All posts filed under: Poetry

On fearlessness and art with #LAWS2017’s Saymoukda and Krysada

Next week, Seattle gears up to host the 4th Lao American Writers Summit. I sat down to have a candid conversation with my friends and summit keynote speakers, Saint Paul-based playwright Saymoukda Douangphouxay Vongsay and San Diego-based bboy poet Krysada Binly Panusith Phounsiri. When it comes to honing their craft and building community through art, there are very few Lao Americans I know who hold the level of badassery as much as these two. We talk about the state of Lao America, building a community of artists and what’s next on their project plate. Chanida: What are you both looking forward to the most in Seattle? Krysada: Meeting new people and having conversations. Live chats with people will be my highlight. Saymoukda: Learning about other artists whom I haven’t met and learning about their work. I want to find possibilities to grow together and collaborate if it makes sense. And to amplify each other’s work. We don’t amplify each other’s work enough. C: Give us a teaser about your keynote speeches. S: There’s not a …

Give to The Bryan Thao Worra Fund

Our legendary award-winning poet, writer, community trailblazer, arts & culture editor and above all else– friend, Bryan Thao Worra, is in need of our community’s help. Do you have Bryan’s back? I’m sharing one of our favorite poems to remind the world the impact of his words. . . . Read his story and donate here: https://www.youcaring.com/bryanthaoworra  . . . “Aftermaths” by Bryan Thao Worra   Sometimes, I want to tell you. Laying by your side, it’s a mystery to explain Why I gave up my poetry for so long.   It’s a mystery to explain why I told you my mother is dead, When I really don’t know what happened to her in those distant jungles.   I loved you, telling you everything I knew about myself, Only to find, as the years went on, how little I really knew.   I can’t dream of my father, his face was blown off by an Anonymous enemy rifle before a picture could be taken.   I don’t have the voice to sing songs to you, Or the stories, …