My Archived Poetry Blog With 3,750 poems
Living past ninety not for me
Quality of life too diminished
Maybe some exceptions
But exceptions are few
More medical health risks
Various cognitive ones too
You could become debilitated
Or consigned to a nursing home
You might think these words are
Like I’m singing off key
But I work with the elderly
Bob Boyd
Thought I’d love country living
Breathing clean country air every day
Avoiding congested city traffic and crazy drivers
Observing deer, a variety of birds, and other animals
Strolling down quiet, peaceful country roads at night
Living a carefree low pollution serene life
Enjoying a refreshing country living dream
Woke up from the dream after a about a week
Stores shut down at 9 PM every night
Nothing nearby for a late night smack
Or a craving for some pizza and a cola
Nearest grocery store like a continent away
Strolling down country roads perilous at night
No sidewalks, risks of rabid animals, narrow roads
Locals drove like maniacs down those narrow roads
Like nearsighted drivers racing in the Indy 500 at night
Good luck to you if you were taking that nightly stroll
Was relieved when I packed up and returned to the city.
Bob Boyd
Maybe the Hindus have it right. Maybe we reincarnate,
starting as the lowest lifeforms and evolving up to
human births and eventually attain enlightenment
where we get off the wheel of rebirths and attain the
Sat Chit Ananda, the Eternal Bliss Consciousness.
I’m thinking about this because as I look at the guppies
in my aquariums swimming about merrily, I’m wondering
do they just die into nothingness, and that’s it? Oblivion,
and it’s over for them? Or maybe they die into the tunnel
of White Light and emerge into a guppy heaven. A celestial
world freed from oppressive fish tanks and whatever cares
earthbound guppies have, swimming and playing ecstatically
in bliss-laden bodies of water, vast as oceans with no predators
to annihilate their joyous lives in an eternal, aquatic paradise.
Bob Boyd
When it came to his romantic past,
He was like Icarus flying
too close to the sun
Always with the wrong one.
Wings burned too often with
Loves gone up in flames.
Never did he find the right one
A seeker like him who enjoyed
Deeper conversations now and then.
But maybe the problem was
The wrong women finding him.
Bob Boyd