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 .

 

 

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

That century old tree
Is not superior to the acorn
For it once was

That filet mignon
Is not superior to the burger
For they are both beef

But lets discuss parameters
Shall we? You say we are an apex?
Are we, really?

We build these tall skyscrapers
Yet we still die. We build metal birds that fly
Yet we still die

We dream of potent lies,
Make our enemies writhe
Dream of ways to kill, yet we still die

Things not seen with naked eye
Infect our bodies and bring us pain
Some can be managed, some bring the end
They far outnumber us, death always wins

Bacteria, viruses, cockroaches dwarf us
In population, what metric do you believe
Makes us superior?

They are inferior? I can’t see how
They don’t ask for permission to live in your house
To live in your body, to make you sick

They don’t need to build weapons to make you dead
They don’t build monuments, nor have heros
They’ve been around longer,

They are far stronger, I would say,
Our human narcissism should give way
In thinking this is all for us

A deity made a fuss, yet micro organisms
Can easily kill us, and step on a cockroach
There’s thousands, millions, trillions more

That would survive a nuclear war.
Humble yourself, in this world,
There’s only one exit door.

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

The pair of you, dwarf me
You cheated me, of more
I am angry at you two, for

For I will always adore
Admire and be sore
That I couldn’t be there for

When that hour came
When that urge was too much
When you couldn’t go on

Whatever it was
I wasn’t born, I was too young
I couldn’t save you, I am also jealous too

Your words are perfect
You don’t mix “accept” and “except”
“Their, there, or they’re”

If you had dyslexia, I’d never know
You were both pros, everyone knows
One in the kitchen, one in the garage

You’re lives, a mirage, extinguished candles
Once burning bright, subject to dark voices
That lurked inside

And people stumble on my attempts
Many laugh at them, or pity me
And pat me on the head

I hope for some parallel universe
Where you’re both still alive
Where I could join you

If I commit suicide. It would be
A pretty one, full of tulips
No cutting of unions

And wanting to die? Not anymore
We’d all be in that cab, looking for a bar
And for you Anne, you’d be Doreen

And have a swear jar, Bedlam’s bell
Sylvia would ring for us all
The three of us, would have a ball

But I am not joining you
Anytime soon, I have more to write
About my own plight, but I do thank you

For daring to be open, and everything raw
I am angry and jealous, you made your fall
That reaper’s last call.
(end)

This is my expression of admiration and sadness of both Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. I am jealous of their mastery of the syntax and spelling and proper use of words. I have always struggled with it an still do to this day.

I also identify with being suicidal, so that really makes me my own worst critic of my own flaws. I don’t need people to beat me up, I do fine all by myself.

It is hard for me to imagine why they did what they did, they both had so much going for them, and they certainly didn’t have the L.D. A.D.D. I have. But that isn’t what mental illness is about. It affects everyone from all social and economic backgrounds, and getting some things right in life, doesn’t mean all of your life is perfect.

I envy both of their talents, and am angry that they didn’t stick around to write more. But also not angry in that you should never judge mental illness or those who commit suicide. So while I do use the word “angry” in my title, it is more of a non judgmental frustration that life has this dark side, and not an indictment on them.

It is an anger in the sense that life has really sucky things in it that happen. If you are suicidal, call a hotline, trust a friend, talk to someone, call 911 if you have to. You are not evil for having mental illness, you are not broken for feeling suicidal. But I can say, I would not be writing this now, if I had been successful the first time. I am glad I stuck around.

Hi There, Who Are You? By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Hi there, who are you?
You look so peaceful
What do you do?

Atop this shrub
I know nothing of
High there, who are you?

My mom warned me
Not to eat those faux olives
I don’t like olives anyway

High there who are you?
You look so peaceful
What do you do?

You look friendly
You don’t look scared
Hi there, who are you?

Can I, Can I
Pet, you, pet you?
Hi there, who are you?

I’ll be gentle
Let me hold you
Hi there, who are you?

What the hell
Did you just do?
I wasn’t going to hurt you.

Kung Fu, ninja stick
Green twig, razor blade arms
You stabbed and bit me

What did I do?
I only wanted to hold you
Just to pet you, say hi to you.

Bye there, I know you now
You stealthy camouflage sage
I’ll never bother you again.
(end)

I saw my first preying mantis as a kid. Yes I said that right, those things are not praying, they are ninjas, and they will f you up. I didn’t know what they were, and they didn’t look scared, they looked gentile. Boy was I wrong, I tried to pick it up and it stuck it’s arm spikes in me and bit me, I dropped it like a hot potato. And damn was it quick. Needless to say, never messed with one since.

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

Big Bird, school bus yellow
Unitas retrograde
White blizzard crop top
Slatted glass sliding door window

Camper pop up
Unsatisfied with my birth license plate
In it, mom and dad wrote on yellow lined paper
Gave me a list of new monograms of to pick

To replace my prior beckon call
Eagerly willing to ditch
First, middle, and last
Wanted to be rid of it all

But to my dad
An acquisition, to become his brand
His last name, hold your chin up high
No monocle, Cuban humidor

Sit up straight, be seen not heard
Eat this, it will put hair on your chest
Speak your suffix with pride
Scolding me, if I ever dared to cry

I was perplexed
That the sequence
Of my last name
Meant high status

Letters have power
Make me some dignitary’s
Progeny, automatically
By proxy of mere eponymous?

I picked the first two
That part was true
But the last was all you
Projecting egotistical superficial

Self importance, nonsense
I was only 6, you twit,
How could I understand
Any of your fallacious projection?

You needed a lollypop Kojak
Bald head, and aviators
Telly Savalas wannabe
Self important jackass bully

No, no no no
What you really were
Was the overbearing
Full Metal Jacket drill instructor

And I was the clumsy recruit
Who couldn’t do anything right
Except internalize, and weaponize
My self loathing, trying to please you

You put that M-16
In my hands. I was always
In the barracks bathroom
Ready to meet my splattered end

Constantly, unwittingly, but willingly
Forcefully, drilling it through my head
I was somebody, only to obey you or else
I know dear daddy, it was for my own good

You installed in me confidence
Is that what you really think?
Punching a 6 year old in the stomach
Is that what made you a man?
(end)

I was adopted at around the age of 5 and a half or 6. Looking back at it I think my dad, having already been divorced, and had two daughters, got re married, and he wanted a son. But I think what he wanted more than that was a clone of himself. He was an abusive bully.

I hated my real birth name, so one day in our VW camper van, my mom and dad asked me if I wanted to have a new name. Of course I did, I hated my birth name. So they had wrote down a list of potential first and second names, they gave me no choice in my last of course.

I picked the first two at the top of the list. I won’t tell you what was on the rest of the list, but lets say, it could have been far worse.

Again everything you are reading now is in retrospect because back then, I did not have benefit of adult knowledge or adult language. So when he said things like “Eat this, it will put hair on your chest”, I had no idea that the idiot wanted me to be a “macho man”. And when he said, “Be proud of yourself your a” insert last name here, I also did not understand what he meant.

But I do now what he meant now, he wanted me to be a name as in “make a name for yourself”. Looking back at it now, he treated me more like a factory test model or a brand, as if I was something he bought off the shelf, was broken, and couldn’t return.

But being young, I felt like it was me, and if I just did this, or just did that, he’d stop hitting me and yelling at me. And I tried everything to please him, but it never worked, and it actually caused me to act out even more, and be more disruptive in school. He eventually died from alcoholism or cancer, he was a heavy drinker, smoker.
“Unitas retrograde” refers to the popular crop top hair cut, “clean cut” hairdo that football legend Johnny Unitas had in many of his college and early pro days. So the VWs commonly had this white crop top looking pop up top when not popped up looked like that “crop top” when down.

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

Anne saw that the poets were hungry
And she said, Oh pen
Write down a short order poem
She didn’t need Abracadabra
She took the pen
Made it her baby
In her writing hand and said Oh pen
And the pen wrote
Write with your mind’s eye
Opening up Pandora’s box
And she said
Prose men, prose men
I make it look easy
And lo, there were many poems
Next Anne held up a soliloquy
And said, Oh pen
And her admirers mimicked her
Like an assembly line printing press
The Pied Piper of poets
And lo, there were many

Anne passed out her books to the people
Wearing no hat
And they kissed her prose and poems
And they learned from the very well versed.
(end)

This is my nod to Anne Sexton’s poem “Jesus Cooks”. I love the skepticism in her poem.

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

Banned books
Are the the taboos
The fools are afraid of
They cower in fear
They know thought
Is near, Their gatekeeping
Days will be lost
Read them, read them
Break the shackles
Of the frauds.
(end) #poetrycommunity

Double Sided, By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brinrrs37 on Twitter)

Your themes of love and hate
Being the same epithet
Herr dear sperm donor
Herr beloved father

You were mad
You didn’t get to know him
He morphed into the Fuhrer
The wretched marriage between life and death

The angel food cake
The frosting black snake
The baker lied to you
Wine glass filled with cobra’s brew

Punching down the cap
The cork bouquet, city sewer rat
Rotted plumbs make you numb
Saki, the oven’s hari-kari

Not disemboweled, yet quite clean
Dandelions invade plush green
Deceptive to say, you wanted to breath
Lucifer and God, both on the same team

You couldn’t face either
Both were the enemy and suitor
Belonging to the same union
Wedding ring onyx coal ash

But which one to join?
Torn between two lovers
Reviled, the tag team players
Not an episode of Survivor

When I was slightly older
Hess was my father
A high school biology teacher
His students knew nothing of Amon Göth

When not in front of class
60 orbs could not observe
Colleagues also unaware
The beatings I had to bare

He swam every day
In the red and white label
The toppled hour glass
Black widow red beer gut

In one old faded photo
Of me he held on his shoulders
I looked like I couldn’t be happier
But I lived in Goring’s museum

He told me tall tales
Of his North Korea service
How he lost three digits
And partial left ear hearing

Proud to be a Marine
Anchor skewered earth
Eagle perched magnetic north
He really did once serve

But combat he never saw
The truth was a bandsaw
In shop class, he turned it on
Distraction, 3 fingers gone

Desperate so to please
I was quiet as can be
When his eyes grew bloodshot
Slurred speech, ink blots

I didn’t know
What I had done
I was David Banner’s son
Herr McGee got nothing done

If it had pleased him
Under my fingernails
He’d have shoved
Slivers of bamboo too

Brass knuckle words
Intolerant of my sensitivity
Mounting insecurity
Why did he adopt me?

One day he left
And never came back
My mom lied to me
About how he really died

At first confused
Feeling abandon
Angry for that
Glad now, he was gone

The abuse lingers on
Held hostage by my neurons
My life his transplanted liver
Hannibal’s fava bean cage

I had to mind his drawings
My head in a jar
In cobwebbed antique car
Formaldehyde lily pad self storage

I can now only manage
The snarling growling
Howling rabid memory
Of what that coyote did to me

Fleeting electron smiles
In Whitehall Bay, I’d sail for a while
In a dinghy, he bought me as a child
Glistening sunlit waters, briefly escaped his bile.
(end)

My dad turned into a monster when he got drunk. His students never knew the real him, nor did his fellow teachers. But I was painfully aware of what a bully he was. It really hurt when his kids lavished praise on him to me, because that made me feel like I was broken. I know now it was not me, he was just using them to protect himself. Plath and I of course lead very different lives. She excelled at academics while I struggled. We both were raised middle class. Our dads died while we were young. But that is where the similarities end. Plath never really got to know her dad, but I did. I can however agree with her love hate to some extent. My bastard of a father did buy me nice things, like the small boat, I used to sale solo to get away from him for a morning afternoon. But I can so much feel her imagery of the love/hate complex with her father.

You’d have to read her poems “Daddy” and “Colossus” to get her imagery. But my dad became the “Hulk” when he got drunk, and not in a good way. He drank Budweiser, thus the “red and white” label, and the black widow hour glass reference to the red label hour glass Bud had. And of course the “Hannibal” reference is to the movie “Silence Of The Lambs”. My choices under him, were to be quiet, stay away from him, only play happy with me when he needed a prop to impress his friends. Or go outside and get beaten up by the bullies, or stay inside and eventually get beaten by him.

I outgrew my fear of him long since. But you don’t get over it. I still have anxiety and trust issues even 40 years later.

“Punching down the cap” is a method of grape crushing for making wine. People no longer use their feet for sanitary reasons. It is usually now a wooden or metal pole with a flat disk with holes in it to push the grapes down in a vat. “City sewer rat” is basically the dark thoughts Plath had about that finally and unfortunately caught up with her.

The third stanza again, is basically the bittersweet notion of what joy she was/is to read, but again, the dark side caught up to her. The WW2 references are about her poems, and her grappling with her German heritage knowing what the Nazis had done. Her dad of course, was not part of that though. Amon Göth was a death camp commander and subsequently tried and executed after his capture at the end of WW2. My dad was a bully, and that Is why I equated him to Hess and Göth.

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

He’s always on “your” side
Isn’t he? Most certainly, definitely
Forget the adversary, who says the same

How confident you are, willing to kill
Unwilling to see, your adversary will
Kill you too, through and through

The ravings of antiquity, in tribal states
Divine right of kings, get you to follow their fate
And they hand their hate, down to you

Mesopotamia has these three
Knives cut throats so easily
Books justify their actions properly

That dove scurries and hides
From all of you, seeking the submission
Of the others who, don’t follow you

The caldron of confidence is obvious to
This outsider, who wants nothing to do
With your petty gods, who cannot do

Without enraging you, and you kill
Hoping it will, finally get you, everything
You hoped for, your honor is due

But it never does, does it? Endless wars
In his name, the battle of insecurities
This deity blames, it all on you

He is the parent with 3 kids who
Sticks swords in their hands, and
Demands you stab, put them on a slab

And the last one standing, gets to
Hang out with you, somewhere above
What a reward this is, is it not?

You win the grand prize, all others are lost
Thrown in the pyre at his pleasure
You did his bidding and you feel better

So take your knife, take your gun
Start your holy war, have some fun
But me, this outsider, I am done.
(end)

Again, I do think most human beings are good, but as much as religion claims it does good, it creates just as much division, not only between different religions, but also between the sub sects of any given umbrella religion.

“If our species never questioned social norms, our species never would have left the caves” Me.