Felton Bridge Poem

Paradise Park Bridge

Smell Fulton sulfur.

Hercules blew a fuse.

Willow, madrone, alder 

render black powder.

Creek of wood,

ache of river,

wind dry below.

Char the past.

Bullet light halos

recall 

leave trace elements

in the ground.

Caroline Gerardo 2/27/2016 copyright

Good and Bad Passes Fast

He's sick miles away ~

roads, trees, steps ~

He's in college ~

doesn't want me to drive ~

flying is expensive...

Arranged rental car

to arrive the morning

of his Doctor Visits

Say a prayer

not for  traveler

but for 

good kind son.

Worry's an achy nag

bits of sand and petals

in walking shoes.

Keep eyes

on positive horizon.

Almonds bloom for a week.

Good and bad passes fast

Caroline Gerardo copyright 2/26/16

Mourning 6th Street Bridge

Mourning Sixth Street Bridge.

Grabbed days to hike in Sequoia - a poem - story to follow.
No equipment at REI everyone expecting local snow- wrong- Drove route around Los Angeles to Burbank Sport Chalet. On the return trip, dread grew approaching the intersection of Interstate 5  60 and 10 Freeways. The crowded part where traffic slows at the Brewery made me hold my breath as if in a tunnel wishing. I moved forward in my seat to view a pile of rubble. Thought about taking pictures, did not, I grabbed rocks. Display them as relics, Holy Foreskin in a vitrine.
You think that sacrilegious before Easter. It is not. I will have them blessed  when I'm back.

In 1983 I lived above LACE on Industrial Street. L.A. now has a District name for everywhere. Art District, K- Town for samples. Back then Little Tokyo didn't have condos or fancy hotels. I drove a 1970's Corolla with no radio and a bit of bondo- nothing worth stealing. Sunny days I rode my bike across the bridge to work in Boyle Heights. After painting at night for hours I met friends for a night cap at Yee Mee Loo's, also gone to rubble.
You think it strange for a tiny girl to ride about. It was not. I carried a permit to pack.

Is nothing sacred or beautiful? Could we not have bolstered it up with patches of wire and
called it a pedestrian path? The Walking District. The bridge connected East Side to the Fashion District (glorious name for seedy Santee Alley) and the shrinking Flower Market.
Aren't there jobs there? Maybe not important. I miss the 6th Street Bridge.

Who gets that bronze plaque?

Marshmallow

Marshmallow Memory Poem

High School French Teacher asks class,

"Any word you need translated?"

"Professeur de Madame s'il vous plaît dites-moi 

comment dire marshmallow en français?"

She looks at me strangely.

"Ask another question," is her answer.

There is a french word.

She never enjoyed the sweet

smoky taste of perfect roasted

guimauve.

Joy of beach palette fire.

Fetch near the dumpsters.

Haul hangs out of the trunk

pray Sheriff doesn't spot with

the wood bumping in the back.

Seven girls and five seat belts.

Before videos of crash dummies.

Friends protect sugar from fire.

Sparks flash to the night sky.

Chic hand me downs.

Tissue pad the bra.

Pray Valentine arrives.

There's a Saint for that.

Posse jammed in a Plymouth Valient

are Princesses in their own right

makers of finest Parisian guimauve.

Caroline Gerardo Guimauve Poem 2/15/2016 Copyright

Bee Waterfall

Road trip past.

Recognize what
haunts mind.

A daylight
koi circle, as
fountains with
no font head or end
can't change.

Answer doubt
with planned fixes.
Return puppy
understand
delphinium isn't
poison foxglove.

Reunion perfume attracts bees
light, exercise, healthy
pollen and positive self vision kicks in change.

Stray hops in car for a ride, confused and cold.
Worker male bees sleep out in open.
They dream while snoozing on flowers.

Open window fly ~ fearless soul of sweet honey ~ you can do it too.

Caroline Gerardo 2/17/2016 Copyright #haiku #poetry and #photographs

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