Grand Kittyfied Theory, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
Schrodinger
Must have
Not known
Better
Poison in a box
Where does he
Get off
Making such a fetter?
Just like
The Second law
Just like we all know
Gravity to the ground you go
If you have a puddy
You already know
That bed is theirs
Not yours
They’ll sprawl on it
You want the couch?
You might as well
Forget it
If they sleep
In your lap
Forget getting up
For anything
They’ll caterwaul
At the break of dawn
They want their breakfast
It’s your wakeup call
They’ll slalom
Around your legs
If you trip from such
It’s the price we pay
They want in
And out every day
A paw under the door
On the throne they’ll play
Privacy?
No way, no way
Grand Kittyfied Theory
It’s their game
We have to face it
It is a fact
They own us
We love their act.
(end)
Fun poem for cat lovers.
Category: Uncategorized
-
-
Till Death Do Us, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
Apollo 13
Was not
A failure
In the least
This utopia
Couples get sold
In youth
Before they meet
The tuxedo
And lace train
The vows the
Refrain
The white frosting
The bouquet tossing
The garter belt
Slung
It all sounds fun
But once it is done
They face the mundane
The bills and babies
And then the bitterness
Because you were taught
This was a cure all
It would solve all your problems
Then when it did not
You argued and fought
Lawyers you sought
The nuptials for not
Then the bitterness
The resentment
The hating
The seething
And even the scheming
To crush the other
As if it were
Sunnis vs Shiites
Apollo 13
Was a success
They all made it back
In the ocean they splashed
It is never a failure
To love while it lasts
To face reality
In case of a clash
Communication
Is the key
Forever isn’t always
The reality
Honesty is best
When your feelings change
It may hurt
You may feel pain
But it is far worse
For both involved
If you live a lie
Side by side.
(end)
I don’t hate marriage, I was married once. But I do hate this attitude passed down to generation after generation, that if you don’t get married, or you don’t have kids, somehow you are a flawed human being. And if you do get married you are a failure as a human being if you get a divorce.
My attitude is the same, even with just friends. People can and do change over time, even with mere friends, and people can and do drift apart or their feelings change. It does not have to become a war.
I look back on my wife telling me she didn’t want to stay married to me. That hurt like hell. But she knew it was hurting me, and I know she hated hurting me, but I appreciated her honesty in any case. She didn’t hold any bitter feelings to me or me to her. In fact she actually got her friends to help me move out of our apartment to my new one by myself. AND she invited me to Thanksgiving dinner despite our separation and divorce.
We have grown apart since and we don’t talk anymore, but that is not out of hate or bitterness, just a matter of moving on. I still have fond memories of our time together. She is a very brilliant woman, and super intelligent. It has been 20 years since our divorce, and I still wish her well.
-
Contrast, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
My eyes gush
Leaking tears
Like the broken seal
On swimmer’s goggles
A rising tide of pain
And it matters not
The bright sunlight
Bursting rays of color
Into the flower garden
I only see tombstones
In a graveyard
While ignorant birds sing
(end)
This wasn’t inspired by any my love life today. But nobody ever forgets getting dumped or the pain of being told by your spouse they don’t want to stay married to you. It sucks.
It can be the most bright and sunny beautiful day and you still feel shitty and dark inside. Good thing though, and sometimes it may feel hard, but time really does help one move on. -
Don’t Tell Me, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
I held my words in silence
Afraid of criticism, scorn
And especially ridicule
Then at the bar, that night
I had been scribbling
On a napkin when
The man in the black hat
Asked me what I was doing
I told him I was writing down
Ideas for a poem
He asked me to read it
I refused out of fear
It wouldn’t please him
But his coaxing
Was not worth resisting
So I read him
The raw words
I had scribbled down
On the napkin
And just like that
We were kin
He invited me in
To a poetry group
That met once a month
I was petrified at first
When I showed up
How could I stand up
In front of them
I felt like an amateur
I wouldn’t get far
This was not the case
My trepidation
Was misplaced
Of me they did embrace
I was relieved and overjoyed
I had finally found a place
Where I could sound my voice
Where I was welcome
Where spoken had no choice
If you showed
You knew you would read
What you wrote in front of you
And everyone wanted you
To read more and more
It was feast to be adored
But outside that gathering
Incessant blathering
Of blowhards
Who know nothing
Of depth of emotion
Imagery and art and poetry
The haters misery
They’d call me a loser
And tell me constantly
Everything I wrote sucked
Better off in the landfill
My words, they’d try to kill
Even to this day
I have those who try to say
Give it up, you schmuck, you suck
To them I’d look in the eye
Without compunction
I don’t give a flying fuck!
What you think
You ignorant twit
I write quite well
Without you nitwit
So don’t you tell me
I should quit!
(end)
A long time ago, before I joined that poetry club, I kept my poetry a secret because I feared judgment. But a guy named Sam Hurst, I met at a bar, and he coaxed me into reading a raw poem I was writing. And he told me I should join a local poetry group.
I was scared shitless to say the least. I feared being laughed out of the group. But no, they embraced me, and that is when I knew my words were worthy.
Now mind you. I can still look back on some of my work and think “That did suck”. BUT I don’t think because I lay a dud here or there, that I should quit. No! I look at my poetry a lot like a high speed camera photographer takes pictures. It isn’t the volume that matters, but the fact you do it so much you it is impossible not to take that one picture everyone loves.
To my fellow poets. NEVER STOP, and never be afraid to lay a dud. Never assume because one person doesn’t comment on your work, means other people cannot like anything you do.
I have a very simple rule to ALL poets. JUST DO, don’t worry about “critics” or “haters” or assholes. Just do it, you wills strike gold with people. YOU WILL. You may not get rich doing it, but “GOLD” to me is making someone else connect with you, or feel empathy with you, or get joy with you, or feel pain with you. It only takes one poem to do that. So keep writing. FUCK THE HATERS! -
Knock Off The Dust, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
The confidence
After ruins
The rise after
The avalanche
The fractured bones
The shattered jaw
The pain of rejection
Impending fall
Out of the crater
You slowly crawl
To once again
Tower tall.
(end)
This isn’t about domestic abuse, but it could apply. It is basically and overall theme of overcoming any harsh adversity in life. -
If you have never heard of her, she didn’t get as big as I thought she should have deserved. Lori Carson is a soft sullen heartbreak indi/folkish singer who sings about bad relationships and pain and staying strong through it all. I am normally not into that style of music, but Lori Carson’s album “Shelter” from 1990 is very emotional and powerful and I get goose bumps listening to it every time. Hopefully the following link works, here is one of her songs
It has a very sullen slow start but the beat and tempo picks up and the mood changes from heartbreak and defeat to a call for strength and is inspiring. It takes a lot for me to like a song from a style I am not into. That to me is what makes a song/artist most impressive and talented.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6YHtIxv4KA&t=7s -
Virtuous, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
If I told you
To drive your car
With a blindfold on
Would you?
If I told you
The pilot
Of your passenger jet
Just got their license
10 minutes ago
Would you? Would you?
Get on it? Would you
Be confident, Would you
Feel safe? Well that is
The absurdity of faith
I don’t call it a virtue
I call it intellectual laziness
The fear of being wrong
The fear of the unknown
Hiding behind ignorance
Rather than kicking the tires
You seek candy canes
And the ragdolls of childhood
Because the shadows of night
The fear of being finite
Lead you to buy
A comforting lie
I understand
You don’t want to die
Neither do I
But I do try
To find the truth
Not what some old book
Antiquity sold you
Why should it
Why should it
Frighten you
To know the earth
Is a globe, not flat
To know the flood
Is a myth, and no
I do not claim
Such absurdities
That a monkey
Gave birth
To my mother
I hold my statement
You’re about to read
To be solid and sturdy
“If our species
Never questioned
Social norms”“Our species
Never would have
Left the caves”.
It is not the end
It is not
Doom and gloom
To figure out
The formation
Of our moon
Our species
Did not
Go extinct
When Galileo
Told the truth
Despite his punishment
By the church.
Facts are worth
Evidence and proof
I find no virtue
In fearful ostrich
Sands.
(end) -
The God/s Warriors, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
Confidence
In clashing
Justified in bashing
Their might is epic
Their certainty directed
Their tribalism obsequious
Their subservience prostrate
Whatever periwinkle they propose
Worldwide destruction is their goal
They turn beauty into coal
The crimson confidence of fools.
(end) -
Stagnation, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
I open a new page
Type in a title
By line follows
Keyboard silent
Pause, type, backspace
Pause, type, backspace
Keyboard silent
Tv goes to ad break
Seems like 20 so far
Enough time
To scale Pikes Peak
Keyboard silent
Pause, type, backspace
That artifact hiding
In the wood box
In the National Archives
At the end of Raiders
Indiana has buried it
Keyboard silent
Bathroom break
Must be 5 today
Pause, type backspace
Title needs tweaking
Seems out of place now
Keyboard silent
Topics illusive
In the fog filled forest
It won’t lift
Stubborn stagnation
Is my inspiration dead?
Sylvia, I know
All too well
That stillborn
That taunting keyboard
Elusive muse
The poems refuse
To show themselves
Invisible ink of spies
They refuse to come alive.
(end)
This is about when I get worried if I am going to write another decent poem again. Sometimes I get really scared that I’ve covered so much that I’ll run out of things to say. And when poetry is pretty much the most important thing in my life, it is a really scary place to be, even if brief.
The references in this one are a couple. At the end of Raiders Of The Lost Ark they box the Ark and put it in a giant warehouse where it is implied that it is lost to time. And when I am have writer’s block that is how I feel trying to find something to inspire me and write about. It is an elusive feeling.
And the “Sylvia” reference is about her poem “Stillborn” which is about writers block and stress of trying to care for your poetry like they are babies that die in birth, and never quite come out right.
I have been having this feeling for the past two days now. I have been recycling already printed poems I wrote long ago to try to keep things fresh. This poem is new today though. But it isn’t the first time I have written about this topic. -
False Perception, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)
The monsoons
I wouldn’t set up
This way
From 13 to 25
Hormones rage away
And torrents of mistakes
Confusing a crush with love
Confusing looks with love
And the hurricane’s pain
Unrequited the ship
Tossed about
Like a ragdoll
Self inflicted storm
Cruel tempest of youth.
No lighthouse
To guide me in
No soothing tongue
Gentle embrace
Jagged jetties
Razor blades
Anchors weigh
Red sky they say
Cruel morning awakes
Port and starboard
Bow and aft
Skuttled hull
I have no craft
Lead balloon
I cannot tempt her
I cannot swoon
I’d sink sooner
This tall ship schooner
The plank is long
I’m walking on
The keel is broken
Rejection has spoken
I’ll always be stuck in
This doldrum monsoonCruel tempest of youth.
(end)
I know everyone’s teens and early 20s is different for everyone. Some have it better than others. I wasn’t so lucky in love. I was rejected by the ladies a lot. I was awkward, and sensitive and pimple faced. I couldn’t tell the difference between a crush and love, or mere attraction and love. So even when I did have a brief relationship, it was like being blindfolded and trying to drive a formula 1 car with no breaks. I had no clue what I was doing. I was as smooth as a boulder rockslide in an earthquake in my teens and 20s.
I would have made a great lookout on the Titanic though. Good thing about getting old though, is that you can get over it and learn from it and be wiser. But it sucks going through it as many do.
Brian37 AKA Brian James Rational Poet...... My Poetry 