• Welcome to Brian James Rational Poet’s poetry blog

    Welcome to my poetry blog. I love reading Plath and Sexton and Dickenson and Maya. But to me, the best poets I have read are the unknows. The giants are great for sure, but the friends and locals and groups are a joy to participate in. I encourage everyone who writes poetry to be themselves. It is ok to have influences, but you should always in the end be yourself. There is only one them, and only one you.

    Let words be your canvas, show them the raw you, in all your happiness and sadness. Show them your love of nature, and empathy and kindness, but also make them think, provoke, even blaspheme. The poet’s job to me, is to never be shy or timid, but use every word in your vocabulary to paint the best pictures you can. Paint your sunrises, your sunsets, your romance, your fears. Paint your insecurities, your addictions, your successes, your tears.

    This blog is dedicated to my late mother Jane. She was my biggest supporter and never let me fall through the cracks. While she was a bit of an authoritarian growing up, that all melted away in her late years, and we grew as close as any parent child could. We had so much fun with our silly car games and rubber duckies, and counting the trees. And our wordplay games, and our thumb wrestling. And forget Yahtzee and backgammon, she always kicked my…… at that. I love you mom. I miss you horribly.

    And also my late best friend ever, Bob. He unfortunately passed away in 2017. He lived in Australia, he was a science geek, and he taught me a lot about debate, and some science. I can only grasp overall concepts, not real nitty gritty details. But he most importantly made me feel comfortable in my own skin. I miss you too Bob.

    Then there is this annoying guy from Okleeee homa, who says “tators”, and “videeeaaaa” instead of “video”. And don’t get John started on banjos. He is my best friend and he is always there for me, and I love that redneck.

    And also Dwayne, Stacey and Vicki. You saved my life all of you. Thank you.

    All poetry posted by me on this website is attached to @brianrrs37, handle RationalPoet on Twitter ,as well as “Brian James Rational Poet” on Facebook/ META. And is subject to copywrite on all my pages.

    A Special thanks to Brian Sapient of Rational Responders http://www.rationalresponders.com for hosting my poetry thread for so long. Thank you.

    AND….. YOU are more than welcome to share this link on your social media. Especially Meta and Twitter, but your own social media too. Any help bringing traffic here is more than welcome. THANK YOU.

    This poetry blog may contain some material that may be considered sensitive to some viewers. Reader discretion advised.

    Now, everyone, grab your popcorn, glass of wine, and watch me make a fool of myself. Enjoy.


    I only have two Twitter accounts.


    THERE ARE MORE PAGES. WHEN YOU GET TO THE BOTTOM OF EACH PAGE, in mice print….. It says “Next Page”.

    NEW EDIT………

    If you want to leave a comment to any poem, click on the BOLD title of the poem first, scroll to the bottom of the poem, and you should see a field to leave the comment in.



  • Need To Adjust

    Need To Adjust, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on @Twitter)

    I find no need
    To follow such seed
    I put no value
    In holy people’s collars
    The True Scotsman fallacy
    Makes everyone right
    And everyone wrong
    Depending on point of view
    Here is what
    I think humans should do
    Leave mythology behind
    Tribalism must die
    Killing over
    A “hero” in the sky

  • Intelligent Design

    Intelligent Design, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

    The pressure on my spine
    In my lower back
    I cant go either way

    My body under attack
    I cannot pass, I cannot pee
    The medicine is not working

    What is wrong with me?
    I love feeling impacted
    My colon is a stuffed sausage

    My bladder
    A bloated water balloon
    Been to the E.R over this before

    Going back would be too soon
    And the anxiety of inability
    Is keeping me up at night

    But this perfect being
    Got my body right
    And such a daily test

    I’ll consider him an asshole
    For putting anyone through this
    But that is minor by comparison

    Than say a kid with cancer
    Or Jews in a gas chamber
    And this sky monster

    Sits and watches
    And lets it happen
    No matter if even innocent

    And lucky me
    This sky daddy
    Put me in a country

    Full of right wing pricks
    Who think health care
    Is a luxury

    These are your people
    Oh mighty one?
    Profit off of illness

    What that of insurance?
    Fuck you if you’ve none
    Die quickly, pay or suffer

    Yet this makes sense
    When you read the first commandment
    It isn’t about human welfare

    It is all about him.
    Its as if we are an afterthought
    A bored brat made

    Us his toys, his lab rats
    His pawns, oh how perfect
    It is, to not be able to shit for days.

    This is a serious poem. I am ok, but still in some discomfort that is causing me anxiety. My primary doctor didn’t do shit but take my pulse and told me to stop taking one med and get more fiber in my diet. Well when I stopped taking that med, I couldn’t pee, so fuck him, I am going to keep taking it until I run out. But I think the fiber is also backing me up, too much, too little, cant find that balance.

    But right now it is manageable but annoying as fuck. And when I think about very serious problems like cancer and watching my mother die a slow painful death after her decision to do nothing more medically. It isn’t a matter of hating a real God. I can’t hate Darth Vader either. Just don’t insult my intellect by trying to claim an all powerful sky daddy made us in his image? If he cant get bloated and backed up and have an impacted colon, then he isn’t all powerful. If he can, he isn’t perfect. Or better yet, he doesn’t exist and my health problems are simply a result of a flawed reality for all life.

  • In A Rush

    In A Rush, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

    On the Knight
    Of the city of hills
    A Ficus on his heals

    Two daughters
    Lived below
    Sarah everyone knows

    Blond and buxom
    But not my type
    I dreamed of sister Jackie

    All day and night
    Brunette and slender
    The kind I remember

    I wanted to date her
    She was yet another
    Crush in my youth

    I watched on the tube
    Pining to grow up
    And be attractive to

    Her type. I was
    In a rush to age
    Now looking back

    I had lost track
    Jackie was a dream
    Elusive to me

    Now I can see
    It was mere fantasy
    Time has taught me

    It would never be.
    I tortured myself
    To be somebody else

    And like Henry
    I was clumsy
    I slid of the couch

    So easily, I was goofy
    I was shaky in the presence
    Of someone like Jackie

    This poem is about the character Jacky Rush on the sitcom “Too Close For Comfort” story line based in San Francisco. There was an episode where Jackie complained that her sister Sarah was prettier than she was and always got the guys. I didn’t understand that at the time because I had a huge crush on Jackie and not Sarah.

    Henry( played by Ted Knight) is the father on the show. The two early twenties daughters live in the basement apartment in the show. Monroe Ficus is the awkward goofy guy friend of the two girls and Henry eventually lets him move into the attic apartment in season 4.

    Point is I never understood what people find attractive or why I felt the ladies didn’t find me attractive. Back then. But now older and wiser it simply amounts to you cant help whom you are attracted to, and for some reason I was attracted to the slim brunette Jackie and not the buxom blond sister Sarah.

    One of the running jokes on the show is Henry could never sit properly on the girl’s couch in their apartment because it was floppy and new age and you had to know how to sit on it correctly to stay put, but Henry always slid off the couch or flipped over backwards trying to sit on it.


    If you notice a spelling error, especially with names, please point it out. I am not a perfect person and I do try to follow the red line under every word, but sometimes even then I miss it. It would really help me out, thank you.

  • Dangling On The Noose

    Dangling On The Noose, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

    These ladies so fair
    Were hardly that
    They were monsters
    Who unleashed their wrath

    Muzzled shepherds
    At their side
    Nazi guards
    Hitler’s pride

    They got their due
    For what they did
    Hyenas and Beasts
    Would soon be dead

    The gallows’ noose
    Around their heads
    Paradies, Becker
    Klaff, Steinhoff,

    Barkmann, the trucks
    Backed up, and off the back
    They were pushed,
    Left to twist, they were no good.

    After the surrender of Germany and death of that vile pile of shit Hitler, many of the camp guards were put on trial and sentenced to death by hanging. Many of these guards were female.

    Elizabeth Becker, Gerda Steinhoff, Wanda Klaff, Ewa Paradies were female guards that brutalized their victims in unimaginable fashion. They were executed with male Nazi officials on July 4th 1946 in Biskupia Gorka (Stolzenberg) near Danzig Poland. Other names not mentioned in the poem Johann Pauls and Ema Bailhardt.

    The horrors of the Holocaust must always be remembered as a lesson as to not what to do to your fellow human beings.


  • Sylvia’s Response,

    Sylvia’s Response, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

    Oh you ask me
    Why my end
    In such graphic
    Dastardly fashion

    I had a pain
    Unique to me
    I know it is hard
    To imagine

    Ted my muse
    Went astray
    Left me alone
    With kids and fray

    But you know
    That isn’t the real reason
    I had an obsession
    I did well

    And a porch
    Driving into the river
    My existence

    Makes you shiver
    But in that darkness
    I deliver, images
    Of hooks of tulips

    And racing redcoats
    And reflective glass
    And words dead
    On arrival, stillborn

    And fungus plants
    I know you will
    Be loyal
    And keep me alive

    My disquieting muses
    Will always thrive.
    ( end)

    This poem I wrote in response to another person’s poem addressing Sylvia Plath’s tortured life and why her poetry and memory need to be kept alive.
    The imagery is a ode to her poem words and titles. Those who are deeply familiar with Sylvia Plath’s work will get this. If you don’t go read her works.

  • Petrichor

    Petrichor, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

    Makes life
    The hero
    That takes
    The sting
    Of the heat
    A cold compress
    Leaves it
    In defeat
    You breath
    A sigh of relief
    Like leaving
    A sauna.
    #vss365 #poetry #WritingCommunity

  • The Last Scoundrel

    The Last Scoundrel, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

    The slick apologist
    Will always insist
    I am not interpreting it

    Correctly, that the verse
    Story, allegory, is metaphor
    Not to be taken literally

    Oh how convenient
    Their interpretation
    Matches their desires

    Never mind that others
    Can read those same words
    And come to different conclusions

    And thus all the confusion
    Who gets to decide
    The words that reside

    Under the same book
    Where anyone can look
    And read the same thing

    Yet no one can agree
    And the sub sects
    Are never in harmony

    Thrust on thee

    But ignore the
    Shellfish, be selfish
    With blended fabric

    Who gets to decide
    Out of all the factions
    What is meant as a story

    And when to take
    Literal actions
    I am just saying

    This argument isn’t swaying
    “Metaphor” is a dodge
    To avoid the hodgepodge

    Cobbled book. Ambiguous
    Enough so that anyone can
    Make it say what they want.

  • The Lion

    We three roommates be
    Were in great need
    Of a place to bed

    So you query
    What’s your worry
    Ok, I will

    Tell you our story
    Our landlord
    Gave us a great discount

    On this pad we had pounced
    But unannounced
    And to our surprise

    A lion walked in one day
    Weeks after we arrived
    It followed us around

    So we we complained
    She was passionately
    Insistent that it stayed

    “It won’t growl
    It won’t bite
    Don’t you fret

    Get some sleep tonight
    It doesn’t growl
    It doesn’t bite”

    I said, “It does seem
    Friendly enough
    I can scratch his belly

    Ruffle his tuft
    But what happens
    When things get ruff?

    What if he gets
    An infected tooth
    What if he gets

    A splinter in his paw
    What if he’s got a fever
    Doesn’t feel good at all?”

    I was worried
    Danger would befall
    Shredded to pieces

    I wouldn’t exist at all
    And so too, that apartment
    I was, we were, through

    Then a sound something
    Faint, maybe mildly louder
    I don’t remember

    I do remember Howard
    And I joking about
    The 3 way

    That didn’t happen
    In the Penthouse Forums
    With that redhead scientist

    As we packed
    The moving van
    As we left

    I do remember
    Pulling back my blanket
    In such a foggy manor

    Boy I’m glad that’s over.

    This poem is about a real bizarre dream I had right before writing this. Howard the character from TBBT was in my dream, no I didn’t have the
    TV on during my dream. My other roommate’s face I never really saw.

  • Root Beer

    Root Beer, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

    I could buy the pair of you
    A Satin scratch post
    And diamond incrusted
    Food dishes

    Ok, no I couldn’t
    But it wouldn’t matter
    If I could, you two
    Wouldn’t bother

    My little angel Kelly
    And my Jet Lee
    Dark poet
    Anneplath kitty

    You love being silly
    Tunnelling through
    The soda box empty
    Ambush the game

    A combat range
    The root beer bunker
    What could be funnier
    Than to watch you plunder

    Easy to amuse, I’ve lit the fuse
    The funhouse, cardboard
    Until you flatten it
    As flat as a wafer

    It is your caper
    Until worn out
    And it wears you out
    Until you curl up

    On my bed, next to me
    Tuckered out. I’m glad
    I found, your funhouse
    No need for a rubber mouse.

    My cats love tunneling through my 12 pack empty root beer boxes, it is their favorite toy. Problem is they don’t understand that if they flatten it they cant play in it, so I have to frequently get up to make it stand up again.

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