"hmong" poems
Germans, love to be funny
German-English, love to be friends
Trinis, love to work hard
English, love to talk loud
Bajan, love to travel
Hmong-Americans, love to look classy
Korean-English, love to hangout
Koreans, look good in "gangsta"
Tobagonians, love to give gifts
Americans, love fresh vegetables
Chinese-Americans, love butter biscuits
Canadians, don't know that one guy
Kenyans, love Ethiopian food
Guineans, are the best Arabic teachers
Jordanians, love Kentucky Fried chicken
Brazilians, love Trinidad
Brazilian-Americans, have 5 kids
Puerto Ricans, love Ecuadorians
Ecuadorians, love Puerto Ricans
Peruvian-Americans, love concert piano
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
How can I ever explain it?
Not without a full disclosure
I will tell you every bit
Your kindness to which I demure
Soldiers fight their own private war
Mine to protect the Hill Tribes
Willing to suffer all the gore
All credit to them I ascribe
Upon arrival in Da Nang
I gathered my field gear and rifle
A mission with Colonel Vang
Preparation seemed but a trifle
My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies
Give a great gift to me, your sons
I will escort them through Hades
I'll teach them to ****** with guns
Wet their tongues in cobra's blood
I have come to save you from doom
The coming communist red flood
Boys already made their own tomb
We shall fly the flags of the Hmong
We'll rally boys from the villes
We must slaughter the Minh and Cong
The Hmong will have their own Bastille
I will take a dragon to wife
Boys will nurture in her foul breath
They will worship their ****** knife
We'll dance the ritual of death
I’m the lost soul forest monster
Others have come before today
They are pathetic impostors
We will flow through the night to slay
Other boys born beneath the palm
They have come to steal your life's breath
It's them that we target to bomb
I'll walk among you as Macbeth
My Duncan is among your kin
Banquo will haunt me til I rot
I will be fixed with mortal sin
Unable to wash away the spot
I will hide my hands from Odin
A conundrum in which I'm caught
Future will be among the Jinn
My destiny from this foul plot
Your sons buried in sacred ground
They'll not be stained with my darkness
Peace for them will be so profound
How many thanks can I express
Those boys in valor's selfless crown
From gallantry, their future gone
Sins I keep and can't beat down
For many years, I must atone.
I, far removed from battles roar
Do fondly remember those boys
Their smiles and laughter before
Stand out among life's greatest joys
No more the fierce warrior am I
Just an old man with memories
I am needing to just say goodbye
And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
What will you do when the trains went by?
It was a cold winter during the War
It was Germany and the trains kept going by
How did they know the box cars were full of people, stacked like bags of flour?
Going to their death? Screaming for help...
What can I say?
What would we do when the trains came by?
And heard what we thought were cries for help
Or the wheels rubbing against the cold metal tracks
One Church, by the tracks, in this small village, even planned the hymns during the times the trains went by near this sacred place; no one could hear the cries for help...
What about the trains that goes by for us these days
The person of color, the Muslim, the Hmong family down the block
The gay or lesbian teen that lives in fear of his or her classmates & parents and church, mosque or place of spiritual practice...
What are we doing when the trains go by?
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
Who will be the next White House resident?
Barack Obama set a precedent
I'm ready for the first woman…
I'm ready for the first Asian…
I'm are ready for our first Latinx…
What about an Amerind President;
Original resident as president?
Wow to that!
Which Hmong among us is ready to run?
Orange cheeto has to go.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
In memory of Forrest Bird, who saved the lives of millions
A little Bird, singing all through the night
A plastic box of green mechanicals
Its soft, subtle hiss-click there breathing life
Into and through the wreckages of boys
Americans, mostly, Vietnamese
Koreans, Cambodians, Lao, Hmong
And one who might have been a Russian (shhhhh….) -
The pretty Bird sang in their languages
And when they woke, the soft song that they heard
Was whispered to them by a little green Bird
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC