Sitting in a shining sun
can take its toll,
bruised, blackened, broken, from a fall.
A blush of green,
Yellow, golden colored skin.
Tall, long,
hanging in a bunch.
Soon to rot.
Soft beneath the skin.

Cemetery Samba Roll
A man played the trumpet on graves, Fusion-Jazz-Rock. Monuments began to move, shake.
A crucifix bowed to a Madonna statue as she curtsied.
Headstones swayed, left, right, strutting their stuff, in dips, An obelisk genuflected, toying with massive monuments.
The cemetery became a ballroom. Headstones, monuments, mausoleums, statues, started swinging, dancing.
Side-by-side kicks, sidestepping in sync.
Mausoleums turned in a quick step. A massive statue did a split. Tombstones tranced in Castle walks, spinning through the flowers.
Everything gleamed in by the light of the Sun. Shadows play tricks.

High Tea With My Dog Grandma
I served Grandma high tea. She just ate the scones.
I spoke of The Wall.
She put her head in her paws. I spoke of North Korea. She rolled over.
I spoke of President Trump. She got up and walked away. I could hear her howl.
Perhaps, it was the Echinacea tea!
My grandma loved dogs.
She had five dogs, and always said, when she died,
she would come back as a dog.
Hence, I wrote this poem.

If I Were A Butterfly
As I was sitting on my Mama’s grave, A Caterpillar crawled up my leg. Up, up, it climbed like an accordion. It tickled me. Got me to think.
I want it to turn into a colorful butterfly, see its fan-shaped wings spread wide: A rainbow of color,
graceful as a flower,
light as air,
sweet as sap.
Delightful to view dancing in midflight.
If I were a butterfly,
I would pollinate as many flowers as possible to create an urban living space,
a mellifluousness of the mind, of time and space.
A place of peace and flowers.
Where butterflies, birds, bees live in harmony And the world is forever at peace.