Barrage Balloons, by Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

The airborne ships tethered tips
Unmanned shields floating above
Deliberate obstructions put in place
Used to slowdown the Nazi’s pace

Dive bombers it gave fits
Steal cables attached to it
Razor blades to enemy wings
Wrapped around crashing things

Now the Nazis live again
Though they hide in different name
Attacking minorities is their game
LGBTQ and drag queens too

Lets be their barrage balloons
The bully MAGAS cannot win
When their allies protect them
Make the bigots history again.
(end)

If you ever watch WW2 footage of the landing of D-DAY, and you notice blimps floating above the ships. Those were used to discourage dive bombing and force enemy fighter aircraft to attack from higher altitude making them less effective.

This poem is basically a call to LGBTQ and drag queen allies to raise our voices.

I cannot know how it is to be a target of hate that LGBTQ go through and especially not transgender. But I just saw an MSNBC/NBC story that gives me hope, that most of America does not agree with the MAGA right, once again, on yet another issue.

While this isn’t an NBC poll, this Forbs article does reflect the average same numbers. 80% of American SUPPORT protections for LGBTQ in regards to things like jobs and housing. “Including 66% of Republicans”, according to this article.

Just like firearms, the MAGA right are behind most of the rest of the nation. MAGA Trump republicans love to shout about how much they love freedom, and bitch about “cancel culture” but are doing everything they can to deny the human dignity to LGBTQ minorities.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/alisondurkee/2023/06/03/heres-how-americans-really-feel-about-lgbtq-issues/?sh=111edd172e88

This Round Is On Me, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

I was in a run
In a frenzied scurry
Trying to avoid bears
That could potentially eat me

I ended up on rice
Translucent as jellyfish
Salmon swimming upstream
This round is on me

I could be in the Meadowlands
Rooting for the Giants or Jets
And maybe at a baseball game
City Field rooting on the Mets

I could be at an office party
Everyone smiling and jolly
While they sit on the copying machine
Bet you think that is funny

I could be at a beach resort
Surrounded by tiki torches
Hula dancers shaking hips
This round is on me

One evening my friend and I
Ended up at Bennigans
We ordered our usual drinks
And this is what happened

Two more drinks
Landed at our table
We were a bit confused
Because these we didn’t order

The waiter pointed across the bar
To a man sitting alone
“These are on him”, the waiter said
He had bought us another round

We smiled and waved
But I couldn’t let it go
I went over to his table
To thank him for the round

I invited him to sit with us
After what he did for us
“Come over to our table”
I didn’t sense his trouble

He collected his jacket
His keys, his glass
Redirected the waiter
To the new table, his order

Initial common banter
“What is your name
What do you do?
Nice to meet you”

His balloon became barren
Our shot glasses like goldfish
Went down with our gulping
The next round was on us

His wit withered slowly
His smile he had initially
Slithered out of our booth
Though his body never left

Swirling his near empty glass
Raised his hand like a kid in class
To get the waiter’s attention
He wanted it filled again

What was he filling it with
Where did the other guy go
His shoulders now slumped
His head bowed in sorrow

“What is wrong?”
Our voiced of concern
Hesitant he said
“I don’t want to talk about it”

But we couldn’t help it
We wanted to know
How he could go from 80mph
To dead stop zero

It turned out to be his father
Retired cop turned investor
Made tons of money
He lavished on his son

“You have everything”
We said, “You should be happy”
I patted him on the back
But that didn’t seem to help

“You don’t get it”, he responded
His eyes swelled with tears
“I could be standing right next to him
But a million miles a way it feels”

I could be in a stadium
I could be at a party
I could be with dozens of people
And still feel isolated and lonely

The rivulets
Spidered down his face
Dried up over his red flush face
He wiped his tears, took a deep breath

Sighed and resigned
At almost closing time
Last call had arrived, he said
“This round is on me”.
(end)

This is about a real encounter with a guy at a bar back in the 90s who bought a round for everyone at the bar. We invited him to our table, and at first he was cheery but that slowly melted away and it came out that he was depressed that he couldn’t have a close relationship with his father the way he wanted. His father’s idea of love was giving money and material things to him, but this guy wanted a deeper relationship with his dad, one with sensitivity and listening and understanding and companionship.

The first two stanzas are me feeling my own want of escape away from work and stress and wanting to escape the rat race like a salmon wanting not to be sushi or be caught in the bear jaws of life.

The rest of the stanzas are about him, but also having that feeling of isolation even in big crowds like at sporting events are backyard parties. I wrote this poem originally a few years ago.

“His balloon became barren” , “balloon” is a type of bar glass that you would put say a brandy or wine in.

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

The MAGA wing scared of rainbows
And beer cans and Target’s cloths
Have no problem with Hooters
And Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders

And when you go to the doctors office
There’s always a children’s bible somewhere
With cute stories about Noah saving his family
And saving two of all other cute species

Spurious it would seem to me, to call the Bible
“The Good Book”, funny how they leave out
The graphic parts, like Lot and his daughters
Or David and Philistine foreskins, as a dowery

They are worried about rainbows
When on both coasts at the beach
We see skin all the time, and nobody
Thinks kids seeing that is sexualizing anything

Moms, I am quite sure, go into the Walmart
With their little boys, into the women’s underwear
To shop for themselves, I’ve seen the packaging
Passing by to the men’s section

Lacy and some thin and some boosting
And I am sure dads take their little girls
Down the men’s isle where they see
Men in boxer’s and briefs on the packaging

But these same MAGA republicans
Are worried about a rainbow?
This isn’t about a rainbow
This is about buying into fear

Buying into bigotry, being insecure.
Let me clue you in MAGA
You cannot be magically turned gay
You cannot be magically turned lesbian

And there is no
Junk slicing
Of kids
Unless you are Catholic or Jewish.

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

One may ask
What is the reason
The poet puts pen to paper
The response is your reaction
The thoughts invoked in the action
Of our putting pen to paper
It is our adventure
One for you to discover
Words for you to devour
Fill your mind with wonder
Fill your mind with horror
Feel the flames of a lover
Give you a place to wander
Something for you to consider.

Oh What A Louse, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Cymothoa exigua, eats L. Lingua G. Glossa
Cut your tongue out, the cat’s already got it
You’ve been told before, bite and hold it
But these skeptical fishes don’t buy it

If you are a sucker, and swallow it
It won’t give you a Columbian neck tie
But it will, speak and eat for you, tell every little lie
Indoctrinated at birth, less likely to ask why

A parasite’s paradise, unwanted French kiss
The man of the cloth from the pulpit
His ancient predecessors stole the obelisk
In St Peter’s square is now where it sits

He’s the middle man, insight he insists
Your palate is cleaned, symbolic cannibalism
Unleavened wafer, he sticks in your mouth
Morality, morality, he pontificates about

It is too late, he’s dictated your meal
Council of Nicaea, cemented the deal
The three headed figure, is now your trident
Ventriloquist pews in which you sit

Cymothoa exigua, dines in your jaws
Recites in dead language, ancient King James laws
Let us offer a sign of good reasoning , better skepticism
Is a great seasoning.
(end)

(DISCLAIMER) I am an ex Catholic. Now yes, this poem is extremely blasphemous. But it is strictly about bad logic, and early childhood indoctrination into any religion. I just happened to write about my former religion in this poem. It is not advocating violence towards Catholics, or anyone at all. It is arguing that religion in general does make moral claims about the nature of reality, with no evidence whatsoever that that a particular sect has a patent on morality.

The other point of this poem is that it is ok to think for yourself and to consider that you do not need a holy person to figure out right or wrong. The Pope has no more power over anyone than the person is allowing the Pope to have over them.

I do believe outside my skepticism, that if someone is in need of help, say they’ve been in a car accident, everyone would agree, the labels go out the window, the debate goes out the window, and you stop and help that injured person in distress. Humans always deserve the dignity of care in distress.

This poem is strictly about bad use of logic and where our species morality really comes from.

“Cymothoa exigua” is a parasite that invades the mouth of a fish, whom accidentally mistakes it for food. The parasite will cling to it’s tongue eating it, and living in the fish’s mouth eating the food that should go to the fish. In many cases, this does not kill the host fish.

“L. Lingua G. Glossa” is the scientific name for the tongue.

An “Obelisk” is a type of shape, like that of the Washington Monument in D.C. There is an Egyptian Obelisk in the middle of St. Peter’s square that was originally stolen from Egypt by the Emperor Caligula and placed on a nearby hilltop. Eventually the early church took it down off that hilltop and made it a monument in the middle of St. Peter’s square.

I am arguing for people to speak for themselves instead of letting someone speak for them.

This is what the parasite looks like.

With the help of @Zaylen99 who runs the Okay Atheists show on the Discord app. And special reading by Zaylen99 and @derickijohnson. This recording is available to listen to on Youtube at the following link. Special shout out to Creative Chick and Luminous.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_ikCkc7lWE

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

An odd title you’d query surely
And I have to respond quite sadly
This is print now is a result of
The original poem getting lost

Oh what the cost, the madding frustration
Of this confounded contraption locking up
On me, when I hit the last stanza, finally
I thought I had copied and pasted it, properly

When I refreshed the page, when I went to press
Submit, it all went away, to keep oblivion company
Instead it gave me, the prior poem I had written
My tongue I had bitten, oh but I was certain

I had saved it. It was to be, “Pavlov Almighty”
A metaphor, an allegory, that the guy from the pulpit
Rang, ding dong, they all followed along
And filled the pews, and paid 10% dues

The labs hear the bell, come running to hell
They have puppies, Pavlov’s church bowl guppies
Feeds them fiction, puts them on barracks restriction
The horse doesn’t know it’s not tied to the hitching post

Ring that bell, Pavlov’s empty dish
Sell that fictional eternity, vacuous wish
Promises that can never be kept
Still in that fervor all get swept

The poem a ghost, and this is it’s shell
The prior version went on an excursion
Shouts of frustration, and words I cant tell
Pounding the table my fists are not well
(end)

This is not the first time I lost a poem after writing it.
What you were just reading was a second poem in response to losing the original “Pavlov Almighty”.

Fie Fo Bottle Some , By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Self proclaimed matriarch of
The cotton covering capsules
Eight varying pharmaceuticals
You boast of it being a practice
Constantly taking that trip

“Innocuous” you call this job
My observance far past your death
Perplexes me tremendously
For it was in a closed garage, you took your last breath

I had my own sport too
My own pickleball court
Swimming in peanut butter whisky
A bottle a day won’t keep the doctor way

Black and white wool bearer
Adorned the bottle I adored
A gentle fist bump tap into a shot glass
My kitchen island my alter, my daily ritual

They rapidly bred, like the industrial boom
Bottles rose like skyscrapers, in a city skyline
The occupant of each consumed in quick time
Angel falls down my throat, thimbles full

Would I call it “kindred”, our commonality
In that we were both addicts, a club of escapism
Our respective substances, quite different
The chemicals accosted us, holding us hostage

Where is this Englishman’s blood?
Jack was not Daniels, but nimble as jiffy
King Lear made you a queen
Pink and orange, white and green

Fie fo bottle some, I was also numb
A shark in the ocean when it smells chum
The pleasure center of my brain
Said drink more or I’ll cause you pain.
(end)

Another ode poem, this time to Anne Sexton’s poem “The Addict”.

(DISCLAIMER) The following link I have no association with or employment at, nor am I receiving any compensation for posting the link. I am simply posting the link as an educational source so those reading my poem can get a context as to the inspiration for it.

https://allpoetry.com/The-Addict <—— By Anne Sexton.

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

My little black panther
Sits in confusion
Looking at that strange thing
With it’s black square tongue

Sticking out wondering
“What that thing is all about
Why does it, does it, go in and out
Taunting me, teasing me, what is it?”

He walks up waiting to pounce
But the black tongue retreats
Back into it’s thin shell
My black panther cannot tell

That black tongue I feed
Holds round plastic things
That entertain me
With Tv shows and movies

But my black panther
Doesn’t know that
Daddy is just a stinker
DVD remote joker.
(end)

Anneplath thinks my DVD player is alive when I open and shut the drawer. So I’ve admittedly been screwing with him watching him puzzled by the drawer going in and out.