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

The pallet elusive
The brush dodges
The ink well dry
The quill dashes

The poem starts
The idea crashes
In mid stanza
Lost it’s passion

The days keep passing
And I am not writing
Writer’s block
I am constantly fighting.
(end)

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

They were pseudo science
Eye color charts, nose size
Cranium size, evil stares
Responsible for the nation’s ills

They were xenophobic
And if you were handicap
Or mentally ill, you were
Unworthy of life

They were, anti science
Unless they used it
To build up their military
Or conduct cruel experiments

They were, anti intellectual
They were, anti art
Unless they approved
Or stole it from others

They banned books
The leader’s book
Was the official grievance
Of one man

They were a Christian movement
And their leader said
“We do not tolerate anyone
Within our ranks

Who offends the ideas
Of Christianity”.
No, not vanity
But the insecurity

Of a sicko who
Got even with the world
Because an art school
Rejected his paintings

They were fascists
And today, in Florida
A Principle is jobless
Fired for showing the artist’s

Work of the statue of David
Millions died denying covid
And Boebert failed multiple times
Before she got her G.E.D.

And their GOP Mussolini
Falsely plays victim
And tells you you are too
And only he knows what to do

He wants to be your authoritarian
He wants to get revenge for you
Just like Hitler did for WW1
So as well the failed businessman

The Nazis wanted retribution
For Mar A Lago, it’s the solution
He’s not doing it for anyone
It’s just a fraud, it’s just a con

They were the losers
And he will too
The fever of fear
Breaks when you get the clues.
(end)

I am tired of people saying the parallels between the Nazis and MAGA Trumpism are not the same, they are. The GOP is anti education, and Boebert just called for the total destruction of the public school system.
Which is funny because she failed her G.E.D. a few times before finally passing. She got a G.E.D. not a Highschool diploma. The government she claims to hate issued that G.E.D.

The GOP is constantly attacking judges and FBI agents and District Attorneys who do their jobs objectively. This is the same type of purging the Nazis did when they first named their party that, when Hitler was barely on the radar long before he became a national political figure.

Hitler was not an atheist, he was his own brand of occult/deist/catholic. He invoked God multiple times in Mien Kompf. and as the quote goes mentioned in the poem , but here is the full quote

“We do not tolerate anyone in our ranks who offends the ideas of Christianity, who stands up to a dissident, fights him, or provokes himself as a hereditary enemy of Christianity. This movement of ours is actually Christian.” Recorded by Max Vogl, from Hitler’s speech October 27th 1928 in Passau.

Today the MAGA right is selling White Christian Nationalism. Is selling the same anti intellectualism, anti art, anti science, and targeting minorities just like Hitler did. We are literally seeing the rise of fascism here in America.

They are deliberately selling mistrust of our government institutions, and demanding blind loyalty to the party.

I Would Tell You, by Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

I would tell you
Their names
But those killers
Don’t deserve the fame

I would tell you
How many so far
But it’s been countless
Over the decades to start

.I would tell you
We’ve had enough
But not even Newtown
Shook things up

I would tell you
Not to worry
But the bodies pile up
Everyday in a hurry

I would tell you
It is safe to go outside
But even I look for exits
Out in public inside

I would tell you
It was isolated
The tune of 100 a day
Makes that claim negated

I would tell you
To go see a movie
To go out shopping
It is safe at school

I wish I could tell you
Not to fear bullets rule
I wish we could
Give the slip

Of the industry’s grip
The merchants of death
Profit off of blood baths
Caskets in masses

I would tell you
It is getting better
But the numbers
Keep rising forever

I can tell you this
We can never, should never
Get used to this
Living under the gun

Every hour, every day
Under the sun
In the dark allies
In our homes

In our workplaces
Losing loved ones
It is up to you
To not become complacent

It is a generational fight
The right plight
To stay alive, without fear
Of someone’s selfish fetish.

Make the tide change
We don’t have to live this way
Non violence should always
Win the day

They are afraid
Of our vote
They are afraid
We are right

And we are.
(end)

Mass shootings are unfortunately a very unique distinct and vile quality of American life that does not have to be that way. I wrote this poem as a response to a poem someone read on a Twitter space today about the Pulse night club shooting. And that was after watching a made for TV movie about a very real mass shooting that happened in 1988, the night before. And that is not including my JR yr HS yearbook which had a two page spread called “The Year In News.”

In that two page spread, it had pictures with paragraphs describing the person or event in the pictures under each. One was a picture of Reagan, another was the firs artificial heart guy, another the space shuttle. But also the picture of a mass shooting in California in 1984.

And the 10s of thousands in the past 40 years in between the few I mentioned and others you may remember but I don’t. The sad fact is that they happen every fucking day, and until the industry can be sued into behaving, and the shops being held responsible for where their products end up, this is not going to stop.

But unfortunately the industry has a grip on a large enough minority that holds the rest of the nation hostage. It is insane to think being number 1 in firearm violence can be solved by adding more firearms to civilian hands when we already have 400 million in civilian hands. I never get a good number that would suffice the firearm worshipers. Would 1 billion guns in civilian hands be enough? How about 10 billion firearms in civilian hands? How about 50 billion? How many is enough? I say they don’t care, they simply want to win to own us, not because they are right, but because they know they are on the wrong side of history.

Don’t ever get used to this. It may be a long road, and things may seem hopeless right now, but every voice counts, and the industry CEOs and profiteers of violence cannot win unless we let them. Use your voice, use your vote, don’t stop, no matter how long it takes.

If you go to both my accounts, either one and scroll down, you will see my most recent poetry reading which is about an hour long called “Skeptics Poetry” . You can listen to it at either @Brianrrs37 or @rationalpoet37. You’ll have to skip past the dead air at the beginning. I hate that it doesn’t auto clip or auto fill that. But there is an hour’s worth of poetry there. If you do decide to listen please let me know if it works for you. Twitter has been a mess lately. But it is showing up on my end.

The Fallacy Of Cuteness, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

It is a trap
Easy to assume
If it is a cute animal
How can it meet it’s doom

Take a duckling
For example
It is cute
When it quacks for it’s mother

But we falsely assume
All the chicks survive
She’ll protect them all
When they hatch and arrive

If late to hatch
Or born a runt
If it cant keep up
Falls back too much

The mother won’t
Always come to defense
If it sees the chick
As a burden to them

We do often see
In nature that of adoption
Like a pride of lionesses
Care for other’s cubs

But not always the case
If cub ages not the same
If one is a straggler
Abandons her claim

In other avian
It is quite common
For the weak chick
To be tossed out of the nest

A buffalo calf
Could be sacrificed
To a lion stalking it
For more to survive

I like to root
For the underdog
I like to see
Success for all

Nature doesn’t
Work that way
Cuteness doesn’t
Always get it’s way.
(end)

Far to often laypeople think anything cute always has the upper hand. Not in nature. Allegators and crocks are viciously protective of their nest and young, at least until they get the babies to water. Mother crocks and gators can pick up their young in their mouths very gently and carry them to safety.

In other cases mothers and fathers of many species will kick the runts or weak out of the home or abandon them or even kill them. Mother ducks are no different.

Cute makes us feel warm and fuzzy, but nature isn’t ways warm and fuzzy.

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

Titles are fleeting
So too wealth
And fame
This passenger jet
We call life
Takes off
And lands
The same
Carl Sagan
Was on the spot
Pointing out
Our short lives
Perceived self importance
On this “Pale Blue Dot”
We scurry
And scream
And flail
Dominate and fail
Fleeting marks
We make, if any
To no avail.

#vss365 #poetrycommunity

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
(end)

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

Homosexuality
“Abomination”
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.

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.
(end)

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, 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.
(end)

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.