“See you tomorrow, Thailand”

Queen Mother Sirikit’s eyes

Oversee

The Siam Sea

And evolution of Thailand’s history.

Her face is framed in gold –

Her story still told;

An earthly echo

Hummed on highways,

Breathed in night bazaars,

Carried by the cars

Of Bangkok

To Chang Rai.

Her eyes glitter in the violet sky

And wink goodbye

As I fly

Back to Shanghai,

Just as she,

Sirikit Kitiyakara,

Nods farewell

To spirits with stories to tell

Who passed before the birth

Of Ayutthaya.

 

Leopards line

Low lying tables

Littered with Khao man gai,

Pork pad Thai,

Beef krapow,

And stir-fried ‘morning glory’;

A saucy

Sunrise story.

 

Summer’s hazy twilight,

In Thailand,

Descends

Upon the Khlong Saen Saep canal

On a balmy Tuesday evening

In Bangkok.

The only sounds are that of singing

Cicadas,

Chiming chopsticks etched into the empyrean,

And the gentle clatter

Of clothes hangers –

Beckoning the closure of textile markets

Until dawn

When life will be reborn

On these still,

Sub-urban streets.

 

Encased in amber glass,

Leo lager glows

Above “The Beach”;

A delirious

Non-sober

Dystopia

Free from Singha beer

And the intoxicating allure

Of chilled Chang.

A home to hallucinogenic

Hysteria,

Fear,

And covert cultivated

Calm –

Not far from Phuket

And Thailand’s

Islands

Of psychedelic sands.

 

Stillness is passively summoned

At the Smile Inn

3.4km from Tom Yum Kung

On Khao San Road,

Host to Tic-Tok hotels

And discos at dusk;

Usurped by bars

And the tantalising traffic of tourists

Crazed on cocaine

As though cars

Ferociously manoeuvring the M25

During rush hour

In a bid to feel alive.

Yet here,

Red bulbs await

Night’s nebulosity.

Barks break Bangkok’s

Strangely silent summer evening

And whilst children retreat to bed,

Laptops illuminate

Sleeping steel roofs

That stand ready to weep

In winter’s wrought iron rain.

 

***

The piercing projection of Asian Koel

Carefully creeps into Kanchananburi’s

Historically upsetting scaffolding

Built upon the Si Sawat.

Speaking seems violent;

An offence

Against

Thailand’s evasion

Of colonial invasion.

A Korat

Cat

Yawns –

Ready to wake with Saturday’s slumbering dawn.

Violins vibrate

Piercing the cacophony

Of cicadas

Lulling life to sleep.

Songs from the Sukhothai Empire

Re-surface in local lullabies -

A coalescence of lore and lies;

Fables founded through ancient family ties

And the cries

Of ancestors

Sculpted in Kanchananburi’s

Memory;

A cemetery

For plagued prisoners of war

That walked these streets years before –

Bridging divides

Between Thailand and where Burma resides.

***

Arid eyes glisten in

Reflections emerging from

Chilled bottles of Chang

After an exodus of inebriated

Bodies

Bustling

Through Chang Mai;

A city,

Tipsy

On the tranquillity of temples

And Hackney-esque vegan vagabonds  

Sipping kiwi-cannabis juice

Feeling loose

In the strident light

Of lunchtime on Nimmanhaemin Road.

 

Cafes and craft

Summon sojourners to this city

Of soul

And sought after solitude.

The end of sobriety

Elevates the Old Town’s sedate state

As barefoot

And nose-pierced persons

Meet

To eat

Mao buns

Stuffed with

Lemongrass and chilli

Tofu larb.

A plant-based day

Is replaced

By famished carnivores,

Fatigued from an alcohol election ban,

Who now surface to fulfil cravings

For delectable death

Served in the depths

Of every street

Where the sweet scent of meat

Waits patiently for the afternoon heat

To pass.

 

Steam rises from a crab’s corpse

Up into an enlightened ether;

An ephemeral realm

Where ribs roasted

In honey lie,

And a pulverised pigeon

Breathes yet another sigh

Upon greeting those from Sukhothai;

The 'dawn of happiness'.

Grease-coated Peking duck,

Briny-battered shrimp

And the limp

Limbs of starved life

Are served aside cheap alcohol

In spirit-saturated coconut bowls.

Thus,

Delinquency and

Debauchery

Dance

In a whimsical waltz

To the North Gate Jazz Co-Op,

Where trumpets foxtrot

And woes are wonderfully left to rot.

Such is Thailand’s tourist transgression

And an unmatched pacifist aggression

To feel alive.

 ***

“Sugar Cane” –

A loaded name

For a guest house

Swallowed again by cicadas,

Singha,

A mosaic of mouths,

And Mai Deng beams -

Brilliantly lit by luminescent lanterns

Hanging like orange oracles

Above the Khwa Yai River;

A slither

Of paradise.

 

‘Leon’ laughs.

This foreign sound

Fractures the rural town’s quietude.

“A feral cat”.

A US accent purports that this is

An alleged British trope

With semantic scope -

An expression unconfined

To those strictly defined.

Meanwhile a feral cat

Creeps around

The wood-panelled ground

Of “Sugar Cane”

In search for discarded

Dredges

Of duck dumplings.

And chicken feet dim sum.

Meanwhile, the sun

Evolves into a red jasper.

Light flickers throughout this cross-cultural

Non-colonised

Family-owned

Plantation

As though fireflies

From foreign lands

Twirling

And whirling

Together –

A tribute to the inability to severe

Thailand’s kingdom of kindness.

***

A pastoral painting

Elevated above the degenerative

Effects of enunciation,

Cannot be described.

It would feel wrong

To re-create the magic of Mae Kampong.

The painting moves

Amidst slowing

Soft time.

Awed gasps are uttered

By temporary travellers

Looking to find a space

That strived to survive 1767.

A suspension of syntax,

Of sound.

A celebration

Spoken in silence,

And found in solitude –

Integral to artistic independence.

Describing this art

Would be a written catastrophe

Shameful to the wonder of the Chakri Dynasty.

I will let the silent song

Of Mae Kampong

Simply

Be seen.

***

A lilac and grey

Sky-stitched blanket

Falls in a horizontal ombré

From Chang Mai’s sunless

Celestial sphere

At sunset.

Burning season

Secretes

An omnipresent textile factory

Between the sky

And Thai

Tributaries

In February -

Suffocating worldly wanderers

Whom seek to be infinitely free;

Within a songthaew step of

Kerouac’s stars –

As though ‘fabulous roman candles

Exploding like spiders’;

Life’s reckless riders –

Confiders

In cannabis-cultivated

Chaos

And calm.

Such are poetically poisoned people;

Thailand’s literary lifeblood.  

 

Stalls line North Gate’s silhouetted Jazz Co-Op;

A house of echoes,

Where the memory of artists are etched into

The golden teakwood interior –

An accolade to saxophonist superiors:

Charlie Parker;

John Coltraine;

Wayne Shorter;

Hank Mobley;

And Cannonball Adderley –

The canons

Of booming jazz.

Here, blues whirl in time-transcending truths.

The screams of slaves

Sold in the Sakdina system pulse

Through the blood of the Baritone saxophone.

The trombone howls,

The pianist bows,

And the band

Begins to play

Until the ochre light of day

Awakens us

From our collective past

At long last –

Until tonight.

***

Worlds collide

In Chang Rai’s night bazaar.

The scent of fish sauce-soaked Pad Thai

And Pla thot with sticky rice

Slice

Through the north fresh air

As crazed tourists lay bare

Their feelings

For spices and potions

Painted

And plated

In north Thailand.

Gai lan

And garlic

Greet disembarking bodies

Full of anticipatory glee

From Terminal 3 –

Knowing that they will arrive

Thirsty

For food.

***

Bamboo bar-tables adorn

The River Kok.

A book is read on a stationary raft -

Catching a warm afternoon draught.

“So long,

See you

Tomorrow”.

The book closes as here,

Today starts tomorrow.

She takes a sip of cool beer.

Time stands still,

And the only noise arises from

The Mekong’s lapping tributary.

A timeless, transitory

Tranquillity

Pauses.

She pauses.

Everything stands still

Until

Tomorrow.

So, see you then

Thailand.

2026