Laos Def Poetry Jam

they call me cardboard ’cause of the way i breaks it down.

♣   ♥   ♦

come gather ’round, chillun, and have ye a listen,

to my lyrical precision, watch my very prose glisten.

as i christen this edition of the prime directive mission,

it’s imperative this narrative speaks true to my ambition.

like a can of sardines we loaded into the coach,

as our approach was encroached, i hid not my reproach,

the scumbag driver was a smuggler, put my patience through trials,

when he piled all our luggage high in piles in the aisles.

underneath of the bus went plastic tables and chairs,

nice bush-league living room set, now kiss my pale derriere.

put the pedal to the metal, cross the border and we’re gone,

and fading in the rear view is hanoi, vietnam.

twiggity-two ram-shackled hours allowed for me ample time,

to rouse an epic entourage, divine new partners in crime,

but everyone of them was english, from fear i came near,

to yellin’ “the british are coming!” like my man paul revere.

persuasive facial hair enthusiast, self-proclaimed, unabashed,

right after preachin’ my jive, each one was rockin’ a ‘stache.

and all the ladies on the bus, seduced and whipped by my quips,

cookie dusters consecrated every one of their lips.

ba-bam! i’m in vang vieng where inner-tubing is priority,

those of pious society hardly in the majority.

just be aware that the laotians will not abide sobriety,

the variety of my riot, see, led to vile impropriety.

a blur of mud fights, water slides, rope swings, bikinis and “lao lao”,

libation made of rice whiskey, i avow packs a pow now,

waking yawning the next morning in a riverside hut,

inadvertent home-stay cultural excursion, what, what?

tales of cultural phenomena, i’ve no low supply,

i won’t pretend to know why they laugh at family guy,

but im the laughin’ cracker trekkin’ ‘cross the bridge of bamboo,

i be spelunkin’ somethin’ funky, give you asiatic flu.

articulate communication, whack vernacular vibrations,

conversate my mental state as we await new destinations,

roll the dice and move your piece across the board and right along,

as we arrive and then imbibe the little town of luang prabang.

this peaceful land is host to boast the longboat races most vicious,

indigenous monks line up mad early, humbly pickin’ morning fixin’s.

and if you’re feelin’ lady luck’s sweet touch all up in your brain,

display that game you claimed you’d bring down at the bowling lanes.

with deep regret this is the spot we said farewell to our crew,

i bid adieu from me to you, for whom i paint this tableau,

the next two spots to know my wrath are further north on the map,

from nam tha to mung sing, rice paddies helped me bridge the gap.

bikin’ hikin’ climbin’ drinkin’ trekkin three days straight,

shoddy bedding, crashing weddings like alexander the great,

the tantalizing flora, like our guide was a lush,

stinkin’ drinkin’ fink was slinkin’ drinkin’ drinks in the brush.

so i suppose i say to those who chose to call me verbose,

with composure i oppose and foreclose on your repose.

fo’ sho’ my show of verbal blows breaks down doors and bo knows,

while my flow climbs ever higher like a cherokee rose.

the british are coming!

the british are coming!

old-ass boat

old-ass boat

racing of the boats

racing of the boats

breakfast time, monks, come and get it!

breakfast time, monks, come and get it!

ineffectually racist circuit breaker

ineffectually racist circuit breaker

laos loves lawnmowers

laos loves lawnmowers

put some damn pants on, boy!

put some damn pants on, boy!

our drunken guide's beehive surprise

our drunken guide's beehive surprise

you buy! you buy from meeee!

you buy! you buy from meeee!



makeshift football in the village land

makeshift football in the village land

i've come to watch your flowers growin'

i've come to watch your flowers growin'

the young bride and groom at the wedding we somehow crashed

the young bride and groom at the wedding we somehow crashed

the breakfast of champions

the breakfast of champions


4 Responses to “Laos Def Poetry Jam”

    Give credit to the poet laureate of the Prime Directive !

    More pictures!

  2. Mumm-Ra: The Ever-Living Says:

    Not bad, not bad

    But I still think i could spit that verse 🙂

  3. mumm-ra, stick to your turn tables and do us all a favor.

  4. I cry with pride, my beamish boy.

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