Poems by Bob Boyd

Insects a half-inch long,
thin bodies,
three sets of legs,
tiny hairs on legs,
that repel water,
enabling them to
walk, more correctly,
stride, on water.

They’re innocent-
looking insects
but watch out if
you’re a dragonfly.

If you or other
insects fall in the
water, they’ll grab
you and suck the
life out of you.

Water Striders is
their name.

Bob Boyd

According to David Paulides, many
people have vanished near boulder fields.
I listened to Paulides last night on the
radio show Coast to Coast. He said some
people told him that entities lived in those
big stone boulders, which makes me
wonder if there are entities really living
in those boulders that are somehow
snatching people into those boulders,
maybe into some other dimension.

Maybe entities massive and fast enough
to snatch a person before that person
could scream or make a sound.

Of course, it sounds like bunk, but the
many people who go missing without
a trace, or anything traceable, make
one wonder if something paranormal
is responsible for these missing 411s.

No tracks. No scents search dogs can
follow. Just gone from this world and
never found or heard from again.

Bob Boyd

She liked fresh young women
any blood type would do
she picked young women
she felt them more feline
better suited for her dark purposes
she’d lure them to her
with her squeaky meowing
cute stray kitty persona
they’d coo and ah over her
and give her a good home
but when the house lights
were turned off and
the night set in she’d
silently hop onto their beds
fangs in their jugulars
drain their fresh bodies
of their invigorating blood
Vampire Kitty!

Bob Boyd

The night was summer warm
two killers’ hearts were cold
the moon was glowing full
they were looking for a kill
they spied a young woman
a soft and easy target
for their moonlit bloodlust
they stalked her silently
their footsteps unheard
except by the young woman
with her extrasensory hearing
when they were almost upon her
she howled to the moon
her fangs and claws came out
and she ripped the would be
predators into bloody pieces

Bob Boyd

They’re considered a lowly species
just good for fish bait

but many are ignorant of
how beneficial to the world they are

and what would happen if
they went on strike:

the soil wouldn’t yield crops

there’d be mass starvation

and flooding and erosion

the animals that feed on them
would starve to death and
become extinct

the animals that feed on those
animals would starve to death and
become extinct as well

as would the animals that
prey on those animals

in a devastating domino effect

all if the lowly, fish bait earthworms
went on strike.

Bob Boyd

I hear Canadian Geese flying
and honking

high in the sky outside my apartment.

I wonder how it feels flying
high in the sky like they do.

Does it make the geese elated?

Do they honk because they’re
exhilarated?

Or is flying and honking just
something they do minus any

elations or exhilarations?

I think they probably just fly,
unlike how I’d soar ecstatically

in the sky — if I could fly.

Bob Boyd

If there’s an afterlife,
do we automatically act better there,

freed from our human imperfections,
or, worse, do we carry those burdens

into the afterlife with no redemption
and the dreaded hell or the

hoped for heaven for the chosen few?

Or do we go into a holding pattern,
our good and bad karma intact,

and return to the spinning wheel for another
shot at getting off the wheel — perfected?

I, of course, don’t know the answer to
these questions. And I’m more practical:

I just hope I don’t have to contend with any
insufferable or evil people there.

Bob Boyd

I read that lyric today in a poem, Mirage at Sea (1085) by Su Tung-po, and it made me visualize undulations of creation

with all life forms flowing out of the undulations into this earthly,
this universal, existence.

And It seemed to me that undulations was the perfect word
for all the created forms, known and unknown, sentient and

insentient, arising on the earth and in the universe
every second of every day.

Bob Boyd

He must have been so at odds with life
that he decided today was the

day to end it all.

Death by Car.

My car.

Why me?

But, thanks to the squirrel gods
above, when that suicidal

squirrel sped off the sidewalk
towards the front of my car

at the last moment he
realized his life was

worth living,

and he dashed back
to the safety of the sidewalk.

And I’m thankful he didn’t
make me an accessory

to his squirrely suicide.

Bob Boyd

For those who didn’t find soulmates
in this life, myself included, wouldn’t

it be wondrous if we all found our
soulmates in a fairly tale-like afterlife

where we’d be in love forever and,
at last, have that happily ever after.

Bob Boyd

After her husband died
Shelia tried to make contact with him
by talking to him in her head,
but she never heard from him.
Her friend Tish said she should
try a seance that had worked for her.
So she decided to try it too.
On the night of the seance
the lights were turned down.
The room grew quiet and,
the Medium summoned the spirits.
But none came out of the ether.
Nor did any words from her husband.
She left the seance feeling scammed.
But when she got home, a hitchhiker
evil spirit, that had remained quiet during
the seance, began to haunt and torment her.
Moments later, a brilliant white light obliterated
the spirit, and her husband’s spirit appeared.
He said I love you and will be waiting for you.
A week later, Shelia died in her sleep
and went to be with her husband forever.

Bob Boyd

I decided to concoct a drink for the resident Mothman
of my mysterious and eerie city of Erie Pennsylvania
where cryptids of every persuasion have taken up residence.

And after about three laborious months
in my hidden, underground laboratory,
experimenting with many failed drinks,
that Mothman tried and spit out or regurgitated,

I finally found the right Mothman Approved drink:
Mothman Soda made with flower nectar, honey,
sugar, and flower grains. Cheers, Mothman!

Bob Boyd