The Risk, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

If only
I were impervious
To the pangs
Of desire
If only nothing
Had ever
Set me on fire
If only
I could be
The leafless, lifeless
Winter tree.
I would have never
Felt pain.
(end)

E-lawn Mask, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

What’s the matter E-lawn
Are you afraid of Valerie?
Are you afraid of Kathy?
Are you afraid of AOC?

You were so gung ho
About letting the “innocent”
Back on, the “innocent”
People that spew election lies

The “innocent” people
Who use the “n” word
Like Niagara Falls
Use twitter halls

For antisemitism calls
We know, we know
They’re not doing anything
Wrong at all

It’s all “free speech”
No harm in the least
Except January 6th
The instigators did

Use this platform
To call for treason
“Patriotism”
Their “reason”

What’s the matter
E-lawn, not so fun
Is it, when you
Are the joke?
(end)

A certain rich person with space dildos got upset that they got picked on, and now they are being petty because they can’t admit they were wrong, and shouldn’t have screwed all the people trying to keep the place tidy, not charging more wouldn’t have hurt wealthier users will piss off everyday middle class and working users.

But just so the electrifying narcissist doesn’t blow a gasket. Here is my dis claimer PARODY!

But why would I even need to type that because he makes himself a joke all by himself in any case.

This post is not intended to reflect the positions of WordPress.com or it’s CEOs or any of its employees. All posts at this page posted by me are my opinions alone.

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

Moving through the tundra
The craven blizzards bleach
The permafrost making meals
For both predator and prey
Sparce, if not impossible
A hellscape at the center
Of Dante’s ninth circle
February flirts a little
With the notion
Their frozen purgatory
Will give way to thaw
(end)

Keep in mind, I am an atheist, but also a former Catholic. All of this is metaphor for how much I hate the cold. Ironically, in Dante’s Inferno Satan is not in a pit of molten fire, but frozen from the waste down in a lake of ice at the center of the 9th circle of hell.

The 5:18, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianarrs37 on Twitter)

She belted out the notes
In the big band club
Steamy trumpets
Not meant to snub

Alone she was standing
Under a moon of gold
I’d never go away
And claim she was cold

I saw her standing alone
I was not waiting
With my lunch
Next to my phone

You rang twice
Your silky voice so nice
Some dream sequence
So much my vice

I want to be your sheep
You are the Sheperd
Belting out jazz
Your over night shift

I could never resist.
Not another word
Not another sound
Until I hear you sing again.
(end)

This is an ode poem to one of my favorite Moonlighting tv show episodes where they did a black and white Big Band club episode where Maddie sang two songs “I Told Ya I Love Ya” and the classic “Blue Moon”. That episode introduced me to big band jazz. And is directly responsible for my being a fan of others such as Harry Conic Jr, Candy Dulfer, David Sanborn, Manhattan Transfer. The ode is to an episode called “The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice”.

Thank You Fellow Poets (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

The palettes
That inspire
That impress
That don’t rest
The palettes that paint
The dreams we dream
The midnight screams
The cold sweats of nightmares
These are the constellations
These are the atoms
Of prior dead stars
I’m glad it lead to my
Reading your poems.
(end)

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

I know that feeling
All too familiar
Waiting in the exam room
With my late mother
No it was not me
Going through it
But she was my pillar
To hear her say
That final time
“I don’t want to go further”
DNR orders are devastating
Even to the observer.

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

Obsidian sudden
Solidified, absconded
Taunted, haunted
Unwanted, flash
Flamethrower
Torched, discarded
Detached, dismembered
Four chambers
Pulse vessels
Pulverized
She tossed me aside
No longer alive
Dead inside.
(end)

Letter Board, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Black felt, enclosed
In a glass case
Telling you which room
White letters

Give you the name
Impersonal, clinical
Office, official
Business, credentials

Starburst mosaic
Recently buffed
Chemical waxy fragrance
Janitor’s closet maintenance

Elevator lobby
Everyone’s hobby
Press it again, and again
It’s lit up, cant you see it?

They shuffle in
The box fills up
All the numbers
All lit up

The doors open
Some let out
Heals click on floor
Closing the door

Another glass case
Pointing the way
325-344 to the right
300-324 to the left

Another beat
Of many hearts
Some to work
Others sick

Another sign
Becomes your greeter
Out in the street
Watch your meter
(end)

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

No parachutes
To aid their fall
The pilot dead
The pitch and yaw
Out of lift
Nosedive saw
Goose down pillows
Champaign bucket
Rose petal path
Simple math
Bubble bath
Neither of them
Had a chance.
(end)

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

All the swivel stools empty
Except for three, two together
One man separately

The short order cook bent over
Maybe he needs an ashtray
What is that she is holding?

Looks like a book of matches
Looks like the lady with red hair
In her red dress, is contemplating

In some weekday off hour
After midnight a few hours later
Dim streetlights illuminate

Asphalt, sidewalks, storefronts
Competing with the lights inside
No interest in their faces

Merely going through the paces
She won’t make bed with him
The fedora knows, he’s alone

And the silver cylinders
Dispensing stale java
Loyal penguins

As hot as fire
But at this 3 am hour
The city streets still

Lost is desire
It seems all involved
Want the night over.
(end)

This poem is about the painting “Nighthawks” at the “Phillies” diner.
(EDIT
I wrote this poem based on a thumb picture that I expanded as big as I could. I flip flopped as to if the lady was holding a book of matches or some sort of pastry/biscuit. I went to a few websites and finally stumbled on a website giving the actual detail history and it was a book of matches. Which is what I suspected.