When I feel my skin All firm and fresh Able to brave the sun and wind Is in my home. My home is my solitude. So it is any land Time or space. My home is on a crowded street As long as I drink…

It’s small in comparison to this big place with its resident poltergeist. I’ve not for a moment felt at home here. But my little van is another story with its soft, comfortable bed in the back. Just one seat for the driver, and plenty of…

This poem has * l e v i t y * Conveyed through p U n C t U a T i O n ! And a steadfast dedication to FORMATTING But don’t let its A C T I O N – F I L…

As I cross the bridge over the river, I know I’m almost home The changing leaves, their colors bright as if to welcome me back The two lane roads, the Amish buggies, the fields that span for miles The air so crisp and clean, I’m…

If a tree falls in the forest, Does it make a sound? If a thought appears, But does not take root, Does it count?   © 2021 S Phua

in the silence of my mornings pen in hand i write the dust from my heart to make my world whole and filled with love again after the ugliness of the unseen has left its mark on my heart.   those early words on the…

The honey bees buzz, Like a lemonade fizz. They take honey from flowers, They are Honey’s lover. They are very hurry, To take honey. If it is time to home, They return back to their comb.  

On a Sunday afternoon, my dad called.  This was unusual, since, well,  We don’t call each other. So I knew that meant that Something was very wrong.    I hadn’t even answered yet,  Heart in my throat, racing, But I knew it was my mother….

I hear my boots Scraping on the pavement On an empty street At 2 am I see ribbons of light Swirling around me Ghosts of the cars That went by I feel prickles On the back of my neck Caused by the person Following me…

I might be insane, but the place I feel most at home is a world I made up over a couple decades of creative writing. Hmmm… (for hour 24—prompt: the place I feel most at home; here’s a poem from the history of Onweald)  …