My Archived Poetry Blog With 3,750 poems
As a wayward teenager,
I wanted to be a rockstar
for less than artistic reasons.
the girls were more important
than the rock and roll music.
However, I sucked at singing
and lacked the patience,
and probably the talent,
to learn to play a guitar
or even a set of drums,
but I was hell on wheels
at playing an air guitar.
Bob Boyd
she wakes up each morning
makes her bed just right
has a cup of instant coffee
ponders her tired existence
old, alone and depressed
yesterday’s beauty gone
as are all the adoring men
her social life diminished
she’s bent and haggard
gets around on a walker
age has wrecked her
love has flown away
dates are nonexistent
except for her date with
the grim reaper of death
bob boy
It’s All About the Money
Young women shedding their clothes en masse online,
displaying their wares to the internet world.
Screw modesty and decency. It’s all about the money.
Young women bragging about sleeping with many men
to online audiences of thousands and thousands.
One bragged about 100. Another about screwing teens.
Forget about romance and love. It’s all about money.
Ill fated fame and fortune, never mind the degeneracy.
Never mind self respect. Never mind nagging morality.
It’s all about the attention. It’s all about the money.
Bob Boyd