Free verse poetry, mostly fiction, some nonfiction
Back to Drawbridge Cancer Center last Friday
Post cancer, blood test, and doctor checkup
Chocolates and poems for the wonderful nurses
Tirelessly laboring in the infusion room daily
Providing comfort, care, and kindness
Soothing and cheerful, helping heal cancers
With magnificent infusion machines
I miss those wonderful nurses
at the Drawbridge Cancer Center
And will be forever grateful for
their tenderhearted care and
skilled help in saving my life.
Bob Boyd
He hears the cicadas grieving in the trees.
Their chirping grief in tune with his own.
Wife and three-month old child gone forever,
A raging house fire took them away.
His mind plagued with sorrow and guilt,
If only he’d been home instead of carousing,
A stable husband instead of a meandering one.
Maybe he could have saved them.
But what use of maybes now?
A thousand tears cannot wash away
The loss, the agony and the guilt.
Bob Boyd
Was listening to Jefferson Starship Miracles. You know the part where they sing “If only you believed in miracles, so would I?” That’s my lyric to you. I’m here, heart open, bouquet of purple Irises, your favorite color, offering you all my love and more. If only you believed in miracles. If only you believed in the epic love of a lifetime, yours and mine, ever true, always new, only for you, ever glorious, me leaving never. The love poets write about, singers sing about, movies film about, people dream about. If only you believed… like I do.
Bob Boyd
I woke up and found you gone.
In my dream we were together again,
You in the kitchen making coffee,
The smell fragrant to me as always,
I loved your morning coffee.
You made it better than I ever could.
You hugged me before we drank
Our coffee and discussed poetry.
Holding you, I smelled your fragrance,
Far more pleasing than the coffee’s.
Upon waking to the world I remembered
That you were gone. Six feet under
in the cold smothering ground.
Tears fell from my eyes.
Bob Boyd
Ever hear a song you could
listen to a thousand times?
I have.
Listened to it probably thirty times,
never get bored with it.
Strums chords in me resonate
with idea of a goddess womon
lights up the world with love.
Perfect woman for me
soulmate incarnate.
Love Grows (Where my Rosemary goes)
Edison Lighthouse. I even love the band’s name.
Bob Boyd
Home from the Vietnam War, two tours,
Wheelchair confined, broken body, traumatized mind.
High School sweetheart wife waited through the
Years, the tears, the fears. Cared For him,
Stayed with him, loved him through PTSD,
Times of depression and despair, hospital stays,
Many health problems, her love, her caring unwavering
Through it all till at age sixty- eight when he died,
Wife at his bedside. Could love be truer than that?
Bob Boyd
The strawberry rasbora fish in my fish tank stay at the bottom.
They never come to the top for food, kind of annoys me.
I wanted to see them swimming merrily all over the tank.
But … one of them reminds me of me, the rebel one.
He breaks free from the herd, or should I write school?
He marches to that different beat. He drums his independence
from the restrictions of compliance with the other rasboras.
He swims all over the tank unconcerned about the opinions of
the other rasboras enslaved by the pack, or should I write school?
I think the repressed rasboras secretly admire his free spiritedness,
but fear censure from the other fish, rasbora public disapproval.
I salute you free spirit rasbora, escapee from the conformity.
Bob Boyd
As surely as eagles soar in the skies
As surely as lions roam the Serengeti
As surely as rivers flow to the sea
As surely as planets spin in the heavens
You and I belong together.
Bob Boyd
You might look in the mirror and see wrinkles,
an old woman where once a young one stood.
To me you’re still beautiful, as desirable as ever.
Pity we’re not together.
Bob Boyd
Time flows like an ever rushing river.
Days and months pass by in a blink.
Accelerates more as you age.
One day you’re old.
Next day you die.
Bob Boyd
Banners raised, they charge.
This time not soldiers, swords or cannons.
Buttons pushed, alarms blaring
Nukes raining from the skies.
Both sides lose.
Billions dead.
Bob Boyd
Remember the song You Didn’t Have to Be so Nice by the Loving Spoonfuls?
That’s how I still feel about you.
You came into my life on a dark, downcast day.
The woman I thought was the love of my life left me, and I felt so down and gloomy.
Until you showed up.
Years later when an auto accident put me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, half a man, felt like killing myself, thought my life was over, and I’d lose you.
Until you showed up.
And loved me even more, always there for me, taking care of me, never leaving me.
And I believe you’ll still be there for me In the afterlife.
When I’ll be a whole man again, and I’ll be there for you; and I’ll love you even more.
Bob Boyd
No way I’m getting addicted to you
I’ve better things to do,
writing poems like an assembly machine,
mind in the heavens, heart hermetically sealed,
card carrying MGTOW member.
Never ever will I surrender to your
siren-like charms, angelic face,
caring heart, irresistible
inner and outer beauty,
mesmerizing ways ….
Damn! Once again you’ve got me
thinking about you.
But no way I’m getting addicted
I’ve better things to do.
Bob Boyd
stars shining extra bright
planets aligned just right
oh that Summer’s night
but I was a Pisces
and you were a Leo
small wonder it ended
before the morning’s light
Bob Boyd
Like a surfer, he had the look and the mellow attitude, a beach pretty girlfriend too. Peaceful, cheerful, charismatic, fun guy, the best.
An auto accident on a curve, him driving, her dead. After that, surfer charismatic fun guy died inside.
Became dark and sinister, began collecting Nazi memorabilia, praising Hitler. Never understood why he became like a retro Nazi.
The tragic loss of your love caused that dark descent? Maybe it was guilt because you were driving and she died instead of you. Maybe you felt like you killed her, even though it was an accident. I could understand that. Maybe you went mad. You have the love of your young life cruelly snatched away from you. No justice in the universe, at least not for her and you, insane and unjust she was taken from you.
Haven’t seen you in over 50 years. Maybe you’re dead. Maybe you resigned from the quasi Hitler Youth. Maybe you went from the Third Reich to the Holy Cross. Hoping that’s so, rather
than you lost forever in that descending, swastika darkness. Hope you’re In heaven reunited with her. My heart bleeds for you.
Bob Boyd
Decades ago heard a song about not letting the sun catch you crying. Why not? Wouldn’t the heat of the sun dry your tears, and I don’t think it would care one way or the other if you were crying. Did that song mean it would be better to have the moon catch you crying
when many people and werewolves go bonkers when the moon is full? I truly doubt that. But what if I was crying then? Would the tears turn into
craziness and cause me to do something totally irrational like trying to fly off a tall building like the legendary Superman? Or, does the sun have a problem with overly sentimental people who for human reasons cry now and then. Is it some kind of solar condition that the sun’s allergic to tears? Or is the sun so sentimental that it would cry too if it caught you crying. Is the sun that sensitive, that thin skinned, like some people have skin sensitive to the sun? If I wrote that song, I’d be more concerned about the moon catching people crying, especially a full moon for aforementioned reasons.
Bob Boyd
The sound of your voice, angels singing.
Your loving looks, glimpses of heaven.
A kiss from your lips takes me there.
Bob Boyd
My life recedes. The past fades,
as if it never happened. This
fleeting life like an illusion
I blindly clung to until
I saw clearly the
impermanence of this
passing dream.
Bob Boyd
When I had cancer, dreams of women every night.
Angels, spirit guides, soulmate in many guises, something else?
Visiting me in dreams because I was near death?
There to guide me Into the afterlife? Never knew for sure.
When the cancer went into remission, the women in dreams
disappeared, and haven’t been back. Maybe a close call.
But I miss those women in my dreams. And I long for
the unconditional love of the afterlife.
Bob Boyd
Humans born deformed curiosities,
Camel Girl, Lobster Boy, Four Legged Woman.
Once cruelly exhibited as oddities in sideshows,
The only way for them to make a living.
Gawked at by curious throngs of spectators,
Teased and ridiculed by some,
Like making faces at monkeys in cages.
Why must some humans suffer such awful fates?
Bob Boyd
I see her attentions as frivolous.
They waste my time and never go anywhere.
Though she’s younger, she’s too old for me.
I can’t endure her insincerity anymore
and her unnerving, whimsical ways.
I’m too old for rainy day games
and fair weather love.
Bob Boyd
The moon pales in the face of her beauty
The sun beams when she appears in the morning
Birds sing at the sight of her
Flowers blossom when she walks by them
My heart bursts with love when I see her
But, alas, she never notices me.
Bob Boyd
A lady bug strolls across the top of my computer monitor.
I can’t tell if its pronouns are she/her or he/him.
Maybe it took gender studies in college, and it’s nonbinary.
Gnats flail in vain against my apartment window screens;
I imagine a few hot-headed ones are swearing.
A red-bellied woodpecker taps a tune on a nearby tree outside.
I think it’s an oldie, maybe Knock on Wood from 66 by Eddy Floyd.
The guppies in my aquarium swim happily going nowhere.
I think they’re hedonists living for today partying the night away.
The ceiling fan spins like a planet rotating in the cosmos;
I imagine an asteroid striking it and blasting it out of orbit.
In a reverie I find myself thinking of how in a perfect world
I would have been with the sweet looking, sweet sounding
woman who sang It’s Gonna Take a Lotta Love.
Bob Boyd
She draws near
my heart begins to clamor.
Oh God in heaven
why does she
affect me like this?
Bob Boyd
It’s Spring
The daisies bloom in fields
The bluebirds sing in trees
The streams murmur happily
The world is renewed
But my heart is in a desolate winter
because you are gone from me.
Bob Boyd
Dark clouds, inevitable in one’s life,
often related to disappointments.
Worst for me if because of a
disappointment with a woman
when dark clouds gather and
the rain falls like tears
from my eyes even though
I’m not crying on the outside.
Been through too many dark
clouds and even storms
in my life.
Maybe bad karma,
maybe random,
maybe dumb choices,
maybe bad luck.
But for me and for most
dark clouds eventually
disperse, the rain
evaporates in the healing,
rejuvenating rays
of another sunny day.
Tomorrow will be my sunny day.
Tonight’s my dark cloud.
Bob Boyd
Behold one of the darkest arts of
Government: Eminent Domain
Reminiscent of stolen Native American lands
Some cases underpaid for the seizures
Some cases of removals at gunpoint
How is it in what some politicians claim
is the greatest country in the world
we have a government perpetrating
intrusive, insensitive land grabs
And while I’m on this insidious topic,
Here’s what eminent means
“Well-known and respected, especially
for achievement in a particular field.”
I see nothing respectful
I see no achievement
I see only a particular field of stolen lands
watered with the tears of people
those lands were seized from
I see a disgraceful well-known
diabolical practice by a government
in cases not by the people but
against the people
I see broken hearts of families
who owned lands for generations
robbed regardless of forced
compensations
Eminent Domain, a
Goddamn shame.
Bob Boyd
Standing in line to buy guppies in Petsmart, saw a cute
little brown and white dog jumping in front of me.
Then saw something unusual,three legs instead of four.
didn’t matter to the sprightly canine, didn’t care he
was a three-legged dog.
Impressive, inspiring how that dog adapted to his disability.
A hit by a car caused the loss of one leg, didn’t need it,
never limited him. Three just as good.
Bob Boyd
Fortune, fame, or lack of,
ultimately the same; we all fade
into obscurity.
Bob Boyd
At first she was a beautiful Asian woman in a photo
living in an archipelago 8,000 miles away.
An alluring snapshot that spoke to my lonely heart,
suggesting a thousand enchanting things.
I wondered if this exotic woman would be with me.
For two years she waited from across the sea,
talking to me every night courtesy of Skype.
On Korean Air wings I flew to her, met her in Davao,
the connection complete, the romance official,
months of romantic bliss consummated in marriage.
Had I a soothsayer been, I would have seen
five years later after I brought her to Greensboro,
the photo and the romance would have faded
into an ill fated long distance love.
Bob Boyd
Back in the 50s and 60s, war on the silver screen, valor galore.
We always won the war, exciting fun to kill enemies,
always went home singing victory songs. Rousing entertainment
while nonchalantly munching buttered popcorn and juicy fruits in
cushy movie seats. Never lost, nobody really hurt. A few died
but insignificant, unknown actors usually, their deaths
a blip on the silver screen. Besides in the movies, less personal,
less real, didn’t register. Nobody got Agent Orange, maimed,
shell shocked or PTSD. Nobody came back in wheelchairs
or missing limbs. Nam changed it all. A friend, Joe Drew,
joined the marines, unlikely candidate, gentle Joe never
got in a fight. Sweet personality seemed incapable of harming
anything. First one in my city home dead in a body bag,
lost his young life, his future in that Southeast Asian jungle.
More deaths followed. Not like the movies, many dying:
sons, daughters, brothers and fathers and mothers.
Many came home maimed in body and in mind, others
in wheelchairs, some with arms and legs blown off.
Agent Orange and PTSD plagued many. No cures.
The 50s and 60s war movies were never like that.
Bob Boyd
Knew Alaina when she was an eleventh grade high school cheerleader, wholesome girl, fluffy blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, a perfect figure, father a doctor, on her way to a stellar future, maybe a doctor too.
Always had a crush on her, but not good enough, wrong side of town, ill bred, family with little money, lesser social class.
Enlisted in the military, four displaced years, unscrewed my life, scrambled my mind, but took college courses part time, improved myself, my diction, my writing, and my bearing, still thought of Alaina.
Returned to my hometown, changed, an outsider, curious about Alaina.
A lowlife named Laney said she’d become a whore.
I went crazy, punched him to the ground, jumped on him and wailed until friends pulled me off.
The sacrilege of what he said, a sin against the wonderful, beautiful Alaina.
Driving through a bad part of town, gasped when I saw her swaying back and forth on the street like a weed stirring in the wind, her looks gone, hard lines etched in her face, hair unkempt, clothes ragged, eyes spaced out, her drugged out, my heart broken.
Parked my car across the street from her wondering what to do, then a greasy man in an old pick up truck stopped; she talked to him, took his money, hopped in his truck, the man drove it into a nearby alley.
I knew then what Laney said was true, felt sick, almost threw up.
Drove home heavy hearted bemoaning what happened to Alaina, couldn’t sleep that night thinking what to do, if I could save her from the streets, decided to take action the next day.
Jumped in my car, drove to where I’d seen her; she wasn’t there. Looked for her, a long anxious week. No sign of her until I found her obit: Died of an Overdose.
Alaina, Alaina, what happened to you?
Bob Boyd
the touch of your hand
sends currents of bliss through me
nothing can compare
Bob Boyd
I often think of you when we’re apart
And how your love mended my broken heart.
I’ve never been with a woman like you
Without an equal, wonderful and true.
A remade complete man thanks to sweet you.
The day we met, like a miracle breakthrough.
I felt a heaven awaken in me
Thanks to you the angel who had the key
That unlocked my heart like never before
With a true love that will last evermore.
Bob Boyd
a slip of the mask
his true face firmly revealed
a gray from the stars
Bob Boyd