Sunday morning Wet asphalt Lazy dog Sleepy cat Moisture in the air Thick and heavy Cloudy No sunlight today Nothing to hear Everything is quiet

The brightness is Warming It is cause and reaction It is going to be better. As I expected Expected Expected Expected Expected it is the sun burning dinner. Philip V. Coombs 8-9pm  24 poems 24 Hours.

So all of that was for this? and none of that will help this other than to remind me how far this can go how deep the well of societal dysfunction is and find ways to mitigate more dis-ease my people are working, tied at…

on the precipice looking towards the bitter seas what is left for me   horizon shores storm nature’s lessons crash upon undertow awaits   this call cannot be when answers ask more questions what lies beneath lies

A Final Poem of Thought This experience won’t win me a Pulitzer. Won’t not get me an Academy Award, Grammy, or an Emmy. It has the opportunity to allow me to published a poem,  my prize winning certificate without trophy. My name in print, a…

I moved from home not thinking I would miss it 34 years, and as long as I remained close to Mama I knew I was home Now, nothing feels like it Why did I move away again? Any place that had Mama there was home…

Books were safer than people anyway That’s what I said to myself As I slid another book onto the wall Blocking the sunlight Built shelves over the windows So I wouldn’t see the outside world And locked myself away My only company Would be fictional…

i feel at home when you hold me to together when we stop in our tracks and look up towards the sky i feel like i’m important and that everything mans nothing has touched me yet loving you makes me feel invincible

Never mine but always the place somewhere up north a home, for my laughing face The badminton net and horseshoe pit clearing the brush and the Muskoka-chair to sit The black flies and mosquitoes never to leave but we were never distraught our tales to…

 Alade Street   I remember Alade Street It was a wide one, untarred, hardly traveled by other than us – the dwellers of the street It stretched from the residence of the mayor – The Baale we called him All the way to Mrs. Kojo’s…