Category: Poetry

It has always saddened me that so many people die brutal deaths.
I’ve seen it on crime shows.
I’ve seen it nearly daily in the news.
Horrible deaths. Children murdered. Women raped and murdered.
Men and women murdered randomly, wrong place, wrong time.
People tortured and murdered by serial killers.
I’ve often thought about how unimaginably horrible it must be to go out of the world so brutally.
My hope is that when these people die no matter how terrifying their deaths were
they will be in a place so blissful, so serendipitous, that the way they left this world won’t even be a memory.
And I tend to believe that might be a glorious reality for them in the afterlife.

Bob Boyd

listening to the oldie put your head on on my shoulder by paul anka today
remembering how good it felt when a girlfriend did that to me in my teenage years
while we were together riding in my car
the feel of her adorably snuggled against me –
incomparable
the scent of her fragrant teenage perfume –
intoxicating
her there with me so closely –
my heart melting.

bob boyd

from the second story window of my apartment,
i see an elderly white-haired woman on the street below struggling
with a big german shepherd she’s walking on a leash

my first thought is old people shouldn’t be walking big dogs they cannot control

then i see what i believe is her husband walking with a cane
about twenty feet behind her, also white haired

i feel happy for them

i feel happy that they appear to have a relationship that
has survived when so many relationships get shipwrecked along the way

and though that may not be the case
they could have both been married and divorced before they met
i choose to believe they have a relationship that has endured and probably began when they were in high school

i remember how theirs was my dream

i remember how in high school i wanted to meet the right one
and be with her for the rest of my life

i realize i was too influenced by the fairy tales and the movies
where love always finds a way and last ever and ever

the elderly couple vanish from my vision
and thoughts of what might have been are gone from my mind.

bob boyd

new shaped ufos reported by
the national ufo reporting center
are shaped like two pyramids
fused together

they’ve been spotted since 2025
and described as a
“most unusual recurring shape”

speculations vary on whether
these are advanced military technology
a new alien presence
or a alien presence that has been here
and has advanced its technology

with all these new and increased ufo sightings
i believe human to nonhuman extraterrestrial contact
could happen in my lifetime

of course i could be wrong if
the grim reaper bagged me tomorrow

bob boyd

the uk news heading read
NHS allows under-7 to go to gender clinics,
NHS being the National Health Service.
how insane is that?
maybe you’re good with it
i hope the hell you’re not.
i see it as grooming and child abuse.
i see it as setting a child up to be mutilated some day.
i see it as screwing up a child’s body
with irreversible future side effects
in need of medical treatment for an entire life
and a greater likelihood for suicides.
jesus christ NHS of england
what the hell has happened to you?

bob boyd

i have this giant fan in front of the window
of the front room of my apartment.

it is as loud as an arctic wind
though not anywhere near as cold.

but it’s cool enough where I don’t need a/c,
especially since i live in nc where it doesn’t get
as hot as in fl.

plus i prefer the fan to a/c unlike most people
who would rather have the a/c.

but i’m not like most people
and also unlike most people
i don’t watch tv.

i refuse to pay the exorbitant costs of cable tv,
mostly for channels i won’t want,
and everything i need i have on the internet.

i haven’t been to a barber in over forty years
i cut my own hair, and it may surprise you
to know i don’t butcher it.

i’ve never owned a house or any property
what you own owns you.

i look forward to my dying day rather than
fearing it. I see it as the awakening of a lifetime.

that’s enough about me
adios, kemosabe.

bob boyd

i’m up at 5 am
unusual for a
night owl like me
i hear a single
bird singing
is this the renown
early bird that gets
the worm
i wonder

or at 5 am
what to me is
an ungodly hour
for amore
is the singing
bird looking
for love

bob boyd

Dark, evil entities shrouded in religious garb, misogynistic killers of harmless women falsely condemned as witches.
The Malleus Maleficarum, their book of unparalleled evil and rampant devilry in the holocaust of mothers, daughters, aunts, and sisters.
60,000 to 300,000, mostly women, tortured, scorched to death on stakes in flames of hypocrisy that fanned witch hunters’ demonic femicides.
Sociopathic fiends cloaked in faux religious fervor killing innocent women with the imprimatur of Catholic Church inquisitions.
The witch hunters and their Malleus Maleficarum now dead historical infamy.
Real, harmless witches now abound, at one with nature, unfettered and unpersecuted.

Bob Boyd

I like the purpose of the Mexican Day of the Dead
to honor and respect those no longer living.
I like the reverence for those who have passed on.
Perhaps on that special day for the dead
a connection is made with those who have died.
Maybe those beyond this world can feel their
loved ones still on earth remembering them.
Maybe those beyond this world can help their loved ones still on earth.
I like the idea of that if it is at all possible.
I do know people who have died can appear in dreams
to those who are among the living.
But regardless of whether or not the dead can help the living,
I like the setting aside of a special day to honor, respect and remember them.

Bob Boyd

Had I been with a hippie woman, we probably would have had more in common than the other women I’d been with in my life.

None of the other women ever understood the seeker I was and the spiritual revolution that was unfolding inside of me or appreciated my depth.

I believe a hippie woman would have appreciated and understood my spirituality and talked about deeper things with me occasionally.

I would have loved her free spiritedness and her unique fashion sense.

But I was never with a hippie woman.

Closest I came was when I met one who was spaced out on drugs and I was high on alcohol a few years before the k awakened in me and delivered me forever from wasted nights and alcoholic highs.

I protected the hippie woman from a friend who wanted to sexually take advantage of her in her spaced out state.

And me and the hippie woman, who was quite attractive, seemed to have a sweet sympatico.

I made a date with her to met her in a park the next day, like the song I Love the Flower Girl about a guy who sees a hippie girl in a park and becomes enamored with her.

But she never showed up.

Maybe she was so spaced out when I asked her out that she didn’t remember about the date.

In retrospect, she probably did me a favor.

Even though I liked free spirited hippie women, I wasn’t about drugs, and I was never a hippie man on the outside, always conservative in my appearance.

And a woman with a drug habit would have been like bad medicine for me.

Bob Boyd

I’m listening to the song
Please Come to Boston,
one of my favorites.

Oh how I love that
song and its lyrics
partly because
originally I’m from
close to Boston.

And I like the way he
plaintively pleads with
a woman to come and
be with him in the
places he moves to.

But I’m thinking to myself
that he should quit
screwing around and just
be with her.

And if he keeps screwing
by moving to different
places that she, his
number one fan, doesn’t
want to move to, he
could rightfully lose her.

And were I him, I wouldn’t
risk losing her.

And even if I had to go
through the burning
flames of a hell
instead of nice places
like he’s going to
in the song

I’d do it
just to be with her.

Bob Boyd

i was working in a jewelry store
as a manager trainee when i
was in my early thirties
a woman came to work there
who was too beautiful
too much about her looks
too much about her clothes
i didn’t pay much attention to her
i had no interest in getting to know her

i’m not about self centered women
and too beautiful doesn’t appeal to me
in any way romantically
cute, pretty, beautiful to me
regardless of whether or not she
looks beautiful to others
works better for me
and why the hell am i
even thinking about this at 80

often women who are too beautiful
are too much about themselves
and unaffordable to most men

but then one day she went out
of her way to talk to me
i was surprised how nice she was
how self centered she wasn’t
we became great work friends
and too beautiful didn’t matter to me
I really liked her a lot
not as a potential girlfriend
she was happily married
i didn’t have romantic desires
or fantasies about her

it was just a surprising friendship
with a woman i didn’t want to know
one of the many women who
passed through my life
some too beautiful
some amazingly nice
some adorably cute
some incredibly pretty
some mean and hateful
many i was with
more than my share

too beautiful at the jewelry store
was one of the most surprising
and one of the nicest

bob boyd

Car broke down at night on a scary, unlit country road.
Fears rose in him. Goosebumps spread over his skin.
Horror movie terrors starting plaguing his thoughts.
No way was he going to exit his car and face the fears,
Locked all the car doors, laid down to sleep on the seat.
Safer to hide from his increasing fears and imagined frights
Until he sensed something eerie and terribly monstrous.
Peeked out of the windshield, a scream in his throat,
Bigfoot, terrifying, smiled and put his hands on hood.
Engine started, purred. Bigfoot waved and vanished.

Bob Boyd

I come from succession of werewolves
I am of the twelfth generation
But all those generations weakened
The strength of the genetic strain
For the world’s sake and human lives
I’m grateful for the benign outcome

To the people in my country town
I’m a well-liked local pastor of
A respectable Christian church
Though I lead a double life
When the moon becomes full

On those foreboding nights
I’m a horrifying, raging werewolf
Thank God the grisly killing part
Of my cursed beastly inheritance
Has been bred completely out of me
But on full moon nights I still morph
Into that preternatural wolf beast
And run and howl through forests

When a local accidentally sees me
And nearly faints from fright
And tells the people in the town
About the terrifying sight of
The darker, moonlit side of me
I’m downgraded to being called
A mere lesser Dogman and that
Insult enrages me so I almost
Wish I could go on a werewolf
Killing spree to avenge the slight

Bob Boyd

You feel blessed beyond belief to be sitting at a table
with this adorable woman across from you with the
light of her beautiful eyes shining on you.

Few things in this world can compare to that wondrous
moment.

Nothing in this world could compare to the heaven in
her heart melting stare.

And you feel the resistance, the fears of letting go
and falling irreversibly in love with her falling away.

And in that precious moment that feels like the most
important moment in your entire life, you follow
your heart’s persistent urgings, and you tremble and
look into her beautiful eyes and say… “I love you.”

Bob Boyd

In the 190,000 years humans have lived on this planet
it’s estimated about 117 billion of us have inhabited it.
And though I’m the most important person in my life,
and at this point the only one, those 117 billion others
make me feel inconsequential and probably of no more significance than the other species that have populated this planet. You might attach greater importance to humans like I once did, but in the greater scheme of things globally and planetarily, I have to wonder if we really are of any more importance than the insects beneath our feet that live, procreate and die like we do. You could compare the intellects and great achievements of humans compared to, say, single minded ants that lack comparable intellects or any great achievements. But time erases intellects, even towering ones, and most achievements. And with a single mass extinction of the human race all those intellects and achievements would come to no more than an ant building a mound.

Bob Boyd

I hear what sounds like a chorus
of birds singing outside my apartment window.
Do they chirp different languages like humans do?
Or do all birds comprehend all the different bird chirps?
I wish I understood the language of birds.
Imagine if suddenly you were able to.
What a revelation, what a feeling, that would be.

Bob Boyd

As I write this poem, the inner energy is amped up in me, rising well above my head, and I wonder if this is the day it’s finally going to fully awaken and expand my consciousness into the infinite.
Were I to relax into it, my head would bob up and down gently from the power and the force of it.
It is always rising upward and has been since age 27, but surprisingly it has never reached full fruition, i.e. cosmic consciousness.

In a way, it’s like I’m in a perpetual state of meditation, but without the unending states of bliss that I’d have with a higher development.
The only advantage it gave me, far as I can perceive, is losing the desire for drinking alcohol since it awakened; it eliminated what had been too much drinking in my life when it awakened dramatically with the white Light and the feeling of merging with the cosmos that frightened me.

And, I regret now that I pulled out of meditation before it happened. I should have went with it.

The disadvantages were that I had to drop out of college because all the concentration on my studies were like deeper and deeper meditations.
Had I persisted, I’ve no doubt it would have caused a mental breakdown.
I could no longer read all the time like I had prior to the awakening.
Eventually I could no longer meditate, and really didn’t need to.
Meditation caused too much energy to rise up in me and headaches and sleepless nights.

But, despite the downsides, it’s all been worth it, and I believe it saved my life. I had alcoholism on both sides of my family. Grandfathers who were drunks.
I believe that would have been my fate, had this energy not awakened dramatically in me and arose permanently.

The odd thing is I’ve always been like a regular guy with no hints or signs of this spiritual energy always rising in me. Even in the seventies when hippies abounded, I never put on any spiritual airs by dressing and appearing like what I am inside of me.

Now I’m kind of like an old mystic who just looks like an old man. But at least I have a little magic in my waning life.

Bob Boyd

I was living a stone’s throw from Harvard U.
in Cambridge, MA in the midst of various
emerging spiritual groups, mostly out of
India.

Myself and a friend visited a group called
Ananda Marga and met their group leader,
a Harvard student named Ollie.

Blonde hair, thin, decent looks, average
height and and blue eyes that seemed
capable of holding the secrets of the universe.

Ollie’s head perpetually moved smoothly,
from side to side, and you knew he had attained
some kind of advanced spiritual state. It wasn’t
BS. It wasn’t an act. It was like something you’d
see in an advanced sadhu in India.

Ollie was experiencing a perpetual manifestation
of kundalini energy flowing from the base of
his spine to the crown of his head.

I’d never seen anyone before Ollie who
genuinely experienced that outside of
meditation so powerfully. With kundalini
energy, it’s common to experience such
things in meditation and to always feel the
energy rising outside of meditation to varying
degrees – sometimes six feet above your head.

Never having experienced the full fruition of
this energy, but having read Gopi Krishna’s
account of his full blown awakening, I can
say such manifestations are only partial
awakenings.

But I wouldn’t be surprised if Ollie attained
a full awakening and cosmic consciousness
in his lifetime.

Bob Boyd

I regret I watched a YouTube video of famous actresses who are no longer young and appealing.
It saddened me to see all the ones who have lost their looks.
In some cases they were completely unrecognizable.
Some genetically lucky ones age well and still look good in their seventies.
Some have lost their looks at far younger ages.
Some women look great in their seventies and probably even when they are older.
Or they have enough money to keep medically making themselves look great.
Whatever the case, I hate how time and aging steal their beauty.
It’s as if time and aging are cruel heartlessly tearing down a woman’s looks.
I suppose I shouldn’t care about this, but it really disturbs me.
It’s like a sacrilege against female youth and beauty to me, and I’m still bothered by it after having watched that video.
I must make it a point to not watch anything like that again.
It makes me wish I could leave this world sooner because of what it does to women, but since I’m willing to leave, I’ll probably be here a lot longer than I want to be.
My mother lived into her late nineties.
Because I feel like an anomaly for my age in many ways and people are always amazed when I tell them my age and say I look far younger, I regrettably might live as long as she did.
I also write regrettably because I’ve seen many times how living too long can destroy the quality of a person’s life, physically and sometimes mentally, as in a dementia — with rare exceptions.

I have read when people die they are reborn young in the afterlife.
I hope that is true for all the women who have been robbed of their looks by time and aging.

Bob Boyd