POETRY CORNER
– 7/08/15
Gary Blankenship
marching music
ghost of the grand parade
poets sing
of the city’s rhythms
oranges dropping in my hand
Gary Blankenship lives in Bremerton, Washington, but loves the Pasadena area. He’s visited in the past, and wants to come back here where sunshine grows on trees.
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Briony James
Friday night in Oldtown
streetlight sunning youth
hurrying
for a new cocktail
stirred and shaken by the moonambling under antique lights
whispers of another time
the Shakespeare bridge
beckons the future
while reaching to the past
Briony James lost herself in Los Angeles and found herself almost forty years later when Knightsbridge actors sent her across the Shakespeare bridge into Old Pasadena and convinced her that it was the Promised Land. She wanders from Colorado to Lake in a perpetual state of crazed creativity.
Ο Ο Ο
Deborah P Kolodji
rose-colored
any time of year
the pink line
that guides the floats
down Colorado
Deborah P Kolodji has lived in the Pasadena area for most of her adult life and has attended every Rose Parade (except 3) since 1979. Author of over 800 published poems, she finds the pink line in the middle of Colorado Boulevard even more inspiring than a yellow brick road. She moderates the Southern California Haiku Study Group, which meets at Hill Street Pasadena Public Library on the 3rd Saturday of every month.
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♣ We welcome and encourage your response especially in the form of short poems. You may reply by leaving a comment below. The Poetry Corner is hosted by Kathabela Wilson.













Snark
(To Kitty Kroger my formerly-“snarky” friend)
A little snark flew
up to me.
It was a cute little birdie
with sad wings and
an impish smile
It meant no harm,
despite its
anger. I held
it in
my hand, cooed
to it, gave it
all my love. It
transfigured into
a golden
hummingbird.
snark•y
ˈsnärkē/
adjective
NORTH AMERICANinformal
1. (of a person, words, or a mood) sharply critical; cutting; snide.
“the kid who makes snarky remarks in class”
o cranky; irritable.
“Bobby’s always a bit snarky before his nap”
I enjoyed the photos of Pasadena and the poetry.
You Never Know
Photographing Pasadena myself
I must’ve caught by pure chance
a lithe body laying on a park bench.
I feel but wouldn’t bet it was Deborah
or was is Kathabela? Then I saw a guy
step out from a dark alcove. He loitered
over her spread out body. That’s when
I recognized Gary. I didn’t know
those three were like threesome peas
in a Pasadena pub. I mean pod… lol
Never know when paths cross.
Better keep up appearances!