Day: June 2, 2024

Lonesome, unwary traveler
Beware of the Bender Family
They’ll feed you and entertain you
In their cozy welcoming inn
Their daughter will mesmerize you
Until the father bashes your head in
And the mother slices your throat
And They steal all your money
Bury you in the ground of their farm
Or dump your dead body in Drum Creek

Bob Boyd

Two years old, beaten to death
By her psychopathic father.
She never had a prayer in life,
Never deserved her awful fate.
In that little coffin far too soon.
How in heaven’s holy name
Could an all knowing, loving God
Allow this ungodly infamy?
And why couldn’t Sarah live
A normal full and happy life?

Bob Boyd

Aliens claim they created us
With occasional upgrades
Some UFOlogists buy into this
But when people are clinically
Dead and return to this life
None of them see aliens
When they reach the apex
Of the afterlife heights
And meet with the Source
Of unconditional love and
See no aliens running things
Of course you could exclaim
Behind the curtain stands
An alien Wizard of Oz

Bob Boyd

She had a thing for me
I didn’t have one for her
She said she was a vampire
Way too creepy for me
She said one day I’d be hers
Sorry won’t happen, said I
She wasn’t deterred
Too crazy to gave up
Granted she was hot
But hot and crazy
Just don’t work for me
She sent me a card
In the mail one day
Said she loved me
And I would be hers
Next day hung herself
To a horrible death
Not long after that
Saw her in a dream
Hideous as hell
Woke up cold and
With the shakes
And two puncture
Wounds in my neck

Bob Boyd

Creation and dissolution
Mass extinctions
Existence on a thread
Ubiquitous Deaths
Humans like ants
In preoccupied days
Mostly oblivious
To the their individual
Mass extinctions

Bob Boyd

I was a behaved Catholic girl in my youth.
In the innocent formative years and tears.
Had a controlling physically abusive father,
Who never spared the rod for punishments.
Thought he was keeping me subdued
And the kind of girl he wanted me to be.
I wasn’t that girl, and I hated him and men.
And that hate stirred resentments in me.
When a full grown liberated woman,
Married three times, each husband died.
Friends and family bemoaned bad luck.
Here’s a secret I’ve kept nobody knows,
Though I wept at those funerals,
Like a good, bereaved, loving widow,
A spidery darkness had crawled into me,
Long before I became a fake behaved wife
And those three men in Grovers Cemetery
Were not coincidences, not natural causes,
Despite the coroners’ mistaken conclusions.

Bob Boyd