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 RationalPoet@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. You may not publish individual poems without my express permission. Any links to my poetry must be credited to me.

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.

HEADS UP….. THERE ARE PEOPLE MIMICKING MY TWITTER ACCOUNTS……

I only have two Twitter/X accounts. Twitter has now changed it’s name to “X”. So all poetry in this site referencing Twitter is also including the new name “X”.

“RationalPoet@brianrrs37”
AND
“Brian@rationalpoet37”

I have also joined Facebook/META poetry group “Facebook Poetry Society” Under “Brian James Rational Poet”

Also I just joined http://www.allpoetry.com under the user name “RationalPoet37”

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

NEW EDIT………


A special thanks to Zaylen of “Okay Atheists” on the Discord app, for allowing me to guest host this poetry reading available on their YouTube channel originally aired 5/22/23. Here is the link
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_ikCkc7lWE

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.

UPDATE EDIT AS OF 11/13/2024. I have a new account at Bluesky Soical under the handle @rationalpoet37.bsky.social .

 

 

Severed Limb, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

It could be a bear
It could be a lion
It could be crocodile
It could be an eagle’s talon

It could be a blown red light
It could be an icy road at night
It could be fog blinding sight
It could be a blown stop sign

It could be a crash landing
It could be pilot’s error
It could be blown hydraulics
It could be nasty weather

It could be no sight of quill
It could be my keyboard’s ill
It could be the power’s out
It could be why you hear me shout.
(end)

I feel naked, broken, and like my arms have been cut off when I cant write my poetry.

Mug Shot, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

You have such a magnetic personality
And so to are you a brave secretary
Hanging out on my company fridge

Facing off that tornado too
I had to, I had to, arrest you
Get that Jackie O’s mug shot too

That giddy smile I will see
Upon my rise every day
Your book of poems bedside

I read at least one at night
But don’t feel lonely Anne
Plath is on her way.
(end)

I had a custom made fridge magnet and mug with a elegant picture of Anne Sexton on them. I will be getting my Sylvia Plath fridge magnets end of this coming week. No I do not own a company. I was just describing my home as my company.

My best friend from Oklahoma bought me a small tornado shaped fridge magnet which has a tiny barn, horse and tractor implied swirling around it.

Subway And Other Railing, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Support many, hundreds of thousands
A day. The fireman’s hook and ladder
Buried under, they go up and down
Every day

You, their fans, you the player, carrier
You hold their hands, as they submerge
To enter the tube, the bank teller sends you
On your way

They lean on you, they grab you, clutch you
As you enter the court, the rink, the field
Autographs of sweat, grease from lunch meals
Perfume feels

Far far away, the escalator packed, racked, stacked
Chest to back, boot to wingtip, wingtip to high heel
Sneakers, shoestrings dangerously lingering
About to get entangled in

The injuries of the day. This is the witness
The palm reader, the silent witness
Who touches you, but cannot say
Which way

Who will end your pain, how will you ride
In stride, with intimate pride, low tide
Swells and foam, the crimson tide
Work till you die

The steam of breath, in winter’s wreath
The chill of bones, the lonely bequeath
The body heat, makes not your sheath
No contact high

The thaw of spring, and colors bring
The stirrings of love, lost, lingering
Passions ascend once again, holding
Holding, holding, the railing

Yet never of others touching.

I’ve seen your touch, I thank you much
I am too far away, to the dead I say
I wish I may, I wish I may, I may
Meet Anne someday.
(end)

This is a response poem and another ode poem to Anne Sexton. It is based on her line her poem “The Touch” describing subway railing as being unfeeling cold contact with no human intimacy even though countless people touch what you have.

It is like being in public in a large crowd but totally impersonal and disconnected from personal relationship.

But no, I do not believe in life after death. So the last stanza is strictly metaphor in saying I wish I could have been an adult back then and met her in person. I will unfortunately never get to meet her.

The “fireman’s hook and ladder” Is basically a visual implement to imagine you could slice an escalator down the side into the subway the firetruck would be the platform and the ladder would be the escalator going up to the surface, with those in need of rescue going down the ladder and the firemen going up.

Handkerchief, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

This tongue of serpent
Forked three times
If not more

You fooled the Moor
But long before
The seeds of lore

You sewed seething
In her father’s head
Made him angry

This envy bred
Inside your head
That it was Cassio

Which thus promoted
Not you, yet instead
You plotted plots

The body’s dead
He stabbed his wife
Upon your word

A peace of cloth
Emilia picked up
The Moor knew not

The evils you wrought
But your wife exposed you
It was all for not

Into you
The blade he thrust
You lied to him

Broke his trust
And all from envy
All from lust

It couldn’t absorb
All that blood
You drug her name

Through the mud
She was innocent
But you cared not

Collateral damage
All to be, for your ill gains
You did not see.
(end)

This poem is about the giant tool bag Iago for plotting everyone against each other and getting innocent people killed because he got passed up for a promotion, and was jealous of the power and class and status the Moor Othello had and was pissed that Cassio got the promotion and not him.

And as history knows of this play, Iago failed ultimately and Othello stabbed him before he died. Iago survived but his plot was exposed by his wife telling the truth. Iago ends up as implied, taken of to prison to be tortured.

What a total tool bag Iago was. He sets both Desdemona and Cassio up by getting his wife to pick up a discarded handkerchief Desdemona accidentally dropped. He had it planted as so that Othello would believe that the very personal handkerchief he gave her as a present, would prove that she was having an affair.

Othello thinking she has had an affair with Cassio kills her. But then Iago’s wife tells the truth that she, not Cassio was the one who picked up the handkerchief and he, Othello had murdered his wife based on the lie of Iago.

Turrets, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Swivel and pivot,
Nothing to aim at
Pill box I hide in

I am done in
Arrows in the bullseye
I am about to die

A ribbon of jackets
I wear over a surplice
That does not exist

I feed it, it spits
Watermelon seeds
Or sunflower, high speed

The graveyard I see
Makes dust of thee
Decay rapidly

The turrets bleed
The seasons grieve
My mind deceived

The termite tree
Maggots eat
All of me

I cannot see
Cannot see
What is left of me.
(end)

Strictly a poem of metaphor. It is about how one can be chewed up by paparazzi and social media and sometimes fighting back seems futile.

I have very high anxiety, and am my own worst critic and feel worthless sometimes over the most trivial things others don’t. But with mental illness you can rationally know you are being irrational, but still be irrational.

So just now after letting a frozen meatless veggie patty burger though, I was looking forward to having a burger. It is true , these companies can make them taste like a real beef burger, and I do like them.

But I have also always been a klutz. I went to flip the burger and it ended up slipping off the spatula and hit the floor. Most people would be annoyed but not get so down on themselves. But I do. When I misspell a word, especially in a poem, feel lower than dirt. But I also feel stupid and worthless when I do what I did with the burger, and I do shit like that every damned day.

I cant fix it, I really can only take anxiety medications to reduce my symptoms and simply rant. I am not looking for answers, but sometimes I need to bitch, because it sucks. I know I am not being rational, but mental illness isn’t that easy to offer simple quick cliche answers.

Yea Iago is really letting everyone know how pissed off at Othello he is for giving the promotion to Cassio. Not quite sure where Desdemona’s father plays in, other than to maybe rile him up to take arms against Othello, but he only mentioned prison time for him, so I am a bit confused, maybe act two will clear that part up.