Category: Poetry

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Real Love

My love for you is so pure, so true, so strong that
I could even love you beyond the pleasures,
the ecstasies, of consummated physical love –
platonically.

My love for you is a higher everlasting love beyond
the ravishes of aging, the illnesses, the infirmities,
the declining passions, beyond anything and everything –
unendingly.

I love you immeasurably, and as long as you want me to,
I will keep on loving you no matter our trials or our fates,
and I will cherish you and love you always and –
eternally.

Bob Boyd

Shiva’s Dance

Do the Hindus have it right;
Shiva’s dance a real or
metaphoric thing?

A universe created and
destroyed in cycles,
who came up with that?
Shiva?

Imagine cosmos and
our world, starting over
again and again –
indefinitely.

No one trick pony,
recurring circus.
New entertaining delights,
different life forms each time.
Maybe green and gray
alien-looking creatures.

Recurring creation and destruction:
In like manner, do we recur too,
reincarnation maybe.
Who really knows?
Shiva?

If pure mythology,
still spiritually cool.
Dance of Shiva statue
amazing, loaded
with deep symbolism.
The mantra is cool
and powerful:
Om Namah Shivaya.

Tried it once, intense
and images of tigers
everywhere I went,
even on TV.
Shiva Synchronicity.

Bob Boyd

Passing Women

Passing women in this brief life,
what’s the point? Procreation
of the species? Or are these
parades of princesses merely
random encounters, some, one,
or none, that stick to a man’s
millisecond life in the timeless
eternity and make him happy,
miserable or nonplussed. And
why is the nearly irrepressible
need for a female’s endearments
and addictive charms ingrained
in a man’s DNA to his dying day?
And how is it some monk men
seem immune to this persistent
need? At times, eight years strong,
I have been one of those monk men –
almost, not quite. Yet sometimes
stirring amore undercurrents still
well up in me breathing unguarded,
old man foolish longings into my
weathered heart. Occasionally
I ponder will death rid me of
this resurfacing need, that
I repress and try to negate, my
resistance borne of too many
disappointments and painful
heartaches, or unite me with
a bona fide eternal soulmate,
disappointments and heartaches
nevermore.

Bob Boyd

Summer Love

Sixteen each, we met at the YMCA dance and I trembled
when I got the courage to ask you for a dance, I remember
the band played Sixteen Candles. You honest to God felt like
an angel in my arms, your beautiful blonde hair heavenly,
your sky blue eyes, divine. I think I fell in love with you the
moment you were In my arms; it all felt so natural, so true,
so incredibly real, like nothing I’d ever experienced.

It was so many years, so many summers ago, I can’t remember
who said I love you first. I only remember I meant it forever. I
remember I loved you so much I would have died for you
without hesitation, without reservation.

And oh my God those kisses on the banks of the pond,
the pond waters caressing the shore, my head in you lap
looking up at your sunlit angelic face, captivated by your smile
and how beautiful you looked, how intoxicatingly sweet your
perfume was when I inhaled it with my every breath, and the
soft summer green grass like a love nest enveloping us in
romantic bliss and how when summer was over it was so hard,
so painful to be apart from you, sweet you.

I remembered how we planned to get married when we
graduated from high school, and how your heart was so true.
And how even though you lived faraway in New Jersey and
I lived in Massachusetts you spent your summers in Woburn
the city I lived In, and how I went to your prom in
Montclair, New Jersey before the summer love faded into a
dark frozen winter when all the summer flowers and our love
wilted and died. And how I cried and cried and cried.

And you broke what I thought was our forever vow when you
cheated on me with some guy going to Rutgers U., and I
remember how I never knew I had a heart that could be
shattered into a million pieces that would take years to put back
together, misspent years of dissipation and dissolution
not caring if I lived or died, such was the agony of the
fairy tale evermore love lost.

It was even more painful because I stayed true to you beyond
the distance, beyond the seasons, and I would have stayed true
to you eternally. Even now decades hence and me like a monk in
the world, sometimes I still think of what might have been,
what could have been. But alas we’re not sixteen anymore and
Sixteen Candles was so long ago, and you might be dead
and I almost was, and if we were to meet again, maybe I’d wake up
and see it was only like a dream, and that teenage summer
love was never meant to be, and I’d dry my older, wiser eyes.

Bob Boyd

A Confused Mix

Creation is a confused mix to me.
Dinosaurs before humans?
And dinosaurs had to die,
and humans 66 million years
later? Why, why, why?

Why not humans first omitting
what might have been an impressive
but earthly mistake? Dinos, a
gargantuan mistake erased and
replaced with fresh start primitive
grunting homo sapiens?

With untold numbers and species
of dinos canceled like Creator’s
temporary humongous Tonka Toys,
boring compared to more bells and
whistles humans with greater growth
potential.

Yet still less fun weird prehistoric-
looking stuff floating around ocean’s floor.
and boring single-celled Protozoa.
What’s the point of the single-celled?
And some can mess with the health
of humans. Think about it. What the
hell’s the point of that and them?

And damn Sam illiterate humans
like Cro-Magnons before Christ
became the only ticket to escape
this confused mix and not go
somewhere worse when expired.
Were the Cro-Magnons divinely
screwed evaporating into
nothingness with the dinos?

Or too early born fated to reincarnate
exhaustively over and over and over
endless roulette wheel of coming and
going spins until by luck or merit they
win the prize of saving grace?

Maybe Buddha and Krishna had it
right? Dinos, humans, and everything
in the weird mix reincarnating until enough
evolved rebirth free super liberated humans
like Buddha, Krishna, and Christ. Maybe
all a bunch of random hooey. Out of
nothing back into nothing, and
that’s the wrap.

Bob Boyd

Full Moon Night Fights

Like a werewolf, Phil went crazy
on full moon nights seeking fights
he prowled bars hard eying male patrons
goading them into anything goes fist fights,
which he always won, as if the powered up
moonbeams made him unstoppable, like a
lycanthropic creature of the night.

Foolishly, a humped back old man,
bent with age, picked a fight with Phil,
who told the foolish, probably drunk,
geezer he’d get killed fighting him,
a younger, stronger man who never lost
a fight. The old man insanely confident
or with a death wish, called Phil a
lowlife coward. With that insult, Phil
had no choice but to set the old fogey
straight and show him the folly of
fighting an unbeatable foe half his age.

The cocky old man set the terms; in the
alley behind the bar they were to fight
under the moon’s full bright light.
Seconds after they strode into the
alley, an unmanly scream shrieked
through the night, preceding an eerie
silence. Then an unholy howl sounding like
something out of hell, echoed in
the alley and shattered the silence,
terrifying all who heard it. And Phil
never made it out of that alley,
his corpse bloodied and in shreds.

Bob Boyd

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