Month: August 2024

They cut off our heads when we sprout in the spring,
Their lawnmowers, like weapons of destruction to us.

Undeterred, unconquered, we resurrect again and again,
And lift our yellow, flowery faces in worship of the sun.

Bob Boyd

He lost sight of things
When he became famous
When he became wealthy
Got too good for old friends

Took up with a celeb crowd
Party people and drug uses
Left his average-looking wife
For a beautiful supermodel
Not as caring as his ex wife

Blew his money away on
Hot cars, houses and junk
Supermodel said goodbye
Broke, alone and contrite
Missed his ex wife’s love

Needed her caring support
Too late, too damn late
Like his money, she was
Blown out of his life too
Like the hot supermodel
She was gone forever

Bob Boyd

She told him she’d love her forever
He said he’d love her forever
Days, months, a few years later
She had a different timetable than his
His forever remained forever
His heart remained true
Her forever became never
Her heart became untrue
So much for falling in love promises

Bob Boyd

Everything eats
Everything kills
Carnage everywhere
Nothing eats
Nothing kills
Carnage nowhere
This life
Next life
Hell
Heaven

Bob Boyd

Beware the promises
lovers tell you when
love begins.

For they will be
forgotten before
love ends.

Bob Boyd

When a teenager he had a Christian friend
Who told him if he didn’t believe in Jesus
He was going to go to hell when he died;
It was the Jesus way or the hell highway.

His heart went out to remote island natives
Who never saw a Christian missionary
and were hellbound out of ignorance
Of the Lord’s one and only true way.

Bob Boyd

The pastor approached
The dead man in the coffin
To raise him from the dead.
The dead man, a bad actor,
His mouth breathing air
Before the pastor rose him
From his corpse performance.
Some believed the fake
Resurrection, thought the
Pastor had Christlike power,
And the pastor and the
Fake dead man had a
Great, unholy payday.

Bob Boyd

On a family outing in a park
Little Cathy went missing.
Family searched everywhere.
Never found little Cathy.
Decades later still a mystery.
Nobody knows what happened
To the family’s poor little Cathy.
One of life’s many horrors
That happens repeatedly.

How can so much evil
Continuously happen in
This uncertain. capricious life?
I’m not a believer in Satan,
But for those who believe,
I can see how for them this
is an explanation for the horrors.

Bob Boyd

66 million years ago
A cataclysmic event
A six mile in diameter
Asteroid slammed
Into planet earth
Blocked out the sun
Killed the plants
Destroyed the
Dinosaurs

Now asteroids threaten
Planet earth with close
Calls every so often
Scientists working
To protect the planet
With defense strategies
Like impact strategies
No telling if they
Will succeed in time
To save this world

Bob Boyd

Javagal Narasimha
Temple in India
Adorned with
Many carvings
Holds mysterious
Secrets of the
Complex Hindu
Ancient theology
Even seers can’t
Decipher all the
Secrets displayed
On this temple’s
Magnificent works
Of art and religion.

Bob Boyd

Dogs excited to see you
When you are away
Whether for minutes
Or for many days
You get the same
Level of excitement.

Humans might miss
You, but not like that,
The unwavering love
Dogs always have
That few humans
Ever have.

Bob Boyd

Free speech stifled
In once great country.
Thought police pawns
In new dictatorship.
Are the purges next?

Bob Boyd

A man in Africa said he could read the minds of animals
And telepathically communicate with them as well.
When he told his prominent family about his new power,
To get him psychiatric help, they called the authorities
Who locked him away in an institution for the insane.
Peeved at his family’s betrayal and his imprisonment,
He sat quietly in his room, closed his eyes, and summoned
A gang of gorillas who tore the institute apart and rescued him,
And he spent the rest of his life living with the gorillas
Trusting them more than harmful, unbelieving humans.

Bob Boyd

There’s been a pandemic of crazy people lately.
Why is nobody talking about this?
Road ragers going nuts on the highways.
Unbalanced protestors blocking traffic on streets.
Lunatically crazy women called Karens everywhere.
Women legitimately named Karen flipping out too,
Bat crap crazy about their name being profaned.
Unhinged people throwing paint on art masterpieces.
More crazed fathers shooting their families to death.
Insane people shooting scores of people weekly.
Crazy people getting fleeting fame for crazy things.
Some Christains say the Second Coming is soon;
God knows we could use a Jesus miracle now
To heal this world of all the increasing craziness,
And that idea is probably a little crazy too.

Bob Boyd

Met her in the dreamscape.
Walked into one of her dreams.
Not by design, not sure how.
I must have been invited or
Somehow lured there by her
Not sure what kind of being
Her so far formless self is,
Sense a loving presence.
Maybe tonight I’ll find out.

Bob Boyd

In his world of woes
He staked his claim
On a hill of heartaches

He buried his heart
In a cemetery of despair
And never loved again

Bob Boyd

Those dreams returned again and again
Of a deceased girlfriend from yesteryear.
Real or just dreams, he wondered.

When she looked at him and talked
And he started becoming entranced
He wondered if she was possessing him.

In the most lucent and personal dream
She said they’d be together again soon.

He died of a massive heart attack
The day after that netherworld prophecy.

Bob Boyd

In a deep coma from a head injury
He wasn’t entirely comatose.

He could feel the prayers of
All the friends and loved ones
Praying for him day and night.

He traveled into the afterlife,
Saw mysteries and wonders
While he was astrally there.

Saw the One, the Ruler of
Time and Space. Knew
His life was changed forever.

When came out of the coma,
A new reborn, healed man,
Attended St. Philip’s Seminary
Became a devout Catholic priest.

Bob Boyd

We’re thrown into this crazy mix,
A world with lots of pitfalls
Where evil has full reign.

We had no choice it seems
Being born into all of this.
Some claim we had a choice;
Some say we chose our lives
Before we were born here.

According to some beliefs
Our mistakes are being tallied
By a judging Overload above.

Too many mistakes and you’re
Imprisoned in a burning hell.

Woe to those who come here
As psychopaths and such
Consigned to hell from birth.

Woe to regular people who
Make a lot of human mistakes
If the judging Overload theory
Is one hundred percent true.

I don’t believe it, do you?

Bob Boyd

She said my name was written in her heart
And had been from the day she was born.
I liked the sound of that but didn’t believe it,
An impossible but such a sweet claim.

And her love for me was uncompromising.
To her dying day she remained faithfully true.
And right before she breathed her last breath,
As she lay dying in that hospital bed
I saw my name glowing out of her heart,
As if she took it with her to heaven.

Bob Boyd

My girlfriend Chelsea (Never liked that name)
Is an uncommonly crazy different kind of woman

Loved all sorts of paranormal and New Age stuff,
Claimed her animal totem was a howling werewolf.

And she would often howl all through our house.
God how I hated that annoying, foolish racket.

And I often worried about her mental faculties,
More than once I suggested she see a shrink

Until one fateful full moon Halloween night.
She howled louder than usual and growled.

When I went to see what was wrong with her,
She had morphed into a ten foot werewolf.

Maybe because she loved me she let me go
When I ran out of our house like a sprinter.

And ain’t no way I’m ever going back.

Bob Boyd

When a teenager
Christian teenager posed
As a friend

Told me it was
Jesus or Hell

Said what if I
Lived on an island
And never heard
Of Jesus?

Chrstian guy had
No answer for that
And became a
Fair weather friend

But really he was a
Phony friend
With his agenda

Never respected that
Don’t to this day
And cannot abide
The one and only way

But Jesus is cool
And I believe
He’s real deal
But not the
Only way

Unless he tells
Me so when I
Meet him after
I die.

You see I’m a
Believer in Christ
But not as the
One and only way

Bob Boyd

Hiking in the mountains by myself,
Should have brought a buddy.
Hiking alone is not advisable.
Sometimes people get lost;
Sometimes people disappear.
Saw a hiker 50 yards from me,
Appeared to be a young male.
A flash of light lit up the sky,
And the hiker was gone.
Scared the hell out of me,
Believed a UFO nabbed him.
What else could it be?

Bob Boyd

Any animal that wears a mask
I honest to God cannot trust.
I caught three of those thieves
Commiting unarmed robbery
In two of my garbage cans.
I arrested them for the theft
And those raccoons surrendered
And held their hands in the air.
Coming to my saner senses
I didn’t press any charges,
And now I leave them
Plates of food every day,
And they no longer have to
Tip over my garbage cans.

Bob Boyd

This world is not my real home,
Thought it was when I was younger.
I felt like I’d live here young forever,
Rarely paid attention to the Reaper.
Only others died, mostly old people
But never me. I was young forever.
Now I see with the vision of years,
And know how temporary this life is,
And that my real home is in the
Permanent beyond, beyond this
Life of agonies and uncertainties,
And I’m getting closer to my
One way trip to my real home.

Bob Boyd

Learned today raindrops
aren’t shaped like drops,
Shaped like hamburger buns.
Just another example of
Things not being as they seem.
Makes me wonder how many
Other things are not the way
We have thought they were.
Makes me wonder if the
World holds more mysteries,
Things not as once thought.
Some claim aliens live
On our planet in oceans.
Hard to believe that’s true
But imagine if it was.

Bob Boyd

In her youth, her beauty unmatched
Graced many movies and TV shows
Gradually her beauty began to dim
A beauty I thought would last forever
Even if she lived to be a hundred
Alas I guess as is to be expected
In her so called golden years
Her beauty has lost all its glory
And it is irretrievably gone forever
My heart weeps a thousand tears

Bob Boyd

Ancient religions prominent in the past, diminished.
Time has nearly erased them all into oblivion.
Attempting to revive them, some are believing
In these once prominent religions again, practicing
Their rituals and in retelling their ancient stories.
Christianity’s influence is diminishing in Europe
And in America too, consider the war on Christmas.
Will Christianity be nearly erased into oblivion too?

Bob Boyd

She was driving
He was sleeping
Cities, towns
Mountains, meadows
Fields, farms
Streamed by
He opened his eyes
Saw God and knew
A semi had plowed
Into them and instantly
They were dead and
Had arrived at a
Better place than
Their earthbound
Idaho Destination
Angels sang and
They were in heaven

Bob Boyd

Heard an old song by the Carpenters
Called Yesterday Once More.
And it took me way back to a
Yesterday once more before all the
Division and the strife now in this life.
I remember cooler, smoother times
When news was more objective,
And nobody was crying fake news.
If I could invent a prototype time machine,
I’d be there having some happier times
Yesterday once more in those better days.

Bob Boyd

Shaivite sadhu ascetics
Dwell in graveyards
Meditate on corpses
Smear cremation ashes
All over their bodies
Eat the flesh of dead
Aging preventative
They faithfully believe

Use human skulls
For decorations
Macabre by choice
Drink alcohol
Smoke cannabis
Believe embracing
Darkness and
Social taboos

Are the ultimate ways
To higher consciousness
Non-Duality aka Advita
Enlightenment aside
God forbid if
They get ahold
Of your corpse
Kemosabe

Bob Boyd

The man in the song is singing
He just don’t want to be lonely
Amazing how this seems to
Be a common denominator
In most of humankind as
Seemingly is the need to
Find true lasting love
Tragic how love often
Doesn’t last and many
Who just don’t want to
Be lonely are lonely at
The end of their lives
How I wish love could
Endure forever and
That no one would
Ever have to be lonely

Bob Boyd

Severe weather alert
Wind blasting rain
Into crazed sprays
Trees shaking madly
Raged pitter patter
Of raining striking
Houses and streets
Power going on and off
Nature in an upheaval
And the world is wet

Bob Boyd

Men’s designer shorts costing over
Seven hundred dollars
Essentially for the name on them
Maybe if you’re rich and
A status concerned sort
It’s all good and okay
But even were I rich
Never would I pay
An insanely exorbitant price
For a freakin’ pair of shorts

Bob Boyd

Too many times he squandered his heart pointlessly,
Might as well have thrown it into the seas of infinity,
Battered and bruised as it was in the wilds of the world.

Suffered through may broken hearted seasons,
Many fairy tale loves false, fractured delusions.
He wondered how his heart survived them all.

In the winter of his gray-haired, crumbling years,
Withdrew his heart from pointless, romantic pursuits,
Lived out his life a hermit, his heart unbroken.

Bob Boyd

She sold her body in the streets
Starting at only sixteen years
At a used up age twenty-six
One night one of her johns
Beat her so badly she died
Temporarily in the ICU
While on the exam table
Her spirit rose above her body
Into the white light and the
Care of the Unconditional Love
That NDEer’s call the Source
Returned to life a new person
Became like a reborn saint
Stopped selling her body
Spent the rest of her life
Saving troubled young girls
Selling themselves in the streets

Bob Boyd

Her husband went to war in Iraq
Like a good wife she waited for him.
Got too lonely after a long year.
Met a nice man with a good job.
Too lonely to resist the temptation
Of a romance to cure loneliness,
Fell in love with the nice man.
Wrote her husband a Dear John
Told him she wanted a divorce.
A week later he wrote her back,
Said he couldn’t live without her.
Not too long after that letter
He was blown to bits in the war.

Bob Boyd

He lost his high paying job
at age fifty five.

Supposedly not because
of age discrimination.

Supposedly it didn’t exist
for all the older people
who’d been axed from their jobs.

He couldn’t get another
high paying job,
Settled for a threadbare,
forced retirement.

Bob Boyd

Attended an open to the public
Hare Krishna dinner once in
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Liked the devotees
Their devotions
Their chanting
And their food

Didn’t like the dogma
Krishna was the only way
And Krishnaloka was the
Ultimate heavenly state
Where you had to
Strive to be forever
Otherwise you were lost

Was surprised at that
Hinduism is accepting
Of other religions usually

But maybe all those only ways
Are all completely right
and are each separate
Only ways In the mix
Of many paths
To the mountaintop

Or maybe all the only ways
have their own only way
heavens like the
Biblical many mansions
Kapish, Kemosabe?

Much respect to
The Hare Krishna’s
Esteemed founder
A.C. Bhaktivedanta
Swami Prabhupada
Unlike many gurus
Never a breath of a
Scandal about him
Seemed genuine
And saintly

Bob Boyd

Mel had an aunt he called an ant
Why he called her an insect
Is baffling to yours truly me
She hailed from Billings, Montana
Mel said she was like Bonnie
From Bonnie and Clyde

Robbed banks with a shotgun
And hand grenades strapped to her
A female bandito first class
A public enemy, never caught
Pictured on post office walls
So he claimed

When she came to visit him
She was just a gentle, little old lady
Probably not taller than five feet
And weighing in at a mere 90 lbs
Harmless and too frail for
Bank robbery and such
I called Mel out for his nonsense
He still claimed it was true

After his aged aunt or aged ant
Went back to Billings
The news on TV reported
Three local banks had been robbed
By a masked old lady with a shotgun
and grenades strapped to her

I still can’t believe she did it
I can’t believe it’s true
After all we’re living
In an era of fake news
And maybe jokester Mel,
Paid serious money for
Some news report fakery

Bob Boyd

If the beginning of life was cooked in a primordial soup,
Does that suggest God is some kind of celestial chef?
Or was he/she/it or whatever a bad short order cook
When serial killers, psychopaths, sociopaths and jerks
Eventually slithered out of a badly cooked primordial soup?
Did God mess up the exact ingredients for the best soup?

Or did that no good, rascal Satan spoil the soup when God
Had to take a bathroom break in the heavenly rest rooms?
Going with the saying, “God doesn’t make mistakes,”
I can’t see any other plausible reason for the soup screw up
Except for meddlesome Beezlebub mucking up the ingredients.

You’re thinking God would know his soup was messed with
Because God is all knowing and knows every little finite thing.
But maybe God was distracted on that fateful creation day
With a billion more important things on his infinite mind
And he thought rascal Satan was just burning happily in hell.

Bob Boyd

When Samuel traced his family tree extensively
He learned he had an evil grandfather named Paradox,
A serial killer who killed hundreds of people in his forties,
Most of them women, some of them little children.
Samuel decided he needed to erase that family infamy
And heroically save all those women and children

Using a time machine he and other scientists invented,
His mission to kill Paradox before he killed his victims,
He and his crew successfully landed back in time
When Paradox was just a budding teenage killer.
After Samuel ended Paradox with a bullet to the brain
Samuel and generations of his family vanished.

Bob Boyd

In my misspent, wasted youth
Sitting, profiling, in a pool hall
Hard eyes looking tough to fit in
Often skipped days of school
Had no time for education
In a city in Massachusetts.

Inhaling a Lucky Strike cigarette
Exhaling smoky circles in the air
Unfiltered, only manly way to go,
Greaser haircut, thought I was cool,
Thought I was super tough.

Cue ball breaking a rack to pieces,
Clatter of numbered balls before
Speeding all over the pool table
Bouncing off the banks
Thudding sounds erupting
Some high and low balls
falling into the table pockets.

Cigarettes thrown in spittoons
Hissing sounds when hitting the water
Guys swearing over missed shots
Losing serious betting money
Some gangsters in the making.

Like Lucky Hall, 6’6” lean machine
Gangster mean and crazy
Always dressed in black.

Stuck a gun in my face,
Me sitting casually in a chair
Pool stick in hand, unconcerned
Guns rarely seen back then.

Reached for it, “Is that real?” I said.
Not out of bravely was I unafraid
Couldn’t believe the gun was real.

My nonchalance didn’t get intended result
Lucky was looking for, he turned away,
His black trench coat swirling in the air
Looking gangster cool and real deal.

Two years later Lucky’s luck ran out.
Shot to death in faraway Alabama.
Probably put his gun in the wrong guy’s face.

Bob Boyd

She drained him of all his vigor
She seemed to thrive on drama
He read couples were healthier
Than solo singles but doubted it
Based on his tensions with her
Yet he just couldn’t leave her
And she just couldn’t leave him
Better miserable than lonely
After hundreds of arguments
And sky-high levels of stress
He died of Stage IV cancer
Done at age forty-three

Bob Boyd

Caril Ann, pretty as a petunia
Sweeter than cane sugar
Barely a teen, wholesome and nice
Intelligent and well liked
Probably would have had a great life
If she hadn’t hooked up with
That Starkweather fella

Bob Boyd

He often felt like just a puppet in this world
With some unknown force pulling his strings.
He was more correct than he knew.

Aliens were programming his life
From a far off planet with mind-blowing technology
In an experiment to see if they could invent a human
And have it interact in the world like real humans.

As some experiments fail, there’s went terribly wrong,
And he went badly rogue beyond the aliens’ control
And raised his arm and yelled Sieg Heil!
And millions died unmercifully.

Bob Boyd

The Hare Krishna’s say Krishnaloka is where you
Need to go after you die, if you can get there.
It takes a lot of chanting Hare Krishna’s to get there
And probably the right incarnation and the right karma.

Christians say heaven with Jesus is where you
Need to go after you die, if you can get there,
If you can avoid the snares of Satan’s hell
And probably pray enough and be good enough.

Imagine if they were both right. Imagine if
There were multiple afterlife paradises
Depending on what religion or path you followed.

Imagine if the non-dualists were right, and
You had to get beyond all these dualities
And merge into the infinite Oneness.

Bob Boyd

Born inbred in September of 1945.
Died of Huntington’s disease in 1995.
I used to cry and pray to God and ask:
“Why did I have to be born inbred?”
“Why couldn’t I have had a normal healthy life?”
When I died, the inbred related deformities
Didn’t follow me to the other side,
And now I lead a normal, healthy life
In one of God’s many mansions.
And I understand why I was born inbred
For complicated reasons I cannot reveal.
Where I am now, the thoughts and
The words about it cannot come out to you.
I can say this. Despite the inbreeding,
And the suffering I endured on earth
I’m okay now and everything is wonderful.

Bob Boyd

1956 Packard Caribbean Coupe
Classic car, hot vintage look
Dover White, Naples Orange
And Corsican Black colors
Creamsicle colors with a
Black trim highlight, so cool
Only 65,000 original miles
3 speed automatic, overdrive
8 cylinder powered engine
Creamsicle-colored upholstery
Only 263 produced back then
$39,900 justified price tag
Sweet dream antique car
Probably a great ride

Bob Boyd

I must stop reading the news everyday
Too many people dying in awful ways
Too much bad and depressing news
A once powerhouse football player has ALS
A 5 year old child killed in an airborne bounce house
A pretty mother of two killed in a cycling competition
I’m beginning to feel as if I need a Godlike mind
To handle all the misery, warnings and woes
In the everyday bad news nowadays
Maybe it’s time to take a news fast

Bob Boyd