My Archived Poetry Blog With 3,750 poems
I write a lot of fiction poems
but this one is true
about two hooligans I knew
in my tumultuous teen years
bullies, immoral, bone bad
was certain they were
fated as future criminals
headed for long prisons stays
increasing criminality
instead they became members
of the local police force
bad boys in blue.
Bob Boyd
Nelly Craig lived in the 1800s
got pregnant and abandoned
by a heartless philanderer
scorned by the society of that day
refused respectable employment
impoverished, desperate,
turned to prostitution to survive
her only means of making money
because of the stigma of being
a disgraced, fallen women
a pariah nobody would hire
some back then would have
deemed Nelly a hell-bound sinner
I see her as a causality of
less enlightened times
that no loving Creator
would ever eternally damn.
Bob Boyd
I used to pay no attention to the fleeting nature
of this impermanent world
I just walked and talked in it, as if it were forever
unmindful that in this world forever is never
the worst part of impermanence to me is
romantic love dies in it
no matter how wonderful, no matter how close
to perfect a love is
no matter if it lasts a lifetime
it’s doomed to extinction, like the dinosaurs of old
when death cruelly ends it
I find that disheartening
I find that disturbing and a bit depressing
but maybe, just maybe, romantic love lives on
in the unseen world beyond this impermanent one
where soulmates are reunited or found in a permanent
and blissful forever
am I dreaming here, am I overly optimistic?
probably, lol.
Bob Boyd
No need for fear when Death arrives
To take us to the eternity of Love and Light
Relocation to a higher, brighter world
Freed from the uncertainties of this impermanence
Passing illusion, clung to as if our lives go on here forever
Except for occasional reminders of our mortality
Death of loved ones, killer diseases, and more
World on edge with ever-present threats of nuclear holocaust
Murders, wars, atrocities, and injustice across the planet
Tenuous existence, we are like flickering candle flames
Soon to burn out as numberless ones before us
But mercifully saved by Death,
Usher To the eternity of Love and Light.
Bob Boyd
People are dying all around me
At work, in my neighborhood, and in the news
Old, middle-aged, young, and babies too.
It’s like the Reaper has been loosened
In my semi-immediate vicinity
Killing people with a dogged impunity.
Worries me about my own mortality
If I’m next on Grim’s hit list
Or in some invisible warzone
With unseeable stealth bombs
Leaving no booms or residues
Quietly taken hordes of people out.
Maybe it’s just the usual suspect
Beelzebub up to his usual MO
Doing his cloven hoofed Devil’s work.
Bob Boyd
Sometimes
I wonder about
romantic love.
Is it real or
Nature’s ploy
to propagate
our species.
If that is
the case
what’s the point
of all of it?
Why the endless
streams of
humans flowing
In and out of
existence?
Maybe it’s
merely a
game of
bored gods
With little
better to do.
Bob Boyd
Amazingly nimble in trees
and on telephone lines.
Dangerously awkward on streets
and at dodging cars.
Squirrel, aerial acrobat,
what’s wrong with you?
In the trees and on telephone lines
none are your equal.
Yet in the streets and in front of cars
you fall apart.
Given you dodge predators in
the air and on the ground.
One would think streets and cars
would be cakewalks by comparison.
Yet thousands of your species
end as roadkill every day.
Maybe the panic I’d feel
seeing a 72 foot brontosaurus
Is the same panic you feel
when you see a giant car.
And you freak out and die
under those killer tires.
Bob Boyd
Clarence said he understood
the language of chirping cicadas
and could read the minds of ants.
He said he knew what birds were thinking
and could predict their futures as they flew.
See that sparrow flying overhead, he said.
in a week it will be in the stomach of a hawk.
I almost believed him, as confident as he was
until he said he knew what my dog Bo was thinking,
could easily read his every dumb dog thought.
Curious and a little offended by his insulting Bo,
I said, what the hell is my dumb dog thinking?
He’s blown away by how well I can read his mind.
You know how dogs can hear things we can’t?
Dogs can know when a psychic reads their minds.
Bo looked at Clarence and let out a howl
as if in agreement with what Clarence said.
Then Bo growled and jumped up curved sideways
suspended in the air like a professional athlete
and with a spectacular airborne twisting move
bit that soothsaying Clarence on the butt.
Bo never did like BS artists.
Bob Boyd
Hewn into rock hills in Lalibela
sacred second Jerusalem
stands in Ethiopia.
Place of pilgrimage
sacred site where
pilgrims come to pray.
For over a thousand years
infused with the prayers
of millions.
A giant etched cross
adorns the top sealed
with a promise of heaven.
Stone shrine conferring
blessings, the magnificent
Church of Saint George.
Bob Boyd
Ancient Greeks died
buried with coins
under their tongues,
their safe passage
to the underworld
where Charon,
bearded Ferryman
dressed in a tunic
and conical hat,
ferried the dead
across a river to
Hades, land of the dead
The obol coin, the
cost of admission.
Bob Boyd