Poems by Bob Boyd

No woman in my life
Withdrawn from humankind
Spiritual energy streaming up in me
nonstop permanently
like a Hindu monk charged up with shakti
every day and every night
like a recluse basking in spirituality
waiting for the final release
hoping for the maha samadhi
the world no longer owns me
I yearn for the higher life
the sat chit ananda
the real home of this aging soul
unconditional love, eternal bliss

Bob Boyd

I’ve reached an age and a time of my life
when I see how my life and the world with its
worries and concerns, suffering and evil,
is all impermanent.

Yet, I have to remind myself of that when
I see things in the news that disturb me,
that don’t matter in the greater scheme,
of the passing impermanence.

This remembrance of the impermanence
puts things in perspective for me,
that none of the disturbing things matter
in this transitory existence I am only
a sojourner in.

Bob Boyd

I was a teenager
I thought she was perfection in the female form
I was so smitten with her, I couldn’t see the signs
I couldn’t see how she would eventually cheat on me
I had such tunnel vision that I couldn’t see the inevitable
but it was a good lesson
after the tears dried, I gained great clarity
I became wiser and more adept at seeing the signs,
like looking into a crystal and seeing the future with a woman
like becoming practically bulletproof against assaults on my heart in the years to come
though that too smitten to see the heartache coming was painful
it was one of the greatest lessons of my life.

Bob Boyd

She was a genuinely sweet woman,
kind, warm, friendly to all.

She had a heart of hearts,
caring for all.

On a dreadful summer night
she got drunk with two disreputable men,
supposed to be her friends.

They took advantage of her in the
back seat of a car when she was barely
conscience, too drunk to resist.

Like unfeeling, heartless monsters,
they boasted of their rape conquest
to others in the city where I lived.

She never told the police, perhaps she
didn’t want to endure what was shameful to her.

Her reputation sullied, many were told.

I didn’t want to hear about it, her being
taken advantage of like that, her being drunk.

But unlike others, her reputation wasn’t sullied
with me.

She was still a genuinely sweet woman
and always will be in my mind and in my heart.

Bob Boyd

Why do the thrills of things like

falling in love

first Christmas gifts

first new car

have to get old?

If I had to pick one thrill to last and last,

it would be the sky high thrill of falling in love.

No one would ever get used to it,

Never would it get old.

It would be permanent bliss with a permanent,
loving other.

There’d be no break ups, no broken hearts, no divorces –

continuous romantic love unbroken, always new

always thrilling, always true.

Bob Boyd

My thanks to aging for making me
increasingly aware of the impermanence
of this life and of me.

When younger, I didn’t really get it.

I hadn’t lived enough, seen enough
people, things and events pass away,

like leaves falling off trees on a river bank
and floating away in ever rushing waters,

like ever passing lives.

Now many people and generational icons I knew
are dead – gone forever.

Now I look forward to joining them
in what I believe is a glorious, permanent existence.

Of course, my belief could be wrong.

The only permanence I could die into might
be just a permanent death and nothing more,
no heaven, no nirvana, no eternal bliss, nothing.

Or, I could die and have to come back to
this impermanence again, maybe as
an improved, better me facing all the
uncertainties, the suffering, the evil
in this impermanence once again.

I like my belief better, a permanent world
devoid of the suffering, evil, and impermanence,
a forever world of peace, love and bliss.

And Mike Mchugh and Joe Drew, if you’re reading
this from the other side,

If what I believe is true,

I hope to meet you there too.

Bob Boyd

You see her face
her hair
her eyes
her smile
her alluring body
her enchanting moves
her endearing gestures
This are but the moving parts

The keeper of her secrets
the queen of her intelligence
the source of who she is
the generator of her actions
is her gray matter
her wonanly brain

This is what you should
pay more attention to
rather than being swept away
your mind mesmerized
by the siren-like beauty
of her moving parts

Bob Boyd

I spy the neighbor’s cat under my car,
as I’m about to fire it up and go to the grocery store.

I feel honored the cat has chosen to grace the underbelly of my car with her noble, feline presence.

I met this cat months ago when I was talking to the neighbor who is the cat’s pet; the orange and white feline wonder purred and endearingly rubbed her soft, furry body against my leg.

I felt grateful that she accepted me like that,
as if welcoming me into a human cat kinship with her.

I hate that I have to start my car and scare her away.
It seems almost sacrilegious to me, like trashing a holy relic.

But, alas, I have to get some sustenance from the grocery store,
perhaps I’ll make amends with the cat another day.

Bob Boyd

The Challenge of the Coming Cold

I look forward to the coming cold weather,
the challenge of surviving it with little heat –
intentionally.

Comforters and Sherpa blankets, layers
of warm clothing.

Fire proof space heaters only when
absolutely necessary.

Windows weatherized, door draft stoppers
ready for use.

An indomitable will to withstand the cold,
the challenge, the triumphant victory over it.

Bob Boyd

His body began breaking down
in his early thirties.

He’d been strong and fit, and
couldn’t figure out why.

He went to see a doctor
and was put in a hospital.

He was probed, examined,
his blood taken.

Worst diagnosis possible,
cancer at age 31.

A year later, dead at the
young age of 32.

Why do such awful things
have to happen

to some young people
God, I’m asking you?

Bob Boyd