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

Despite being weightless, in the vacuum of space
I am tumbling down a hill, boulder my weight
Scrap shredder at the junk yard, consumes my fate
The worm on the hook, suicide bait

Wrecking ball smashes into my brain
Camel with no humps, my water is drained
The desert scorpion, pierces my veins
The jester mocks me, laughs at my pain

Dilapidated cabin, inside my schooner
Barnacles devore my paint pealed hull
Masts fiercely swing, from the violent winds
Flash of lightening, blisters my flaky skin

Highway closed, bridge out ahead
Black stick figures on yellow signs
Waving flags, to the left landmines
Demolition crew ready to wind

I pull up the plunger, I push it down
Explosion obliterates, ending my sound
Meager rat, in the subway, I scrounge
Discarded food wrappers, a meal I have found

I love my fear, it holds me here
Like a seatbelt, an air bag, pedestrian light
I walk on green only, in city traffic at night
Tomorrow may bring me, another delight

No, I won’t go, as long as I fight.
(end)

Detach The Damned Thing, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

Oh you can tell me to slow down, or call me a clown
You can give me advice, on making it nice
I can’t spot the red line, I have spots that are blind
I can read many times, mistakes still slip by
I
I am the spotter on the Titanic, the iceberg towers
Over the Atlantic, but the flaws are stubborn and stealthy
They don’t want my poems to be vibrant and healthy
I know I’m not dumb, it’s sore eyes for some

They are the Trojan, malware and virus
My programmer defective, gives no directive
That scull on my shoulder, is ineffective
I know I’m not dumb, it’s sore eyes for some

The juggler bombarded, my poems not guarded
I’m scramble to catch all the hurricane rain
I quadruple my spellcheck, again and again
That mass upstairs attempts it in vein

Sharks circle around me, blood in the water
Chum draws them closer, my poem their meal
The circuits upstairs, won’t speak to my hands
I want the right word, my brain commands

My brain and fingers have never been friends
Miscommunication, the wrong word ends
In the spotlight, under a microscope
Detach my brain, it has no hope.
(end)

I seriously hate my maladies. I know I have to live with them, but I hate feeling dumb because I know I am not dumb. I don’t care about structure
I do care about spelling mistakes, or transposing words. I hate that my brain won’t send the signal to fetch the proper word or proper spelling , I hate that no matter how hard I try, and no matter what software I use, my spelling errors get by. And the worst part is that I read and reread and and still miss something.

Mirror Mirror On Plath’s Wall, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

I am cracked, not exact, I have no completion
Whatever I read, I fracture 
Not as you see, deterred by favor and rejection
I am not perfect, I am broken
Cobweb veins, distort the view
The majority of my focus is on the shower curtain
It is translucent with black stripes, zebra zig zag, the spiderweb makes it

Now I am window fog, a man becomes a blurry Picasso
His hand is touching me with hand towel, to wipe me down
But so delicately as not to cut
Then he leans in to see he is but just an ordinary lot
I report  back his scattered pock marks, jagged sagging jowls
His broken nose from childhood, I have deviated again
He thanks me with a tilted head in disappointment, sobbing
I am his nemesis, he leaves and comes back
Each evening, scooping water to his face to remove the grease
I have angered him as much as to punch me again
My limb falls to the floor looking up at the naked bright white lightbulb
And a graying toothless man bends down eclipsing it
To pick up my sliver

This is my ode poem response to Sylvia Plath’s “Mirror”. It is one of my favorite poems.

https://allpoetry.com/poem/8498499-Mirror-by-Sylvia-Plath

Henry’s Point Of View (By Brain  James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

The July day was hot
The mechanics bay was an oven
And the fan as big as it was
Gave  Henry no reprieve
Joe, in his overalls barks orders
Henry shouts back “I DON’T HAVE THE PARTS
And I am backed up, let me skip this one”
Joe, as frustrated as Henry is but does not care
“Just work on the rest of it for now”
Henry slams his wrench down
And it clanks on the floor loud
And shouts “THAT’S IT I QUIT!”
Sheds his name tagged work shirt
Slams it on the floor, storming out
To his beat up Ford pickup
Traffic is snarled
The lights wont cooperate
All Henry could think about
Was all that time and no gratitude
And the wound of his wife
Passing two years prior
Was the gaping wound
Joe exacerbated

Henry storms into the house
But suddenly pauses to see
The picture of his wife
In a happy moment
In the backyard
Her dandelion print dress
White sandals and gay smile
He presses on her stomach
With his thumb
While picking it up
And kisses her face
And gently puts it down

Slumped in despair
The void he cant wash off
And the grease has irritated his face
And that is when he walks
Into the bathroom
To take his rage once again
Out on the mirror.
(end)

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

Judy tapping foot
Fidgets with her arms
Cross look on her face
Staring at door, angry
That Henry had not come home
“He always does this
Goes out with his
Bowling buddies
Knowing there are things
To fix at home “
She mutters to herself
“The meatloaf is getting cold
The mash potatoes too”
Wrings her fist towards the door

Henry opens the screen door
Ripped from the dog
Jumping on it last week
“Honey I’m home”
A smile quickly wiped away
With her piercing glare
“I told you dinner would be
At 8, and you haven’t
Fixed the screen yet”

“Oh come on
Not that again
“I’ll get to it “
Skeptical Judy responds
“Yea, you keep saying that.
Your dinner is cold”
Trying to distract her
And ignore her frustration
He grabs her love handles
“Looks like you could
Lose a few pounds”
Thinking she would get it
That he was being sarcastic

Suddenly she burst into tears
Henry pleaded “Come on honey
I was only kidding”
Judy through watery eyes
“When was the last time
We went out to diner
When was the last time
We went out dancing?”

“We’ve been through this
Before, Joe is a cheap skate
That bastard would sell
Flat tires to his mother
If he thought it would
Make him a dime”

“Oh yea, but you
You have money
For bowl……?”
Henry talks over her
“That is not fair
I need to relax
He works me
To exhaustion”

“I think you
Are avoiding me”
She puts her face
Into her palm
Facing the floor
“Meh, it’s all
In your head”
Henry dismisses it
Sits down starts cutting
The meatloaf and spoons
Out the mash potatoes
On his plate

“Honey, get me a beer”
She turns away and shouts
“GET IT YOURSELF!”
And the heels of her shoes
Made it clear  she was not happy
Bolting out of the kitchen

The pattern repeated for a month
But she had resigned to the fact
He wasn’t going to change
She loved him
But wasn’t getting
Enough attention

The screen door
Once again
Still torn
Opened up
“Honey I’m home”
” Our team won”
Not interested
In a dismissive voice
“Good for you”
Here is your steak
Potato with sour cream
And your peas”
Weakly placing it
In front of him
He grabs her once again
“You could lose
A few pounds”

The wells in her eyes
Started up again
But no storming out
Just a quiet departure
From the kitchen

She went into
The bathroom
To change into
Her nightgown
But when she
Got into the bedroom
She looked into
The mirror
Her thoughts
Were on the long ago
When she was perky
No crows feet
No love handles

So she consulted the mirror
Like she had done for months
Wondering what
She could do
To make herself attractive
Again

But that only
Made things worse
Every position she held
Turning to see
If the mirror would
Lie to her

Her tears stopped
She was numb
And that was it
She opened
The dresser drawer

In the kitchen
Henry oblivious
Gorging on his meal
Listening to the baseball game
A deafening  BANG!
He dropped his beer
It shattered on the floor 

He rushed to the room
Only to see her feet
And splatter on the mirror.
(end)

So originally I was only going to do an ode poem. But it hit me, why don’t we put a a name to that women in the mirror in the original poem. It is a three part starting with my ode, and two more in reverse order that leads you to the explanation as to why the woman was consulting the mirror so much.

Maladies, By Brian47 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

The dented can skipped over
At the super market
Contents still good
Gets passed over

The heel of bread
Gets tossed to the ducks
Still perfectly good
Never becomes a sandwich

The the freckled banana
Becomes compost
Contents still good
Gets passed over

The black cat
At the rescue
Meows for your face
Gets passed over

I cannot afford
To feel broken
My maladies are me
To not accept myself

Would be that razor blade
To my wrist
To not accept myself
Would be jumping of a cliff

My maladies are me
I am that dented can
I am that heel of bread
I am that freckled banana

I am that black cat
I cannot afford to care
What you think of me.
Or my poetry.
(end)

I am not black, just using the black cat as metaphor because they are less likely to get adopted.

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

If in real life
A parent gave
All three children
A knife
And sat on his hands
Waiting to see
The last one to stand?

Lets say someone
Observed this act
Certainly the sane
Would stop them
Dead in their tracks
I would say then
That person
Has better morals
Than the God
They believe in.

Lets review
What God didn’t do
He was a deadbeat
When Hitler
Killed all those Jews
He didn’t care
That Anne Frank
Was scared
Put on a death march
And died from typus

But the book says
Whatever the believer
Wants it to say
In real life
There would  be
No way
A parent in good frame
Would allow such harm
To come to their kin

I know that book
I cannot look at it
And skip over
The nasty parts
Of Philistine foreskins
The infanticide
Of the Egyptian
Firstborn

I cannot look past
Babies being dashed
Against rocks
Or a father
Having the ability
To force a rapist
To marry his daughter

As Susan B, Anthony
Once said to trust not
Those who claim
To speak for God
For it always seems
To coincide with their desires

No, I am not here
To end religion
Not by force, that is
It will always be
But those with empathy
Must abandon apathy
In such dangerous company

We’ve seen the dark ages
We’ve seen the inquisitions
We’ve seen the witch hunts
In Salem Massachusetts
And “Gott Mit Uns”
Make Germany Great Again

Oh I am willing
To sand by
Those of peace
That still hold
A god to be true
But but always
Be weary
Of those who
Of violence choose
In the name of “chosen”
Their hearts are frozen
In childish entitlement

Isn’t it funny
How their God
Hates the same
People
They do?
(end)

https://allpoetry.com/poem/8505383-Barefoot-by-Anne-Sexton

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

I have gazed upon many a word
That others have penned
And wish I had woven myself

The poems that astound
The talent abounds
The delights of the sound

Of silent ink
Jumping off the page
Into your head
Setting the stage

Making you envy
Wishing no last page
Making you humble
At an earthquake’s rumble

Making you see
With closed eyes
In contemplation
A destination

Unexpected
Read to me
Read to me
Feed me

Your talented quill.

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

You all surround me, taunting me
“Here you go”, then toss it over my head
Out of my sight, I turn to see you gone
“Over here” I turn and see nothing again

Damn it poem, I have caged you
With schoolyard bullies
Who won’t let you out
Tossing you around in my brain

Hide, run and hide, don’t abide
By my desire to express myself
You’ve thrown the stanzas
On a high shelf, out of my reach

I cannot breach this stalemate
I’m the runner caught between
First base and second
The words tossed between the players

Close to tagging me out
The line backer has blocked the pass
Tipped ball, I the receiver
Run to slide under attempting to catch

Trying to build this spoken word
In the middle of a briar patch
The taxi is out of service
These words I can’t dispatch

You hoarder, I don’t care
I’ll pull you out of anywhere
Like the stubborn marlin
Stuck on a reel and line

I will have you, you are mine
So this final try, I throw my hands
Up in the sky, and BAM
I caught you, I wrote you

Now I am doing fine.
(end)

Conceit Of The Gods, By Brian37 (AKA Brian37 on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

In the throngs of conformity
They prattle incessantly
About their necessity
For your cause of existence

It is their insistence
Mandates your compliance
Or bolts from the sky
Will strike and you’ll die

Not that it ends there
In a pit of fire is where
They claim you will be
If you don’t bow to thee

Oh how droll these threats
Fall on ears of intellect
Dust they should collect
Stop pestering me

I know your motive
Is intimidation
Then a dozen roses
Followed by

A hollow apology
My brain you’ll eat
Giving it a bully’s
Eulogy

You want me
To be that calf
Weak and scared
And trusting

Looking for a herdsman
But I know that butcher
Smiles clanks
The dinner bell

I see his bulls and bovine
And sows, the chickens
Run to to the troughs
Ready to eat from fantasy

But they are unaware
The slaughter to come
But they had no chance
They were sold the baby bottle

At birth, before they could think
With the critical skills of adults
They cannot win on debate
With such well armored mates

They briefly conquer
And fill the pews
But even the holy man
Death befalls too

The Gods will feel
The same thing I did
Before I was born
The same thing after I die.

Nothing.
(end)