I know what I'm going to do
About two and a half years from now
I'm going to order a case of Soju

Maybe two cases
One Jinro and one Lotte
Just to switch things up

Tastes similar to Purell
Strong stuff, burns your nose
Two bottles will knock you out

Same stuff my mom drank
When she locked my brother
In the ******* bathroom

Same stuff my aunts drank
When they kicked me as
I hid under a blanket

Same stuff I sneaked shots of
A few years ago, when my mom
Was depressed and decided to drink again

Sa-rang had always loved Seoul. Her dreams with crowds, around the Han River day and night. It was a place where she felt delighted and safe.
She was a popular, courageous, soju drinker with charming dark eyes and beautiful pink lips. Her friends saw her as a lovely, quiet hero. Once, she even gave a cup of milk to a lost kitten. That's the sort of woman she was.
Sa-rang walked over to the window and reflected on the colorful lights of her surroundings. The moon shined like a spotlight searching for someone.
Then she saw something in the distance. Or rather someone. It was the figure of Ron. He was a daring king from a far off land with blond hair and vast shoulders looking at the water.
Sa-rang gulped. She was not prepared for Ron.
As Sa-rang stepped outside, and Ron came closer, she could see the substantial glint in his blue eyes.
Ron gazed with the affection of 10,000 kittens. He said, in quiet tones, "I love you, and I want love."
Sa-rang looked back, even more surprised and still looking at the enchanted book. "Ron, please stay until the day I die," she replied.
They looked at each other with pleasant smiles. Feelings of love, like two teens, dancing at a very friendly K-POP Concert, which had piano music playing in the background and two admirable young women dancing to the beat.
Sa-rang regarded Ron's blond hair and vast shoulders. "I feel the same way!" revealed Sa-rang with a delighted grin.
Ron looked nervous, his emotions blushing like a red rose he wished he had.
Then Ron came inside for a nice drink of soju.

(C) 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

I would have loved to teach you
Chinese chess
And Muay Thai
Or even Brazilian Jiujitsu
Staining the mats
With sweat and stolen caresses
A serious session
That just might transition
From full guard
To full-on French kissing.

We could have watched Oldboy again
Together this time,
Or Glengarry Glen Ross,
My favorite movie.
And you could have shown me
A film major's favorite movies.

We could have tried the tacos
In Chupacabra,
The salmon sashimi in Sugi
(Their fresh sea urchin is the bomb, by the way).
I could even have cooked for you.
My vichyssoise isn't bad.
And you do love potatoes more than your own family.

Kayaking in the south,
Roadtripping all the way north,
Visited the stone houses and the honest folk
Of the northernmost islands.

Held contests
To see who could drink who under the table.
Your weakness is beer,
Mine is soju.
Could have seen who could hold whiskey better. 

I was dead serious too
When I said I was serious
About taking you
To the West Indies and North Africa
For that pilgrimage of yours.

I was prepared to hear what you had to say
About the things you see
The spirits calling to you
The dead dancing like wisps at dusk
Demons chasing you;
Skeptic or not,
I never would have minded you waking me up at 4 AM
To tell me about your latest vision.

Run cigarette companies out of business
Introduced you to my friends and my family
Listened to you sing and
Allowed awe to seize me again and again
Written a hundred poems in praise
And read your requital ones.

Kissed under the stars,
Talked in the dark
On the sand
Until 3 AM,
Exchanging yawns and hugs,
Bumming smokes off of each other
And greeting the sunrise
With a bottle of local moonshine
Bought from the fisherfolk.

Taken you shooting
9mm, .45, even 12 gauge.
Entwine my arms around you
Whisper in your ear
Inhale the cordite in the air and the smell of your skin
Teaching you shot placement
That you're pulling the trigger wrong
And hold your breath a bit and don't flinch.

Played Skyrim and CoD all night long
Yelled ******* at each other
While kicking *** on Tekken
And swapping spit in between rounds.

Made friends with your beagle
And discussed a life together
A dog, a cat, maybe no kids.
Just one, if ever.
Argued over names for the kid.

We had a real connection, too,
But, oh well,
How was I supposed to know
That you were just looking for cheap thrills
For transient pleasure
That the 'connection' was probably just one-way?
Maybe I'm just stupid.

I'll just have to find someone else
To do these things with.
Someone better, smarter, funnier,
But none of your legion of issues
The truckloads of your problems.

Have a nice day.

This **** could be a lot easier
if I wasn't so dusty
or if my aspiration hasn't been disposed
or exposed. 'Thought you'd like to know.
I'm failing math again."
And my game is still obviously whack,
Anyway I got you to come over.
So, with a pretty girl now and drinking kombucha,
all these Facebook friends
I didn't think I'd have to see again.
Beckon me with a tight fist.
Refresh the laptop and let the afterglow echo
back and drift,
over a nose and fascinating lips.
"You know the bars here don't close till very late."
Everything I love will probably crumble
into a glass of soju. Vices
and the soul undressed
and the fish market's funk clings and holds tightly
onto another's thin grey hoodie.
"What do you do?"
Hobbies among other things include googling
or maybe just oogling at an Incheon passerby.
"Seoul tonight is almost as bright as you."

it was
all too easy,
forgetting your name,
tasting the starlight tucked
behind someone else's
wisdom teeth,
our soju-laced smiles
crashing at 90mph
and the memory of you
caught  
in the headlights and wreckage,
our 2am laughter
echoing in your bones
from 5654 miles away,
my hands knowing
the age-old roads
that led to brand new places,
and the faded map of you
folded and kept hastily
in my back pocket.

*(I was far too proud
to ask for directions
to come home)

If I should Disappear,
Look far to the East.
You will see my spirit,
From a wondrous place.

A house full of glowing lights.
A place of delicious food.
The place where the young party!

All I see are green bottles of Soju.

Reality is a staircase leading nowhere.
Life, full of problems, is hard!
I work every day.
Korea is so far away!
My soul on fire and everlasting pain!
Korea someday!
Even if my ashes on a jet plane.

© 2013 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

A dream is a sunny Korean Green Day.
Enduring loves, like a firm hand.
Singles like soju.
Where is the intense girl?
Crying tears quietly alone!

Drowning sorrows
With little green bottles,
Never love a tear.
Kiss seldom like a cold holiday.
The small girl nowhere views the drunk in the mirror.

Couples walk tender romantic, holding hands.
Adoring green clothes,
Trees rise.
Nature kisses like a boundless delicious boy.
Trees are eagerly awaiting a firm stunning, pure love!

The eager mountain patiently desires the girl and boy.
Kiss calmly like an enduring, unwavering blissful wind.
Couples fall roughly like a hot misty Korean day.
Ooh, love!

Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

With looping hillside vendors
and red-light beams stalking the
cigarette smoke clouds, clinging
behind business men mobs (of 4 or 5)

and fracturing wildly from green-glass
bottles of soju and the girls
(oh the girls) who guard and call
out from dark thresholds with only
a spotlight of pink neon from

(***, Trans Cafe, Eat Me)
the signs from above. And the glass
walls separating the men
from the girls and the short skirts
(plaid like schoolgirls) beckoning,

silent and alone, sitting on stools
(one leg over another) paid at the bars
for two drinks (and 250,000 Won)
usually by Americans, bored and trapped,

stranded (at Yongsun Army Garrison)
they venture Incheon at dark,
with sad eyes and lust, (trading paychecks
for hand jobs) guilty and delaying,
waiting for a three year tour (of
what feels like a lifetime) in Seoul
to end.

When we broke, You told me that me that although you're the last person I should be hearing this from, I should be rational even during my saddest times. It was as though you knew I'd harm myself when the pain overwhelmed me.

No love, I'm not suicidal- we both said it before. I won't **** myself over something like this just as how I know you won't. the physical will survive.

But what you don't know is that the internal has died. It first died when we broke, it died the second time when we talked and laughed and our smiles faded when we realised that the time to part was coming as we saw the sun rise. It died a third time when I cried and for the first time- you didn't hold me, Nor apologise. And it died a thousand times over when you let me walk away.

For a thousand times.
I put on a happy kind of face. But
I travel on in life as a lonely Angel,
I like tasting wine and walking the dogs.

I contemplate thousands of times past.
But when I start to think,
My mind turns straight to forever.

Seeing my reflections in a wavy river,
I look into my eyes,
I think about forever with a smile.

But I think it's the next thousand hours that will make
my life worthwhile.

Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
A thousand days or forever?

I like to use words like 'food and 'travel'.
I like to use words like 'charity' and loyalty'.

But when I stop my talking,
I daydream about forever.

I like to hang out with tequila and soju.
But when left alone,
My mind thinks of forever.

Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
A thousand Days, or
Forever?

© Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

The overcast skies reveal a cluster of cumulonimbus clouds,
a day so dreary and dark that it conjures the idea of fleeing
-- escaping into mindless memories of better times,
sitting in the grass field next to the Markthal in Rotterdam,
opening another bottle of soju in a murky downstairs Seoul bar,
a bar where more than once her feet had buckled under the weight
of one too many drinks, stairs lopsided and wobbly as her steps,
getting stuck in traffic on the way back to the airport of Kuala Lumpur,
tears on her cheeks streaked parallel lines, etched into her make-up
as if a part of her, dripping down into her lap where her fists
were balled up, clenched tight and shaking from the pressure,
visiting Singapore’s Supertree Grove in a one-day trip,
traveling back to Europe, now in Berlin, next day in Prague,
where the standout memory is one too many shots of Becherovka.
Back home it is ten degrees and rain is slowly drizzling down,
the streets are covered with a reflective surface, a mirror
she does not want in front of her, a confrontation she does not want
She left Carcassonne’s castle behind alone, retraces the steps
as if the outcome could still be changed, a mindless mind game
When the sky clears clear contrasts are formed
her escapism has escaped and she is like an esclave to her thoughts.
She travels through all her travels but no what ifs are left to be explored
Tomorrow the weather turns again and so will her memories,
an endless labyrinth she has not yet found an exit to.

It's been, what, 5 years?

The 1st year, I hid in my room
with depression devouring me

The 2nd year, I broke so many phones
trying to reach you, but you never picked up

The 3rd year, I started pretending you never left
I beat up anyone who tried to convince me otherwise

The 4th year, and I thought learning you would bring you back
Midnights had me studying Chinese, and I didn't care if I got heartburn
eating the spicy tofu you liked so much when you were here

The 5th year, I kind of realised you weren't coming back

But then, somewhere around autumn, you called and with that
horribly familiar accented Korean, you asked to meet.
I should have said no, shouted in your ear, swore at you with all the curses I used to teach you, slammed the phone on you.
I should have done all of those things,
but I didn't.

"So how's it been all these years?"
This is going all wrong, I shouldn't look so excited
I shouldn't be smiling like I'm looking at my favourite person in the world
And you make it sound so simple. "I'm great, thanks."
I guess you'll never know about the hunger strikes,
or the crying,
or the self-harm.

Now everything's falling into place.
We talk and laugh over soju,
and we watch variety shows with me in them,
and dramas and movies with you in them,
and it's like you never left.
Only I can't quite erase the 5 years,
but it seems as if you already have.
It's okay, I don't mind.
(actually, *******)
I love you.

“residents only”
you opened a gate to
an apartment complex
one bottle of soju
you and me
i drank most of it though
the sky is getting darker
i need to leave
but i stay a bit longer
bottle almost empty
you said i was cute
you were smiling at me
the sight of my drunk ***
singing and dancing
im sweetly spinning around

i think maybe i'll write
on soju and beer
and blow cigarette smoke on the page
the words that appear
make me think that i fear
a lifetime in my head

somehow, slowly sipping soju
through crazy-straws isn't seen
as art.

same goes for cyanide, somehow.

tough crowd.

gold falls from my ceiling
like fake snow on the set
of a ****** sitcom.

How could I forget
When I met you
You were drinking Soju

I had the same Korean market earrings
Shifting in my ears
Magnets swinging sober

Drunk on approaching you
All sunken eyes and crooked lip
But this was not our fate
I’d call this having the upper hand

In that moment, we could argue it was me

All wicked and intentioned
Closing bar as I tend to
Always last to be called on or kicked out
Call it what you will
Just, call me

You call it confidence I call it chaos
You claim I caught you when I spoke

But let’s be honest
It was always you

You radiate a warmth I’ve never needed
Until now
So now,
Who’s really got the upper hand

Put my money where your mouth is
Because I can’t live on “what if” notions
Too much agony in uncertainty
Too much going with the motions

You
A believer in “just going for it”

Me
All calculated and miss-calibrated

I’m prone to keeping wary company
Keeps me grounded
Keeps me satiated

Know I’m reckless and unwavered
I’d hardly call it well intentioned

More like there’s more to fear than losing
More crushing soul in desperation

And we both know I could stand to feel something

The days are becoming too many bricks
through one window
or too much hornet soju before hitting
the next noodle spot.

Old news like the petrichor.

The walls are screaming "pick up the pen"
like it's so simple to not sip the sickness
out of this distance and call it a friend.

Mentally melting,
sell it quick,
sell it quicker.
The market's on nose-dive.

Stuck and helpless but on a slow climb
to mindful of what "self-as-center" gets.

I guess this isnt idleness...