Month: February 2024

The Gardeners

Earth seeded by aliens
A cosmic flower pot
Many humans flowering
Some poisonous weeds
Some roses and clover
Extraterrestrial gardeners
Will prevent nukes from raining
Saviors of the Eden Garden
Or clinical observers
Of their grand experiment
Uninvolved in the outcome
Of a species likened to insects
Compared to their vastly higher
intellects and advanced civilization
True or incredibly false, and
Where would Jesus, Buddha,
and Krishna fit into all of this?

Bob Boyd

Real Love

My love for you is so pure, so true, so strong that
I could even love you beyond the pleasures,
the ecstasies, of consummated physical love –
platonically.

My love for you is a higher everlasting love beyond
the ravishes of aging, the illnesses, the infirmities,
the declining passions, beyond anything and everything –
unendingly.

I love you immeasurably, and as long as you want me to,
I will keep on loving you no matter our trials or our fates,
and I will cherish you and love you always and –
eternally.

Bob Boyd

conned by the moon

full moons always screw with me
mess with my brain misfire synapses
spontaneous reckless choices
set me up with moon beam troubles
stay in full moon nights once badly beamed
twice shy and only fool me once
hiding inside protective tin hat on head
garish crucifix around neck holy water sprinkled
watched YouTube videos none with moons
you may think I’m nuts for what I did
me under full moon you’re probably right
frantic loud knocks on my door sweet girly voice
help me please help me I’m dying of thirst
goth woman maybe 22 that dark eye makeup
kinda scary looking in morgue black clothes
obscene dental worked fanged teeth
pierced everythings on her face
unforgettable horror movie smile
could I give her a drink of water
trickster full moon clouded my mind
forgot to be wary of strangers
especially vampiric-looking ones
you know how they always say
trust your instincts listen to that small
voice inside of you when it says
something like MAYDAY! MAYDAY!
because of those damn full moon
beams my instincts and small
voice offline needed a reboot
forgot how to do because
transformed into mindless lunar loon
turned my back to get her a glass of water
good deed punished goth girl had gun
shot banged loudly bullet in my back
passed me out losing a lot of blood life exiting
goth girl rummaged my apartment stole all my goods
and my beloved 2001 Dodge Ram pick up truck
ex girlfriend neighbor heard shot
despite nasty break up still had a heart
drove to the ER few minutes up the street
me close to dead bleeding on car’s upholstery
mumbled an I’m sorry before passing out again
died on the examination table temporarily
rose out of my clinically dead body
astral traveled to the moon kicked its ass
okay I’ll admit it hallucinating but when the paddles
slammed me back to life damn It felt real
like sweet revenge on the moon
the murderous evil goth girl drove my ram
into a garbage truck ironically
probably drugged up and mercy mercy
unlike me clinically than terminally dead
presumably woke up in a dark goth hell
I miss my truck

Bob Boyd

Shiva’s Dance

Do the Hindus have it right;
Shiva’s dance a real or
metaphoric thing?

A universe created and
destroyed in cycles,
who came up with that?
Shiva?

Imagine cosmos and
our world, starting over
again and again –
indefinitely.

No one trick pony,
recurring circus.
New entertaining delights,
different life forms each time.
Maybe green and gray
alien-looking creatures.

Recurring creation and destruction:
In like manner, do we recur too,
reincarnation maybe.
Who really knows?
Shiva?

If pure mythology,
still spiritually cool.
Dance of Shiva statue
amazing, loaded
with deep symbolism.
The mantra is cool
and powerful:
Om Namah Shivaya.

Tried it once, intense
and images of tigers
everywhere I went,
even on TV.
Shiva Synchronicity.

Bob Boyd

Passing Women

Passing women in this brief life,
what’s the point? Procreation
of the species? Or are these
parades of princesses merely
random encounters, some, one,
or none, that stick to a man’s
millisecond life in the timeless
eternity and make him happy,
miserable or nonplussed. And
why is the nearly irrepressible
need for a female’s endearments
and addictive charms ingrained
in a man’s DNA to his dying day?
And how is it some monk men
seem immune to this persistent
need? At times, eight years strong,
I have been one of those monk men –
almost, not quite. Yet sometimes
stirring amore undercurrents still
well up in me breathing unguarded,
old man foolish longings into my
weathered heart. Occasionally
I ponder will death rid me of
this resurfacing need, that
I repress and try to negate, my
resistance borne of too many
disappointments and painful
heartaches, or unite me with
a bona fide eternal soulmate,
disappointments and heartaches
nevermore.

Bob Boyd

Summer Love

Sixteen each, we met at the YMCA dance and I trembled
when I got the courage to ask you for a dance, I remember
the band played Sixteen Candles. You honest to God felt like
an angel in my arms, your beautiful blonde hair heavenly,
your sky blue eyes, divine. I think I fell in love with you the
moment you were In my arms; it all felt so natural, so true,
so incredibly real, like nothing I’d ever experienced.

It was so many years, so many summers ago, I can’t remember
who said I love you first. I only remember I meant it forever. I
remember I loved you so much I would have died for you
without hesitation, without reservation.

And oh my God those kisses on the banks of the pond,
the pond waters caressing the shore, my head in you lap
looking up at your sunlit angelic face, captivated by your smile
and how beautiful you looked, how intoxicatingly sweet your
perfume was when I inhaled it with my every breath, and the
soft summer green grass like a love nest enveloping us in
romantic bliss and how when summer was over it was so hard,
so painful to be apart from you, sweet you.

I remembered how we planned to get married when we
graduated from high school, and how your heart was so true.
And how even though you lived faraway in New Jersey and
I lived in Massachusetts you spent your summers in Woburn
the city I lived In, and how I went to your prom in
Montclair, New Jersey before the summer love faded into a
dark frozen winter when all the summer flowers and our love
wilted and died. And how I cried and cried and cried.

And you broke what I thought was our forever vow when you
cheated on me with some guy going to Rutgers U., and I
remember how I never knew I had a heart that could be
shattered into a million pieces that would take years to put back
together, misspent years of dissipation and dissolution
not caring if I lived or died, such was the agony of the
fairy tale evermore love lost.

It was even more painful because I stayed true to you beyond
the distance, beyond the seasons, and I would have stayed true
to you eternally. Even now decades hence and me like a monk in
the world, sometimes I still think of what might have been,
what could have been. But alas we’re not sixteen anymore and
Sixteen Candles was so long ago, and you might be dead
and I almost was, and if we were to meet again, maybe I’d wake up
and see it was only like a dream, and that teenage summer
love was never meant to be, and I’d dry my older, wiser eyes.

Bob Boyd

A Confused Mix

Creation is a confused mix to me.
Dinosaurs before humans?
And dinosaurs had to die,
and humans 66 million years
later? Why, why, why?

Why not humans first omitting
what might have been an impressive
but earthly mistake? Dinos, a
gargantuan mistake erased and
replaced with fresh start primitive
grunting homo sapiens?

With untold numbers and species
of dinos canceled like Creator’s
temporary humongous Tonka Toys,
boring compared to more bells and
whistles humans with greater growth
potential.

Yet still less fun weird prehistoric-
looking stuff floating around ocean’s floor.
and boring single-celled Protozoa.
What’s the point of the single-celled?
And some can mess with the health
of humans. Think about it. What the
hell’s the point of that and them?

And damn Sam illiterate humans
like Cro-Magnons before Christ
became the only ticket to escape
this confused mix and not go
somewhere worse when expired.
Were the Cro-Magnons divinely
screwed evaporating into
nothingness with the dinos?

Or too early born fated to reincarnate
exhaustively over and over and over
endless roulette wheel of coming and
going spins until by luck or merit they
win the prize of saving grace?

Maybe Buddha and Krishna had it
right? Dinos, humans, and everything
in the weird mix reincarnating until enough
evolved rebirth free super liberated humans
like Buddha, Krishna, and Christ. Maybe
all a bunch of random hooey. Out of
nothing back into nothing, and
that’s the wrap.

Bob Boyd

Full Moon Night Fights

Like a werewolf, Phil went crazy
on full moon nights seeking fights
he prowled bars hard eying male patrons
goading them into anything goes fist fights,
which he always won, as if the powered up
moonbeams made him unstoppable, like a
lycanthropic creature of the night.

Foolishly, a humped back old man,
bent with age, picked a fight with Phil,
who told the foolish, probably drunk,
geezer he’d get killed fighting him,
a younger, stronger man who never lost
a fight. The old man insanely confident
or with a death wish, called Phil a
lowlife coward. With that insult, Phil
had no choice but to set the old fogey
straight and show him the folly of
fighting an unbeatable foe half his age.

The cocky old man set the terms; in the
alley behind the bar they were to fight
under the moon’s full bright light.
Seconds after they strode into the
alley, an unmanly scream shrieked
through the night, preceding an eerie
silence. Then an unholy howl sounding like
something out of hell, echoed in
the alley and shattered the silence,
terrifying all who heard it. And Phil
never made it out of that alley,
his corpse bloodied and in shreds.

Bob Boyd

Same Old Story

Confused by conflicting thoughts
and fears, her mind iffy stood him up,
didn’t answer his calls

rejected nice guy perfect man for her
countless things in common

two months later her mind and
emotions unscattered, fears gone
realized she made a mistake,
lost a good, kind man
called him to apologize and
accept a date with him.

too late, chances gone, good guy lost
he found the right unconfused
woman and had no time for her
after her rejections
and confused nonsense.
It seems I’ve heard this story before.

Bob Boyd

Teenagers Working Out In 1962

New 200 lbs set of weights
A barn to work out in
Skinny kids pumping up
Presses, curls, squats
Eating soy protein pills
Big muscles guaranteed
Getting stronger
Working out longer
To look like Steve Reeves
Played Hercules in movies
Had the envied physique
Only had to follow
Steve’s workout routine
To get as big and as
Muscular as him
We didn’t know about
Genetics back then.

Bob Boyd

A Lifesize Tpe Doll Instead of a Girlfriend or a Wife

Saw a YouTube video today where a guy had what was called a Tpe Doll – instead of a girlfriend or a wife.
Maybe it’s me but it seemed a tad bizarre though to him having the
imitation was perfectly normal as if he were discussing something as natural as drinking a cup of tea.
I had to wonder what he and the doll had in common. Did they talk about current affairs, no pun meant, or movies they’d seen?
I couldn’t believe how he talked on the video, like having the fake women was as natural as talking about a real girlfriend or a wife.
On the other hand, they must be a couple free of drama, his and hers, and no way was she going to leave him or break his heart – as far as I could see.
Or divorce him and drag him through court for some steep alimony or a custody battle for kids, or wrangle over holes in a prenup.
And at least his love doll hobby wasn’t hurting anyone, and if it made him happy, who am I to ridicule his choice. I’ve probably made worse choices in real women in my romantically tattered life.
After all there are worse things people do, like real couples who abuse each other – verbally. Or those you see on crime shows on TV where one murders the other.
My only complaint is to me the doll was overly voluptuous – not my type.

Bob Boyd

Satguru

Monklike saffron robed
seated full lotus position
sandalwood incense steaming
after pranayamas
and mantra chants
contemplating cosmos
seeking nirvana
basking in transcendental
bliss and peace profound
alleged saint among saints
sinless, renown Satguru
except for hidden dalliances
with adoring female disciples
obeying his every utterance
catering to his every whim
conned into believing tawdry
tantra sex sessions erase
mountains of bad karma
guarantee full liberation
from the wheel of rebirth
in their lifetimes.

Bob Boyd

A Psychopathic Murderer

The many days a psychopathic murderer
spent time in solitary imaging he
was floating on a boat to exotic shores
sailed him away from the deleterious effects
of the dark and dank Isolation.

But his sailing didn’t erase his crime
of murder he got away with in 1983
in a small city, Woburn, Massachusetts,
under the cover of a moonless night
when he slew a solid citizen, a do the
right thing young man, in an impending case
against a quasi hometown gang of
Mafia wannabes accused of grand theft.

During that time, a better killer than
a thief, the psychopath got five years
in prison for a botched armed robbery
and did time in solitary for bludgeoning
another prisoner’s face in, with a
makeshift iron club.

Ironically a day after he was released
from prison, under the cover
of a moonless night, an angry-eyed
mother of the young man he killed
blew his life away in a vengeful shotgun
blast in downtown Woburn, Massachusetts.

Surprisingly, perhaps justifiably,
never a suspect in the homicide,
not even a person of interest
a sunday school teacher,
prim and proper wife of a judge,
sailed away scot free and uncharged.

Bob Boyd

Brother Andre, The Miracle Saint of Montreal

At Saint Joseph’s Oratory in Montreal, Canada
Brother Andre, a Canadian Saint is entombed.

Humble doorkeeper, a brother not a priest
least likely to be used by God, perhaps
the last being first, became a miracle worker
healed ailing supplicants from all over the world,
the power of his supercharged prayers and
unceasing devotion to Saint Joseph.

Never took credit for healing 10,000 or more
so humble, so devout, so saintly was he.

When he died, a million people streamed past his coffin
in reverence to this humble, God-blessed healing saint.
His mortal remains lie in the coffin at the back of the oratory
in a sacred room, a powerful shrine where crutches
of many healed pilgrims adorn the walls.

If you go there, do not be surprised if you feel
palpable saintly energy that will renew you and
replenish your faith. This I write from experience.

Bob Boyd

Uncertainty

Ever think of how uncertain your life is?
Consider how in a millisecond it could end
The death strike of a deadly medical condition that kills you slowly, cruelly
A drug infested, cell phone talking driver mows you down crossing a street
A roaring tornado rips up your home and kills you in a deadly whirl
A fanatical death wish tyrant drops a nuke on your country and ends you
A giant asteroid obliterates your city, you, and possibly the human race
The earth unexpectedly, implausibly, spins out of orbit canceling everything
Maybe the hedonists have the right idea, live for today
Party away your fears in mindless nights, don’t think about tomorrows
Or the uncertainty of this fragile existence and your tenuous, temporary life.

Bob Boyd

Squirrel

Amazingly nimble in trees
and on telephone lines.

Dangerously awkward on streets
and at dodging cars.

Squirrel, aerial acrobat,
what’s wrong with you?

In the trees and on telephone lines
none are your equal.

Yet in the streets and in front of cars
you fall apart.

Given you dodge predators in
the air and on the ground.

One would think streets and cars
would be cakewalks by comparison.

Yet thousands of your species
end as roadkill every day.

Maybe the panic I’d feel
seeing a 72 foot brontosaurus

Is the same panic you feel
when you see a giant car.

And you freak out and die
under those killer tires.

Bob Boyd

The Infamous Torsaker, Sweden Witch Trials 1675

The largest witch trials in Sweden by Godly men,
1675 in Torsaker Sweden. Thanks to the dark arts
of these zealous men of God 71 innocent Swedes,
65 women, 6 men accused of witchcraft.

But the fun had just begun. Shortly after the trail the 71
behead and burned on the stake, a banner day for
the Lord’s work in the twisted minds of more
Satanic than Godly men, more sadistic than holy.

A blight upon religion to be sure. No angels, no saints, no infinite
God intervened. The falsely accused went up in the fiery smoke,
headless and betrayed by the leaders of their flocks, a fine day
for dark forces, if they exist.

Were I the Supreme Being back then, I would have smote the
religious desecrators of the faith with a thousand lightning bolts
and maybe some locusts and plagues just to smite them more.
And I would have welcomed the 71 into heaven evermore.

Bob Boyd

What Happened to Hitler When He Died?

Here’s my theory that I will tell:
At first he felt the anguishing weight
of all the horrors, of all the sorrows
of all the deaths upon his darkened soul,
a dark soul no Divine Light could enter
consigned into something akin to Hell,
near eternal penance for the multitudes of
sorrows, horrors, and deaths he like a demon
possessing a madman, cast upon the world.
Conjuring the insidious evil of the Holocaust,
he would endure a similar suffering in a Hell
of his diabolical Karma that would go on and on.
After thousands of years of unspeakable suffering,
humbled and remade enough to begin a gradual
ascent to higher worlds where timeless
years later, he would find a loving forgiving
God awaiting him in an eternal paradise
beyond words, beyond imagination
permeated with unconditional love and
eternal unending bliss.

Of course my theory could be harebrained wrong
Perhaps Hitler was reincarnated repeatedly
as an endangered dog in a country where
a dog was a lip-smacking gourmet delight,
But who among us could be right?

Bob Boyd

When The Love of My Life Died at Age 18

My love, sweet Marella, died in 1962; a savage colon cancer took her out.
Only 18, just beginning life to be my forever wife ended.
The day she died I think subconsciously I wanted to drink myself to death.

That mournful night I drank beer, whisky, wine, and other drinks I can’t remember.
I passed out, when I don’t know, woke up in the Emergency Room and was doing okay under the critical circumstances until I remembered Marella was dead.

Perhaps because I was little more than a lamenting, lifeless corpse full of booze crying uncontrollable tears, I died of a broken heart when my ticker stopped ticking and I was clinically dead.

Above my body watching doctors frantically trying to save me, I didn’t want to go back to my devastated life without Marella, my sweet Marella.

As if she read my thoughts, Marella appeared before me in spirit, dressed in a white glowing gown looking more beautiful and more radiant than she ever did on earth.
Transmitting thoughts, reading each others minds, talking was impossible, we swore a love allegiance, and Marella told me as surely as the stars lit up the night sky we’d be together again and forever.

Cruelly, at that glorious, unforgettable moment I was slammed back into my body, a doctor pounding paddles on my chest, the feel of my body heavy and uncomfortable after being in my light, ethereal body.

Now each night I meet Marella in dreams, and a dream wife is good enough for me, my love for her strong enough to wait until I really die and I’m reunited with my sweet Marella forever.

Bob Boyd

Malleus Maleficarum, The Hammer of Witches

Dark, evil entities shrouded in religious garb, misogynistic killers of harmless women falsely condemned as witches
The Malleus Maleficarum, their book of unparalleled evil and rampant devilry in the holocaust of mothers, daughters, aunts, and sisters.
60,000 to 300,000, mostly women, tortured, scorched to death on stakes in flames of hypocrisy that fanned witch hunters’ demonic femicides.
Sociopathic fiends cloaked in faux religious fervor killing innocent women with the imprimatur of Catholic Church inquisitions.
The witch hunters and their Malleus Maleficarum now dead historical infamy.
Real, harmless witches now abound, at one with nature, unfettered and unpersecuted.

Bob Boyd

Cobra Gypsies

Unfettered gypsy spirits fearlessly catch cobras and poisonous lizards in India.
Tame cobras, display them in gypsy shows magically controlling the cobras
Gypsy women dancing beautifully, the soft sounds of their whirling feet, mesmerizing mantras.
The air perfumed with sweet sandalwood scents, the ambience extraordinary.
Self-designed radiant clothes, outward displays of joyful liberated lives.
Funerals celebrated with music and dance, death a natural freeing event.
Lives unbound by 9 to 5 grinds; no company owns their souls.
No pressure to be better than others or get degrees from the right colleges and tread
waning career paths desperately trying to get to the top of the heap.
No keeping up with neighbors’ expensive perishables; everything eventually perishes
no matter the glitter.
Pure living, spontaneous, free, now, forever – Cobra Gypsies.

Bob Boyd

In the Rock Hills of Lalibela

Hewn into rock hills in Lalibela
sacred second Jerusalem
stands in Ethiopia.

Place of pilgrimage
sacred site where
pilgrims come to pray.

For over a thousand years
infused with the prayers
of millions.

A giant etched cross
adorns the top sealed
with a promise of heaven.

Stone shrine conferring
blessings, the magnificent
Church of Saint George.

Burning Times

A midwife proficient in herbs,
came under suspicion
in the Burning Times.
Tortured, tried, convicted,
condemned to the stake
dragged to it screaming.
Heartless uncaring tormentors
bound her to the stake laughing.
Her sobbing and tears
drowned out by
the clamor
of the rabid crowd
joyously awaiting
the day’s entertainment,
shouting in unison,
Burn the witch!
Burn the witch!
The stake lit,
her screams above the flames
the crackling, devouring fire
silencing her wailing screams.
When her life burned out,
in the malevolent blaze,
in the foul smelling
dark, smoke filled air,
her soul found release in heaven.
When her tormentors died,
they burned in hell.

Bob Boyd

Crapshoot World

Only sixteen, she cashiered at a drugstore
In Burlington, Massachusetts after school.
Her sweet uncommonly pretty look enthralled.
Her voice, soft as cotton candy, mesmerized
I would have liked to have gotten to know her
But cruel Fate took her life at only sixteen
Crossing the street in front of the drugstore
A reckless driver and her life was over
So unfair on this earth so many die young
And often suffer senseless terrible deaths
It saddens my heart and makes me wonder why
So many lives are cut short in awful ways
Maybe just random deaths in this crapshoot world.

Bob Boyd

Secret High School Crushes

I remember in high school
A galaxy away
When a high school girl
Would secretly harbor a crush
On a high school boy
And he’d be oblivious
Unfortunately.
I know I missed out on
Some of those sweet
High School girl crushes.
I remember being told
So and so had a
Wicked crush on me
After the fact and
After she had a
Lucky boyfriend.
If only I’d known.

Bob Boyd

The Dancing Woman In The 30’s Song

I love the pretty dancing woman at 1:22 minutes
in the rousing 30’s song, I Want To Be Bad.
I love how she so gracefully, so elegantly moves.
My overstimulated imagination wonders what she was like.
I’d like to go back in time and have a chance to meet her,
a lovelorn part of me believes it can see a soulmate
whose love I missed by being born too late for her.
I further dream of our passed ships
docking in the afterlife for love evermore.
Sure it’s crazy, but isn’t love sometimes crazy,
and who could emphatically prove my silly wishful
speculation is utterly impossible nonsense?
Is it not said that truth is stranger than fiction?
So what if this is one of those truths and
a pretty dancing woman in a 30’s song
is my forever soulmate awaiting me
in the afterlife?

Bob Boyd

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