Best Pasadena Poems

"Angels & Demons"




The Soul never sleeps
battered and lonely, the lesson 
Life spent in The Hard Sell

Soft-served you become
melting Insomnia 
mouth sucking a loaded gun

blue ribbonned...

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Of parrots and parakeets, no one knows
now numbering in the thousands
no longer Mexico's bucolic birds
new urbanized citizens migrated 
to the suburbs. 

If you travel to...

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Yellow Submarine comes on the radio.
Beatles music.
I press the accelerator, flying past semis who had been chasing each other.

Little Old Lady from Pasadena comes on...

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"Thursday's Child"




Saturday She Left


Saturday You Arrived


Tuesday Answers Delivered


Spirit of Ether Speaks	





(Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
LJ - G - L



”A circle is the reflection of eternity: it has no...

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ROSES

dead of winter
poor rose bush
empty branches
but it pricks me when i pass
just sleeping it says


my son asks
where do roses go in winter
for once i can...

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Thus it begins—
A free-verse epic
Into the mind of
A writer and an idiot—
A romantic and, 
Often a pessimist
Conjoined in arbitrary glory
Are the thoughts and words 
Of...

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Galileo had his turn.
But with much still left to learn
the brown dwarf sat-----waiting.

Then came hubble to the frey.
Seeking in a finite way
the brown dwarf teasing.

Nibiru,...

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Florence McLane

1889 – 1902


Psst… over here!
My toppled tombstone is the one 
With the somber seraph carrying a cross.
My grave is the one that no one...

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Pasadena Big Band, On With The Dance

Nostalgic swing, singing the blues
So put on your dancing shoes
Get out of your chair
Dance like Ginger Rogers and Fred...

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Pickelina Pickelina, cutest dill from Pasadena 
she was hot, she was spicy with a crunch of very nicey 
With a dash of cosher dill she...

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I do not sing any of the new songs. But I can sing Let the Little Girl Dance.
Teen angel, I’m sorry, It’s now or never,...

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Remember all those tea ads with the chimps on?
We’ll prostitute the Prague of Gustav Mahler
and desecrate the divas of La Scala.
Would Bart betray begettor Homer...

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I knew it was going to happen,
it was preordained,
so went in my living room,
the furniture I rearranged,
tried a new italian recipe,
on my kitchen range,
hopped on...

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(At 10:40pm on December 8, 1980,
John Lennon was shot and mortally
wounded on 72nd Street, New York.
Given his love of outrageous wordplay,
this poem imagines his stream-of-
consciousness...

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Sir Albert the Egghead was in an arena
somewhere 'tween Frisco and Old Pasadena
Determined to joust with the best of the knights
who'd ever assembled near Frisco...

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