Met her on a Sunday
Said she loved me
First sight love
Mine forever
Leave me never
Monday she
Was gone.
Bob Boyd
Free verse poetry, mostly fiction, some nonfiction
Met her on a Sunday
Said she loved me
First sight love
Mine forever
Leave me never
Monday she
Was gone.
Bob Boyd
He wrote the most beautiful poetry,
But he murdered two innocent people.
Hard to understand those two sides of him,
One side that understandably negated his poetic skills,
Skills that mean nothing to the families of
Those two innocent men he killed.
One a young sales guy in a store he robbed. The other a prison guard.
Nor were all the years he spent in prison enough
To atone for those lives he took away from those bereaved families
Now that he’s dead and writes poetry no more
Two families are relieved a murderer is also no more.
Bob Boyd
He crossed swords with the best
Jousted with the crown’s finest
Engaged in many battles
And in foreign campaigns
Won many tournaments
Wooed many damsels
In a former Medieval life
In his wishful imagination
But in right now reality
He’s in the battlefield
Of his bedroom dueling
With kamikazi buzzing flies
And suicidal sniper gnats
Vanquishing them all
With deadly combat skills
Like the mighty knight
The great Sir Lancelot
Bob Boyd
A devilish devious bloke
A crafty lying turncoat
A practicing black arts witch
Turned on his kin and kind
To hunt witches for money
During the burning times
Fooled the God-fearing people
Sent many innocent women
To the flames of the scaffold
Rewarded in gold coin for
His deceit and infamy
A hero among the faithful
Until he was exposed and
Got snuffed out on the stake
Bob Boyd
Went into the hospital for minor surgery
Came out missing arms and legs
A careless mistake
A life butchered
A hardened ride
Through this uncertain life
The draw’s bad luck
A sufferer’s travail
Till his or her dying day
Bob Boyd
During witch hunts in England
Witches got a break.
They weren’t burnt at the stake,
Hanged insead. Some break.
Firewood was too expensive
Ropes cost less.
The outcome the same
Whether rope or flame
Dastardly how innocent women
Persecuted and put to death.
Bob Boyd
I didn’t want Sandra to hike alone
up Damnation Peak.
Just the name Damnation Peak
worried me.
But Sandra was stubborn and
I was in a wheelchair
So I couldn’t go with her to
protect her if needed.
I had an awful feeling she
would die on that peak.
I warned her and warned her,
but she didn’t listen.
Sandra was stubborn and
I was in a wheelchair.
In the middle of winter Sandra
decided to scale that peak.
I worried a snow storm could trap
and kill her on that peak.
Sandra went to Damnation peak
anyway, deaf to my pleadings.
Halfway up Damnation peak
an avalanche roared
and that was the last sound Sandra heard
before that avalanche claimed her life.
I didn’t take the news of Sandra’s death well.
I went crazy for a while.
Between wailing and trying to talk to dead Sandra,
I kept cursing and cursing Damnation Peak.
As I’m cursing it now.
Bob Boyd
State sponsored media
is what we got
the needle so far to the left
it broke
and ended objective journalism
and started fake news
and fooled many fools
Bob Boyd
Lovelier than spring
Warmer than summer
Never met another
As wonderful as her
Her name was Sara
And we were in love
For many seasons
Until our love ended
On a cold winter’s day
Bob Boyd
I woke up when she came to bed. I pretended to be asleep.
I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to talk to her.
I’d checked her phone that morning and found out
She’d emailed her eighth-grade student illicit photos
And been having sex in her car with the kid.
I pretended to be asleep because I was furious with her,
And was afraid of becoming too unhinged and
Too murderously enraged, completely out of my mind,
Because of her shocking, criminal activity with a child.
I felt like throwing up at the thought of her molesting a kid.
I called in sick at work the next day, too sick at heart to work.
I packed my suitcases and left her a note about what I’d found.
A day later, her affair with the kid was all over the news.
The police arrested her at the school where she worked.
And I couldn’t stay with a wife who cheated with a kid.
Bob Boyd
Michael never had the human hunger for romantic love.
I never understood how he could live without that primal need.
He had female admirers, some beautiful, but he didn’t care.
He said for him life was better lived solo and free.
I said you’re a better man than me after I’d broken up
With a woman who cheated on me,
After thinking about a friend who got divorced and
Lost everything to his ex wife in a divorce court.
Micheal became a Buddhist monk in Denver, Colorado
In a large Tibetan Buddhist community in the mountains.
Eventually my divorced friend and I vowed to never love again
And we joined Michael at the Buddhist community in Denver,
We shaved our heads, meditated, chanted Buddhist sutras,
Became full-fledged monks and followed the precepts.
We’d found ourselves in the exciting world of Buddhism,
Freed from attachments, the agonizing need for romantic love,
And the risks of ending up disappointed and broken-hearted.
A year later we became disenchanted with being monks,
The nagging, primal need for love overpowered our resolve.
We fell in love with two disenchanted nuns in the community
Left the community with them and got married to them,
The primal power of love satisfied, our lives fairytale happy.
Bob Boyd
Jack and Jill hiked up a hill
Only one came down.
411 or something more wicked?
Jack claimed Jill disappeared,
Turned around and she was gone.
Police suspicious, searched everywhere
But never found Jill.
Everybody believed Jack
Murdered Jill –
They were having trouble
In their relationship.
Miraculously, a week later
Jill came down from the mountain
Babbling about aliens abducting her.
Bob Boyd
Sunny days and dark nights
What life is about
Good days bad days
You have to ride out
The good
And the bad
And hope
You get more
Good days
Than bad days
But no guarantees
You can do everything right
And things still go wrong
You can do everything wrong
And things still go right
No guarantees
Bob Boyd
Though we’re continents apart
My heart is with you
Though we haven’t met face to face
I’m still loving you
Though we may never meet in this life
I’ll never stop loving you
Bob Boyd
A superstar football player
In his glorious prime
Won many trophies
Player of the year
Hall of famer
But fame came with
A dangerous cost
Suffered head injuries
Chronic brain damage
Depression and tremors
Thoughts of suicide
Compromised balance
Dementia at age 50
Dead from a fall
at age 55
Bob Boyd
Some politicians
Your public servants
Get rich while in office
Work for themselves
Love the power
Adore the perks
And pretend to
Be working for
Deplorable you
Bob Boyd
There are mystics
who say love is the way
to total liberation,
becoming one with God and
getting off the wheel of rebirth,
living forever in eternal bliss.
I love the thought of that.
I’d love to be one with God
and get off the wheel of rebirth
and live forever in eternal bliss.
But, honestly, my love,
I’d rather stay on the wheel
and keep coming back to this life,
forever … in love with you.
Bob Boyd
Radar speed sign on the road always clocked you
Past 35 miles an hour to keep you in check at 35.
Took it as a challenge, punched the gas pedal hard
Each time I sped past that freakin’ speed sign.
Personal best: Flew by it at 125 miles per hour.
Killed the sign with that record shattering ride.
The numbers spazzed out. The sign exploded.
Bob Boyd
Love songs blaring out of cars.
1957 Chevy bel airs with fins
And other flashy finned cars,
Prowling land sharks on tires,
Roaring and screeching rubber
Hot and smoking city streets,
Impressing gawking, teenage girls
Culminating in sweet, tender times.
Making out and petting in cars.
Romantic teenage wonderlands,
1950s cool summer nights.
Bob Boyd
At six-years-old
He hated his baby sister
He lost the attention
When she was born
She annoyed him
When she cried
And he was happy
When she died
Supposedly
Accidently
Smothered
To death by
A pet cat in her crib.
Bob Boyd