Hope to see you all tonight!

as the spring cocoon breathes new life, poets bring words back
nursin' slurry verses slurpin' up the truth sap
but know that, we be comin' back, the laughin' Deep East Professors
wreckin' havoc all over ya pad, dabbin' ya with inked letters
our rhymebooks swell, with shiftin' imagery
scriptin' spells pressed against our quills, come sip our synergy
written speech, delicate soliloquies bleed our heavy souls
feeding you a feast of tongue-flung beats, our secrets from the shadows
so we cackle 'n' hold true, as our pens fiercely scribble
drippin' wet ink until that last single dribble
it's simple dear warrior poets, just brace yourselves for more
for once this summer turns the corner, we'll be knockin' down your doors...

I know that wordsmith...

great poem. well done.

Sawasdee Khrup, from Chiang Mai,

Tasty poem, Prosperus11 ! I really like these lines, which I experience as almost Shakesperian in "timbre:"

"written speech, delicate soliloquies bleed our heavy souls
feeding you a feast of tongue-flung beats, our secrets from the shadows"

Are you related to Prospero ?

I hope to soon escape the smog of Chiang Mai for a visit to Kunming, and would really like to meet up with other writers, like Prospero, and Ian, if I come, and if you have time.

While I've lived in Asia for thirteen years of my adult life (one in India, twelve in Thailand), and I have visited Kunming once several years ago (and really liked it), I am really a "virgin" in terms of Chinese, and Yunnanese culture.

As a poet, I feel the need to respond to Prospero with a sonnet:

~

on a day made out of glass

soon, on a day made out of glass: i will be broken;
cracked, chipped: a flight of sharp shards, strewn:
and, you'll try to walk, across where i'm scattered;
you'll be cut, your blood'll spill down my fragments

your wounds' pain will magnify my own far beyond
all boundaries any heart has ever double-crossed:
poet's nightingale in orange trees: will be silenced;
crystal-fountain's water-music's sweetness frozen

no one waits pen-ready-in-hand on an empty page
to write of a heart's struggle to begin a confession:
through mere words, starting with the days of flesh,
when i had no inklings fragile glass was: who i was

who'll want to know love's the worst blessed curse;
or, chance finding the true body's bones are china

~

erase the 'o' from all you know, and slowly mold in 'us'
let ya soul prosper in flow 'n' blow away ya dust
cuz once ya rumble in the kunming jungle, do ya trust these wise words
smudge grease where ya rusty, 'n' come smooth in ya verse
we split verbs with fast blurbs that capture rapid madness
'n' after that, we sit back, 'n' laugh at its wacky habits
cuz as passion peaks we speak in rhyme, 'n' slip away our dreams
sleepin' til the pen drips dry as we rip away reality
a poet so to speak, with the least amount of notion
only known to roam the ocean, gulpin' his potent potions
alone among the unspoken drones, he raises his elixir high
winks a figment of his soul-filled ink 'n' waits for ur next line...

Hope to see you guys again Monday, 9pm, Mu Yu Studio!
Ian

Tonight! Mu Yu, 9pm!

We'll be back tonight, 9pm at MuYu Studio! Drop by and read something!

Ian

With you in spirit from Bangkok!