My Archived Poetry Blog With 3,750 poems
I know a woman who was named Moonbeam
Stoned out of their minds on LSD
Her hippy parents ill-fated her with it
Somehow she survived all the teasing
Said it made her stronger and kinder
Never wanted to be like the mean kids
Who picked on her because of her weird name
Despite the growth she got from Moonbeam
Tired of having it, and wanting a normal name
She went from Moonbeam to Sunshine.
Bob Boyd
Men punching women in New York City
Could they be more cowardly?
What kind of fiend does it take to strike
A lovely woman walking down a street.
We’re a far cry from gallant chivalry
When rarer for a man to attack a women
On the streets of New York City.
And what has happened to Gotham City
With all its crime and craziness?
How I miss the days when New York
Was immortalized in songs.
Now the only song that immortalizes it
Is a funeral dirge because the great
New York I knew has died.
Bob Boyd
Rasboras, Rasboras what shy fish you were
For at least five months you always hid
The bottom of the tank beneath the sponge filter
Your permanent hidden aqua Shangri-La
You never swam to the top of the tank for food
I wondered if you would starve to death
Then a week ago, an explosion of bravery
Suddenly you were everywhere
Swimming all over the tank
Merrily chasing one another
Dashing to the top for daily fish flakes
Now I think I know why the sudden change
When all of you were shyly reclusive
One of you was like a fearless rebel
Swimming to the top occasionally
He must have been your scout
Bob Boyd
You left me on a rainy day in May
You were surprised when I
Didn’t beg or try to make you stay
You’d never met a man like me
You didn’t know I saw it coming
When you became more materialistic
Which was a major negative to me
I’ve no time for greedy women
That debonair rich guy you left me for
Cheated and made a fool of you
When you begged me to take you back
And said you changed and needed me
I couldn’t go back with you; I’ll tell you why
You desecrated our perfect love
As if you drove a stake through my heart
And killed everything we had forever
And I could never trust you again
And I knew usually changes don’t last
Despite desperate promises and tear-stained vows
And the wound from that stake will always be in my heart
Bob Boyd
Once a girlfriend talked me into seeing a famous astrologer with her.
I don’t believe in that nonsense, but damn the things you do for love.
The astrologer said you’re a Pisces, she’s a Leo, it will never work;
Poppycock I said, you can’t base our relationship on the stars.
She said I don’t know. My astrological readings are usually right.
As if a rational dispelling of that astrological nonsense,
For a full year our love was like a romantic paradise despite the stars
Until my ex-girlfriend ran off with the astrologer
Don’t tell me that was in the stars.
Bob Boyd
I like graveyards during the day;
I find them peaceful, not ghastly.
I like reading the headstones.
Some have sad epitaphs,
A child dead at age six,
Often with an angel on the headstone.
Some are so old you can barely read them;
The etched words worn away with the years.
I like finding old neglected graveyards in forests,
Symbolic of how nothing endures forever.
I find it exciting to see headstones from the 1800s,
Like finding a rare and nearly ancient treasure.
I don’t like graveyards at night.
Once, decades ago when
I lived near a small one
With a walking path in and out of it
To take a shortcut while jogging at night
I ran through it and felt so much fear
That I got goosebumps and felt
As if my hair would stand on end.
Bob Boyd
Mary Toft (1701-1763) an English woman
In 1725 made weird history in Godalming, Surrey
When she gave birth to eighteen rabbits.
To lend royal credence to the bunny births,
Nathaniel St. Andre, Surgeon to the Royal
Household of King George 1st, validated
The miraculous birth of the rabbits.
He wrote a pamphlet entitled
A Short Narrative Of an Extraordinary Delivery of Rabbets Perform’d by Mr. John Howard Surgeon at Guilford published in London in 1727.
Thereafter Mary Toft became the talk of the times.
News of the amazing births spread everywhere.
Another royal surgeon, Cyriacus Ahlers
Doubted the bizarre bunny birth claims.
Sent Toth to London for closer scrutiny
Examined by doctors, exposed as a hoax.
You don’t want to know the gruesome details
About how the woman who gave birth to rabbits
Faked the elaborate hoax in this outlandish tale.
Bob Boyd