Bryan Thao Worra
Bryan Thao Worra Poems
|41.||What Tomorrow Takes Away||11/14/2017|
|42.||Swallowing The Moon||11/14/2017|
|43.||Moon Crossing Bone||7/29/2013|
|45.||Surprises In America||7/13/2012|
|46.||Golden Triangle, Holy Mountain||7/13/2012|
|47.||New Myths Of A Northern Land||7/13/2012|
|51.||E Pluribus Unum||7/13/2012|
|53.||A Crime In Xieng Khouang||7/29/2013|
|54.||Our Dinner With Cluster Bombs||7/13/2012|
Comments about Bryan Thao Worra
Our Dinner With Cluster Bombs
Our pilot packs a Makarov
Flying into the outskirts
Of the old province capitol
Long since delivered to kingdom come.
It‟s bleak, this once-thriving home of ours
Now just a pile of broken jars
Serenading the paint chips and charred spars
Of the human spirit.
Our hotel is ringed with bomb-tails
And inert Browning machine guns from distant days
It‟s all the rage in décor.
The markets of carcass thrive because
There is no refrigeration to speak of:
Power fails them here, except from 5 to 11
When coincidentally, the ...
When I go to sleep there is a distant city for a nation,
And in that city a street at night, fragrant as a frangipani.
On that street there is a house, there is a room, there is a pillow,
Soft and welcoming like a strong woman‟s smile
Who reminds me of everything a world is supposed to be,
One dream at a time, where I want to whisper, a phoenix,
"I don‟t want to be a stranger, " but I barely have the words.