The Pier I spent many a year catching fish by the buckets Upon the Gulf of Mexico’s shoreline From sand trout to sharks and gafftop to eel My childhood grew wildly there It kept me from trouble, away from that crowd Special bonding time for…

Listen night and day Hear the world as it tries to say All is sacred under one sun Nothing more special than another one Each sings a beautiful tune But it may well all be gone too soon Listen with your heart Listen with you…

“You need to love yourself more” My heart whispers to my body While my hand is still typing While my eyes are getting red While my mind is stressing I can’t listen to my heart I keep working I am getting insane Depression is coming…

BLUES BUELLERS                    how often does the train come by? headlamp glinting off a silver moon river sign slow blinking red-red-red for the ATV idiots   chugging slow low rolling steel wheel thunder through the stricken trees…

Clever man plays God. Makes another like himself. Terrible idea.   © 2021 S Phua

The Moon, full, and pumpkin bright, glares through my window blinds tonight, searching past my window pane, some hidden truth to ascertain, of keeping nightbourne hours well— a secret kept and cannot tell— and pay no homage to the gibbous god of rest; from tilling…

If a candies tree appear, If it grows candy cane. Red for blood, White for pure milk. Branches are covered with chocolate cream. Golden bell on the top of the tree. Shimmery honey makes the tree shine. And Puffy  cotton candy spread here and there….

I want to be missed if I went away Not to die but no longer seen to play I want people that live on my street To be aware that we no longer meet For social media to notice I’ve gone That I never post…

“Making the rounds?” I asked the figure in the corner of the bar All black-leather-jacket-and-straight-cut-jeans – It was the sunken eyeballs that gave him away I knew he was Death by his walk; he didn’t need the scythe With a smile like that, with teeth…

Chalices Trumpet vines in the church gardens, a halo of orange over the St Francis statue where I converse with Dad on Sundays and Holy Days. Birds hover on the fence, wait to bless themselves in the font below the Saint’s feet. Cabbage white butterflies…