. Outside, the country is abuzz with the Olympics and the days and nights are electrified with curious foreigners like me. No one rests and moods are high right now. Now is a time for accomplishments. Now is a time to redecorate and unwind.

The poem below was featured at my old WordPress blog, one I shared with Candi Sweet, my dearest cousin and soul sister. The poem received an award from Tom Baker (see the award below) and was featured at his blog…

View original 191 more words

When I, a Child

Lola Gentry-Dey:

My busy schedule has kept me from writing anything new, so here is an old poem that means the world to me. I hope you like it.

Originally posted on My Tangerine Days:

This is a poem about the solitude of winter, my father going hunting for deer during our November visits to his childhood farm, and I as a child surrounded by woods that seemed larger than our planet. It is also (near the end) about visiting those woods during the summer when I was older and remembering being with a boy in those woods and falling in love.

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 by the snow.

My secret ice-making ice-haiku poems
driving me on,
letting me dream them written at twilight by fire
in the hidden garden of no ordinary lovers,

View original 31 more words

When I Came With You

Lola Gentry-Dey:

I am re-blogging one of my favorite poems wrapped in love for my new followers.

Originally posted on My Tangerine Days:

"When I Came With You"

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 incense I lit alone.
In silence my fingers found the sweep of stars on bare skin—
House-warmth murmur like gold when you breathed.

You were a bird
Whose only cry came in color in the company of starlight
That whistled up the violets on a garden wilderness of dawn’s daylight,
The yellow flowering into streaming pinks
And fleshed with rose petals when I came with you.

View original


You lift me
Arousing and ascending my senses

You take me from reveille to climax in many ways

I come again on the crests of seismic waves
And cry in the cherished height away from the wounds below

The devil earth waits impatient and loud
Ready to pull me down where false lights are like headlamps to moths—
The big strip tease that pokes and stirs nothing there

So you lift me
Over and over and over again
The rhythm of our wholeness
From reveille to climax on seismic waves
Where I discovered inside perpetual absoluteness
The great heights of two people unselfish
Together in ecstatic love

Answers to last Tuesday’s puzzle, Child’s Play:

  1. His aunt gave Dennis the pipe bomb that no longer shines. (Answered in section 3.)
  2. His old lady/mother gave Dennis the tommy gun that now misfires. (Answered in sections 3 and 4.)
  3. His grandmother gave Dennis the grenades that now have fading paint. (Answered in sections 2 and 3.)
  4. His old man/father gave Dennis the thumb screws that have since cracked. (Answered in sections 1, 2 and 5.)
  5. His grandfather gave Dennis the dart gun that now is scratched. (Answered in sections 1 and 4.)

Child’s Play

My friends and I love playing puzzle games. We get together during weekends and play the latest puzzles we’ve invented. And since the games usually involve murder mysteries, many of our puzzles deal with criminals and weapons. Here’s one of my most recent teasers. Can you figure it out?

It’s time for 3-year-old thug Dennis to clean his room. He has weapons scattered around—most which are broken and need thrown away. 5 are still good but showing signs of neglect and wear. A different relative, including his parents (aka the old man and old lady), grandparents and an aunt, gave each weapon to him. Match each weapon to its unique sign of neglect and wear and the relative who gave it to him.

  1. The 2 men gave Dennis the thumbscrews and the weapon that’s scratched, which isn’t the pipe bomb.
  2. The grenade whose paint is fading is a recent addition to his collection, but the weapon from his old man (which isn’t scratched) and the dart gun are not.
  3. The 3 women who gave him weapons are the one who gave him the weapon that no longer shines (which didn’t come from his old lady), the one who gave him the tommy gun, and his grandmother.
  4. Either the tommy gun or the dart gun misfires.
  5. 2 people of opposite gender gave to Dennis the weapon that no longer shines and the one that’s cracked.

Answer in next week’s blog.

Being a Social Snail

In an attempt to blog more this year, I’m going to blog on the last day of every month as well as keep blogging every Tuesday.

I’m a social snail. I’m not the kind of person who can blog every day. Even when I was a girl, I never kept a daily diary. I had many hobbies and could get caught up in one project for weeks. Other times, I could have multiple projects going on at the same time. I was always busy, especially in my head where my imagination ran wild. I did well in the arts and sciences, but not so well socializing with others.

While growing up, I never lived in one place long enough to grow roots and have best friends. My dad was in the military and moved us around a lot. It wasn’t until he was killed in a traffic accident that my mom settled us down in San Diego. Even then, I remained a loner, preferring to read and do things by myself. I practically lived under a rock away from other kids during that time. My mom homeschooled me, so I never experienced the high school hijinks I heard about while at college. In high school, I’m certain I would have been that girl who sat alone in the cafeteria and wrote angsty poetry, befriending all the nerds.

My limited people skills came from interaction with neighbor kids, cousins, and the internet. I joined some WWW social sites and wrote more poetry, but I wasn’t very social at the chatrooms. I’m still not very chatty, but I’ve gotten better at it. 20-some years later, working, raising children, and meeting other parents have a way of making you open up.

My first internet experience of applying social skills was when I belonged to a make-your-own website called Geocities. For several years, I blogged about my dreams and ambitions and wrote angsty poetry before I went off to college and had to apply more social skills. It was a bumpy ride at first, but I discovered Makeoutclub, Friendster and Myspace on the internet and hid behind aliases while I learned to share with others. Probably because it was the norm, I dared to talk dirty online, write erotic poems, and post pics of me in my underwear. I was a horny college kid who learned that every other college kid was horny too.

Myspace became my favorite social site. It was a great place to find underground musicians and Indie artists who wrote and sang the type of poetry I wrote. When I graduated and garnered my first job as a career girl, I did the MS scene for several years until a coworker friend talked me into joining Facebook when it offered public access in 2006.

Before I joined FB, however, I must have belonged to 20 or more social sites on the internet. From Bebo to Xanga, hiding behind aliases was a lot of fun, so if you knew my user names, you could find me socializing at any of those sites. Some of those sites were private, which attracted me most because I could hide behind an alias and talk to strangers about sex and other topics I could never discuss with family or coworkers. Despite all the identity subterfuge going on, I was my most honest about myself when I was anonymous. That way, I never worried about repercussions at work or from my family. And because most of the chat sites back then were text-only and not video, I never ended up as someone’s naked screen capture. I chatted often about masturbation and I masturbated with strangers, so had I been a college student or young single woman during today’s more popular video chatting sites, there’s a good chance my naked chats would be part of someone’s collection of screen captures.

I was never one of those Girls Gone Wild college students, but college was indeed a Coming Out for this otherwise reserved gal. I met some wonderful people on the internet and became close friends with 2 of them—friendships that have lasted beyond college. We Skype at least once a week and have shared hundreds of weddings, births, and kid pics. But our friendship may not have lasted if Facebook and iPhones hadn’t become popular when they did.

I joined FB in 2006 and used it the same way I did my MS account: looking for people who shared my interests, and befriending the Indie bands and artists there, few as they were. I tamed down the dirty talk and showed no one my underwear. Too many relatives were joining FB, so I opened a second account under an alias so I could socialize out of eyesight of family. At first, FB was a great place to IM, share pics and vids, and tease creepy stalker guys who wanted to hook up in real life. But by 2012, it had become a platform for businesses to join and dump their ads on us. It didn’t matter what they were peddling, FB seemed delighted to flash us their ads.

With the popularity of iPhones’ ability to text and send pics and vids, there was no reason for me to stay at FB or any of the other public social sites I belonged to. I left FB during all the controversy of ad spamming there, and I hear FB got it under control by sending users ads of only what they like. And I hear it’s easier now to select who can and cannot see your posts. Still, FB dumps every action going on at your page to your email account, which I filtered daily to my Trash/Deleted folder when I was there.

One of the many other social networks I belonged to during that time was Twitter. Twitter was less popular than Myspace and Facebook, but my few friends and I could share short texts and occasional pics with one another—a “Wham, bam, thank you ma’am” operation. But as I mentioned earlier, iPhones could do the same thing … at a price, of course, but without Twitter’s limitations.

Before I left Twitter in 2012, its popularity boosted due to the influx of celebrities joining. Suddenly, we could friend our favorite celebs, follow and reply to their tweets, and name drop them to all our non-actor/musician/pop-star friends. Doing that felt creepy to me, as though I were stalking them. Some of my friends and relatives thought it was wonderful to follow a VIP’s life, however. I left and had no regrets until I realized that several bloggers I follow are Indie artists and writers and most of them give updates at Twitter more often than they do at their blogs. So I rejoined Twitter this month so I could follow my faves better. This has brought me a free ebook so far and a handful of new artists and authors to follow. Despite the constant hounding from Twitter to follow the celebs, I enjoy logging on and reading about the new things my favorite artists and authors are doing. But despite my intentions not to dwell beneath a rock, I still socialize less at Twitter than many others there.

Returning to Twitter reminded me that I still had an active Pinterest account. Back before I left Facebook, a friend on Pinterest invited me to join that site in 2011. Although Pinterest is less of the standard social site, it’s a nice place to post/pin photos to a small following of family and friends. It even offers secret boards so you can share private pics to those special people in your life. I created 4 boards and posted/pinned a few photos for a couple weeks before I abandoned the site. Now I’m pinning and liking other pins again … and getting out from under my rock. That’s why I linked Pinterest to Twitter on my phone, laptop and notebook so I can share pins to my Twitter followers, few as they are.

Like any social snail, I have a very small following at Twitter and Pinterest. Actually, this is true at my WordPress blog, too. Some bloggers and tweeters (or is it twitters?) have hundreds of followers—even thousands. And a pinner I follow at Pinterest has a million followers. That’s right: ONE MILLION. How in blazes does someone get that many followers? And why would anyone want that many?

But I don’t envy the popular internet socialites. I rarely have more than an hour each day to be online. Working, shopping, and tending after 2 children, a husband, and 3 dogs leave little time for internet activities. I’m even lucky that I’ve been able to keep blogging every week. And that girl with the multiple projects going on is still active, though a little older and wiser. We have our weekly planners readily available to help us make sure things get done on time.

Socializing comes in many forms, all of which tire me. Unfinished poems nag at me when I have time alone with my thoughts. They even nag when I try to catch up on my reading. I revert to that nonsocial person when I’m alone, shooing hubby, the kids, and our dogs out of the house so I can be with my thoughts and finish whatever I’m writing at the time. Unfortunately, my body automatically curls into a sleeping ball when I’m alone. I’ve done this at work a few times too while reading financial reports in my office. Luckily, the old brass Georgian shaped handle squeaks when anyone opens my door.

So, while hubby and the kids are bonding, I’m writing to strangers and hoping I haven’t divulged in TMI that a court of law could use against me.

Thank you for reading. If you’re a follower, thank you for that. And if you’re any of the 5 people in this big world who know my deepest secrets and ring me in the early hours to share your deepest secrets with me, thank you for being a friend. For this 34-year-old social snail, that’s a huge achievement.

I Love Lucy

My Blue Pen

An old erotic piece I wrote many years ago. A bit long and not your usual lesbian bate snuff, but it has some nice girl/girl moments that percolate my love juice when I read it. Maybe it’ll do the same for you.

I put down the book: an electronic collection of short stories that so far made no sense … jumbled thoughts … incomplete sentences … monolithic essays that shattered in confusion with every period and question mark. Bones of meatless skeletons rattled every time I glanced at the page next to my naked right arm. I turned off the book and closed my eyes. My mind raced into the warm arms of my imagination where dreams and ideas flowed like rivers around me, waiting for me to sit along their banks and dangle my toes in their currents. This was my escape whenever I stayed in bed past 8 o’clock. I could stay here for hours on Sundays. Sundays had no rules. Mom was at her parents’ and Owen had gone fishing with Dad. It was the day after my 16th birthday and Mom and Dad said I could sleep in today. I kept my eyes closed to the sunlight pushing through the windows around me; I let my imagination swallow me whole, which led to erotic thoughts. This led me to the first time Lucy O’Dell and I did IT on the internet.

There in my memories, a younger Lucy ran past me. Always, she passed me along the wooded trails where we ran Cross Country four years ago in 7th grade. September sunlight dappled the rolling dirt ground beneath our yellow and white running shoes that matched our yellow shorts and white tees. I kept the back of Lucy’s shirt and yellow 9 in my gaze. This was where she would take a wrong turn and I would follow, her chocolate hair bouncing between her shoulder blades and swishing her number like a horse’s tail.

Lucy galloped like a horse, too, which is why I never beat her in any of our races. Her long, strong legs were sure with every stride through those woods behind our school. They were hairless legs, unlike her arms, and I followed them every chance I got. She was the first girl in our grade to grow pubic hair, and the first girl to shave it away. And I’m certain she was the first girl in our grade to lose her virginity. To Bobby Michaels who sat behind me in fifth period Algebra class and smelled like boys’ BO and Aqua Velva Blue. Every girl I knew wanted Bobby to fuck her. But not me. I was different, which is why I followed Lucy along that wrong turn.

Perhaps Bobby was on her mind that day when we ran the hillock that wasn’t part of the racecourse. She stopped when she reached the hilltop and looked around.

“Shit,” she panted. She looked annoyed when I stopped next to her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sucking at the 4 o’clock air and smelling Lucy’s talcum and sweat.

“This is the wrong trail.”

Read more to find out what happens