Month: September 2024

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