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

The pressure on my spine
In my lower back
I cant go either way

My body under attack
I cannot pass, I cannot pee
The medicine is not working

What is wrong with me?
I love feeling impacted
My colon is a stuffed sausage

My bladder
A bloated water balloon
Been to the E.R over this before

Going back would be too soon
And the anxiety of inability
Is keeping me up at night

But this perfect being
Got my body right
And such a daily test

I’ll consider him an asshole
For putting anyone through this
But that is minor by comparison

Than say a kid with cancer
Or Jews in a gas chamber
And this sky monster

Sits and watches
And lets it happen
No matter if even innocent

And lucky me
This sky daddy
Put me in a country

Full of right wing pricks
Who think health care
Is a luxury

These are your people
Oh mighty one?
Profit off of illness

What that of insurance?
Fuck you if you’ve none
Die quickly, pay or suffer

Yet this makes sense
When you read the first commandment
It isn’t about human welfare

It is all about him.
Its as if we are an afterthought
A bored brat made

Us his toys, his lab rats
His pawns, oh how perfect
It is, to not be able to shit for days.
(end)

This is a serious poem. I am ok, but still in some discomfort that is causing me anxiety. My primary doctor didn’t do shit but take my pulse and told me to stop taking one med and get more fiber in my diet. Well when I stopped taking that med, I couldn’t pee, so fuck him, I am going to keep taking it until I run out. But I think the fiber is also backing me up, too much, too little, cant find that balance.

But right now it is manageable but annoying as fuck. And when I think about very serious problems like cancer and watching my mother die a slow painful death after her decision to do nothing more medically. It isn’t a matter of hating a real God. I can’t hate Darth Vader either. Just don’t insult my intellect by trying to claim an all powerful sky daddy made us in his image? If he cant get bloated and backed up and have an impacted colon, then he isn’t all powerful. If he can, he isn’t perfect. Or better yet, he doesn’t exist and my health problems are simply a result of a flawed reality for all life.

In A Rush, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

On the Knight
Of the city of hills
A Ficus on his heals

Two daughters
Lived below
Sarah everyone knows

Blond and buxom
But not my type
I dreamed of sister Jackie

All day and night
Brunette and slender
The kind I remember

I wanted to date her
She was yet another
Crush in my youth

I watched on the tube
Pining to grow up
And be attractive to

Her type. I was
In a rush to age
Now looking back

I had lost track
Jackie was a dream
Elusive to me

Now I can see
It was mere fantasy
Time has taught me

It would never be.
I tortured myself
To be somebody else

And like Henry
I was clumsy
I slid of the couch

So easily, I was goofy
I was shaky in the presence
Of someone like Jackie
(end)

This poem is about the character Jacky Rush on the sitcom “Too Close For Comfort” story line based in San Francisco. There was an episode where Jackie complained that her sister Sarah was prettier than she was and always got the guys. I didn’t understand that at the time because I had a huge crush on Jackie and not Sarah.

Henry( played by Ted Knight) is the father on the show. The two early twenties daughters live in the basement apartment in the show. Monroe Ficus is the awkward goofy guy friend of the two girls and Henry eventually lets him move into the attic apartment in season 4.

Point is I never understood what people find attractive or why I felt the ladies didn’t find me attractive. Back then. But now older and wiser it simply amounts to you cant help whom you are attracted to, and for some reason I was attracted to the slim brunette Jackie and not the buxom blond sister Sarah.

One of the running jokes on the show is Henry could never sit properly on the girl’s couch in their apartment because it was floppy and new age and you had to know how to sit on it correctly to stay put, but Henry always slid off the couch or flipped over backwards trying to sit on it.

If you notice a spelling error, especially with names, please point it out. I am not a perfect person and I do try to follow the red line under every word, but sometimes even then I miss it. It would really help me out, thank you.

Dangling On The Noose, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37)

These ladies so fair
Were hardly that
They were monsters
Who unleashed their wrath

Muzzled shepherds
At their side
Nazi guards
Hitler’s pride

They got their due
For what they did
Hyenas and Beasts
Would soon be dead

The gallows’ noose
Around their heads
Paradies, Becker
Klaff, Steinhoff,

Barkmann, the trucks
Backed up, and off the back
They were pushed,
Left to twist, they were no good.
(end)

After the surrender of Germany and death of that vile pile of shit Hitler, many of the camp guards were put on trial and sentenced to death by hanging. Many of these guards were female.

Elizabeth Becker, Gerda Steinhoff, Wanda Klaff, Ewa Paradies were female guards that brutalized their victims in unimaginable fashion. They were executed with male Nazi officials on July 4th 1946 in Biskupia Gorka (Stolzenberg) near Danzig Poland. Other names not mentioned in the poem Johann Pauls and Ema Bailhardt.

The horrors of the Holocaust must always be remembered as a lesson as to not what to do to your fellow human beings.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stutthof_trials#:~:text=First%20Stutthof%20trial,-During%20the%20first&text=Twelve%20were%20sentenced%20to%20death,%2C%20by%20short%2Ddrop%20hanging.

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

Oh you ask me
Why my end
In such graphic
Dastardly fashion

I had a pain
Unique to me
I know it is hard
To imagine

Ted my muse
Went astray
Left me alone
With kids and fray

But you know
That isn’t the real reason
I had an obsession
I did well

Pills
And a porch
Driving into the river
My existence

Makes you shiver
But in that darkness
I deliver, images
Of hooks of tulips

And racing redcoats
And reflective glass
And words dead
On arrival, stillborn

And fungus plants
I know you will
Be loyal
And keep me alive

My disquieting muses
Will always thrive.
( end)

This poem I wrote in response to another person’s poem addressing Sylvia Plath’s tortured life and why her poetry and memory need to be kept alive.
The imagery is a ode to her poem words and titles. Those who are deeply familiar with Sylvia Plath’s work will get this. If you don’t go read her works.

Petrichor, By Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

#Petrichor
Makes life
Richer
The hero
That takes
Away
The sting
Of the heat
A cold compress
Leaves it
In defeat
You breath
A sigh of relief
Like leaving
A sauna.
#vss365 #poetry #WritingCommunity
(end)