"chiang" poems
In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way
First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting ***** to send to The Man
Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train
Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA
The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.
The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA
He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an ***** load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold
Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA
Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & *****
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood
Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA
The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan
All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA
And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars
It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA
All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu
All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA
Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix
Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA
January 1972
10.1k
"Move" they say
and put martingale on with a neigh
Thai pony in Chiang Mai
A green patch of grass
was what your heart desires
would yourself like a chew of truss?
In the forest with no name
on hard concrete without an aim
swimming with the tuk-tuk wave
"Where am I?"
you ask with side-patched eye
"My knees are soft like a microwaved pie"
But all you ever get
is a whip on the back
from the oddity with some leather strap
"Why are you so hesitant
while all the other stallions are competent
don't you know the creatures in the carriage are very important?"
"How important are the vultures in the world I don't know
but I know that I won't say no
if you borrow a thread of my hair for a violin bow
and play their funeral march with it to and fro"
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
He Lead the Chinese people against the Imperialist Japanese
Chiang symbolized China's resistance against Japan
In 1938 he received the title of Tsung -tsai (party leader)
For 8 years he kept 2/3 of the Chinese people
And 3/4 of the Chinese land
Free of the Japanese
He was fighting a defensive war
Against a more powerful Japanese army
He believed in one China
In his life
He hoped to restore the unity of China
Committed to Confucianism
A united strong prosperous stable society
Is achieved by freeing up the industrious economy
A mixed economy
With a strong central government
With noble firm leaders
Keeping control
His vision of China is reflected in modern china
Much more than Mao's
He hoped for a modern Confucian China
His vision is closer to China than Taiwan
The interview asked," Would the Chinese people be better off
If Chiang had won and ruled instead of Mao?"
Yes, the thirty million people would not have died
And China would not have suffered the setbacks
In their education and economy
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
did you know that
there's no such thing as
a perfect name?
one day i'm catherine
and in the next breath, esther -
boudica, scathach, chiang;
virginia, sacagawea, rosalind.
i change like the ocean
so don't try to name me.
don't try to limit me.
you cannot keep me
from being great.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
I dodged a desert eagle bullet and disappeared
As the swan's trumpet rusted
During the Pentecost
As the ordained minister pressed play
Chiang Kai-sheck pressed on against communists
My horse got spooked by some type of anomaly
Making me late for my two o'clock train
So now I have saddle bags of useless words
My cigarette's one giant granny ash
And my bowl is cashed
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Too many people write about love
without being right about love
Full of
yet tight on their love
Spewing
an echo of flowery 19th century poetry
When the real love
is a point of view
It's looking back on that girl you hated 5 years back
with a new eye
It could just be a cat purring in your lap
It could be a warm fireplace
or a ******* you gave in Chiang Mai
It could be the ocean
or it could be that time when you collapsed in a gutter in New Orleans
and you lay in the trash
but looked up at the stars
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
I saved my sanity.
Wandering, lost in Chiang Mai.
The Child, bewildered,
At all the greatest treasures.
Yet a map had not revealed
The back-alleys, hidden between gazes.
In the weave of foreign air,
There lies a curious urge
To explore.
Pondering.
You took me around,
Aimless at cause, but
Genuine in eagerness.
You smile speaks in stars.
Taking in the blue jar,
Laughter over mind.
Thinking in balance,
The necessity in fun:
Every story, an adventure,
Every sip, diving deeper,
Every shot, poetic.
All in days of conversation.
Yet, what lies in fatal attraction,
Pulling me towards you.
Your state of mind;
Your insecurities, your imperfections.
You were lost too.
Life had not yet reveal
The answer to your questions, and
You stand in frustration, without
The sanctimony of
Comfort.
Let me add to yours.
Would you take my hand?
Share this journey with me, as I give you
The chance to find your pursuit?
Maybe, just maybe.
We'll have the end in Chiang Mai.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
With this card, I'd like to say,
A Happy Birth and Father's Day!
To a brilliant father and a friend,
whom I must drive round the bend.
Fifty-eight years, you've been alive.
Protecting me for thirty-five.
And without you, I can easily say,
I wouldn't be the man I am today.
So live it up for a couple of days
and do things that make you smile.
Then get some flights to Chiang Mai booked,
and we'll live it up Thailand Style!
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC
Bing bing **** annouce
train to Chiang Mai departs soon!
the king sleeps dog barks
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
I'd known you for all five years of my life
when I learned we are cousins.
I envied the seven months of wisdom you had
more than me.
You had a dog I loved
and a stuffed cat that purred.
You saw the elephants in Chiang Mai
seven months before I did.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
Whiz-zip-bang shenyang ang;
Mang mangue flang hang prang pang;
Pinang lalang unhang kang youth defang khang;
Marang schlang gang wolfgang ying-yang xuanzang.
Klang sea get wrang.
Sang tsang li-kang gangue langues.
Thang drang crang tang harangue sprang zhang shang siang whang strang hang verdinsgang chuang;
Brang lang nang bhang xiaogang mahuang durang huang.
Hange hsiang und;
Zang rang kuomintang ourang section gang hang.
Krang pahang boomerang fang guilt;
Spang gang;
Hangsang xinjiang tunkelang slang tangue nanchang clang chang bangue vang ziyangbaoguang hwang pang the tsiang alang dang ylang-ylang.
Tang liang.
Overhang langue pyongyang.
Cangue sangh mustang stang frang yang lange kukang farang **** care sturm t'ang;
Zamang drang chiang road a jang;
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
there are so many of them
and there is only less
of me —
gondola in Venice,
H-bomb
and the knife of Bach;
a steady collision in Q. Ave
as the fizz of the afternoon mirage
settles with the ides,
the torn elephants of
Chiang Mai
the red blood of Golden Gates
the froth of the repeated wave
at the lip of the ocean,
city buoys lacerating
the skyscape
and your coming in here
ransacking all;
appeasements and
trivialities — there are so many
of your photographs here
and only less of me,
looking at all of you
and weeping it
later. sounds like these sounds
hanging by the edge of the bed
reducing woes to a hair-trigger.
i look outside and there
are women, cat-called by peddlers,
stopped by cabs, inside and outside
of cars with sometimes lovers
hot legs and all that,
simmering in the highway
glancing at them now
lamenting them later,
what's a dull boy to do in a dull town
with clothes dull wielding the
dull word?
meanwhile, there's so many of you
and there is only very scant of me left.
light voyeurs through the interstices
of the huddled masses,
panic screeches through the maddened
streets of Vito Cruz.
the night is all black and stark
and the heavy behemoth of existence
prods underneath where
rats, rodents and vermin run
plodding the highway with sleek varmint
demeanor. a lady passes by with a
string of fragrance dangling upon
her shoulder-blades.
what's a dull boy got to do in a dull city
with a dull heart?
there are so many of them for my
territorial hands cannot name
and there's only one of me:
unheroic
impinged
small
half-drunk and
half-believing
that there's something
a dull boy ought to do
in this dull city
with dull words but it comes
with an exorbitant outlay.
dog-leashes are expensive,
moonless hoots through opened
windows hefty with price.
moon-blooms again and again,
missing all hurt trying to repair
the ravaged — i look at young
girls, old women, fine and complete
and this thing of being me
on the market marked: sun-stifled.
there's so many of them
there's only a sum of me
that's often small and burgeoned
bringing the question
what's a dull boy to do in a dull city underneath a dull moon
within a dull crowd?
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so I never feel silly or dumb asking questions.
AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am.
A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring.
There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings.
Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots.
Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places.
Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky.
Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world.
There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing.
“Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?”
My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement.
I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass;
I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow?
I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my *** people.
I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill.
In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask.
“I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags.
As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face.
The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Home by Luke Chiang
No Other Plans by Sunny Levine
Sep 23, 2024
Sep 23, 2024 at 12:48 AM UTC
María Kodama lo descubrió. Pese a su autoridad y a su firmeza, es curiosamente liviano. Quienes lo ven lo advierten; quienes lo advierten lo recuerdan.
Lo miro. Siento que es una parte de aquel imperio,
infinito en el tiempo, que erigió su muralla para construir un recinto mágico.
Lo miro. Pienso en aquel Chiang Tzu que soñó que era una mariposa y que no sabía al despertar si era un hombre que había soñado ser una mariposa o una mariposa que ahora soñaba ser un hombre.
Lo miro. Pienso en el artesano que trabajó el bambú y lo dobló para que mi mano derecha pudiera calzar bien en el puño.
No sé si vive aún o si ha muerto.
No sé si es tahoista o budista o si interroga el libro de los sesenta y cuatro hexagramas.
No nos veremos nunca.
Está perdido entre novecientos treinta millones.
Algo, sin embargo, nos ata.
No es imposible que Alguien haya premeditado este vínculo.
No es imposible que el universo necesita este vínculo.
711
I remember through the haze of Hong Thong and Thai Stick
Our sterile love
In that shabby hotel
In Chiang Mai
Our stubble
Like Velcro
And I don't remember much else
Wasting away
Here
It's funny how you forget things
It's also crushingly sad
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
Spitting blood into the sink
from infected gums
who gives a **** anyway
about hopeless romantic love
Life is Happy, Life is Sad
a poem for any occasion
She abandoned desire way downtown
although the clock said she was aging
They had plans to leave Bangkok by train,
two seats they didn't fill
A wayfaring stranger without a name
prayed they never will
The music rang out like a shotgun blast
and stung like a scorpion's tail
There was nothing left to comprehend
just two diverging trails,
from me to you
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 7:11 PM UTC
After you all left, your party that is,
I ended up parkouring a bit,
through a beautiful display of bamboo,
and wooden structures,
and found myself amongst friends,
Thai ladies who recognized me,
from the last time i had been here,
and we picked up conversation,
exactly where we had left off.
The one on my left was from Chiang-Rai,
she was beautiful, and spoke english well,
while the one to my right,
who also spoke well, was much more foreign,
and much less cute.
After finalizing the feelings,
it was off to the festival of life,
and the veggie food cart, once again,
was happy to see my face.
I told them as i had last time,
“Come to get a massage,
we can exchange for bomb food,
and all will work out well.”
Somehow these fields of love,
brought me back to prison walls,
and a game of basketball,
amongst angsty inmates,
and the soup that was bought for me,
for i could not pay, and we lost the game,
but all was not lost,
as i was given the keys to the jailhouse band,
and almost instantly i was back in that bar,
with my dad getting me drunk,
and buying tons of groceries,
to feed all the new friends.
It seems i had been given a deal:
they wanted 4oz on the front,
and i would be in the band,
and my dad could manage it all,
but just as easily i was sitting on a couch,
taking such a fat rip of bho,
that without missing a beat,
i remembered its exactly what i shouldn’t have done.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC