Poems by Bob Boyd

I can remember in my youth kidding around with a woman
when after a while the fun and games would become serious,
while playing the games I began falling in love.

Now old and nearly fossilized, all I have are my memories
of the fun and the games and wish I could play them again
before I’m in the ground unable to have any more fun.
Or play any more games with women and love.

Bob Boyd

She went by the name of Duffy.
She charmed me with her captivating ways.
Three months later she moved in with me,
and brought her calico cat.
At first Duffy brought me love and bliss.
But with time and complaints about
the toilet seat being left up and other things,
Duffy became controlling and crazy,
smashing fine china dishes, busting toilet seat lids,
kicking the crap out of the LCD TV.
Eventually she became totally unhinged
and left me in a window breaking, furniture wrecking,
car tires puncturing huff.
But at least she left her calico cat, named Muffy
that, not to be catty, but I loved that cat more than her,
except for the fact that her name rhymed with Duffy.

Bob Boyd

People used to say aliens lived on the moon.
Now they’re saying they live under the sea.
Perhaps the aliens wanted a change of scenery.
Or maybe the moon got too hot with astronauts
tramping all over it.
And aliens relocated under the sea to cool off.
This I know for sure. UFOs or UAPs have been
seen entering and exiting the sea.

Bob Boyd

Generally I don’t think the dead can see the living.
Some would say of course they cannot.
After all, they are dead and the dead stay dead.
What the living were, they are no more.
The people they were, their bodies, their brains,
buried or incinerated into piles of burnt ashes.
Some are in landlocked waters or open seas .
Yet there are those who hear from the dead,
the ADCs, after death communications.
I believe many of these are genuine contacts.
I believe in these beyond life communications,
the dead for moments can see and contact us.
Perhaps as a final farewell, an I’m okay,
before they are withdrawn into the localities of
the invisible, the unknowable beyond.

Bob Boyd

How I hate these hot early fall days,
the suffocating heat when cooler days
should prevail at the end of summer
The fall that cools off summer heat.
The fall that brings in cold winds.
This year summer is obstinately stubborn.
It’s refusing to release its hot hold on the weather,
like a naughty child clinging to another child’s toy.
Please Summer go away and let Fall have its day.

Bob Boyd

They fly in V shapes
They honk like horns
They hurt no one
They fear no one
They forage on the ground
Eating things like plants
Grass and insects
Some people hate them
Some people love them
They’re beautiful
Sublime
Wonderful
Glorious
Canadian geese

Bob Boyd

A 17-Year-Old Died Today

I read in the news a 17-year-old teenager
passed away today.

No news of what from.

But not from an accident or a homicide.

Sadly, I suspect he died from a congenital heart defect.

I hate that every so often a young person dies
and seems to miss out on so many things
he or she could have experienced in this life.

My way of finding some acceptance of it
is to imagine they get to a better place sooner.

Of course, I might be fooling myself, but
nonetheless it gives me some comfort in what
otherwise seems so terribly unfair to me.

Many accounts of NDEs suggest I might be right,
but none of those people were permanently dead,
and scientists present good arguments that what
the NDEers experience could be just illusions as the
brain shuts down and oxygen depletes.

But I’m sticking to the optimistic theory that a
better life exists beyond this one, and that those
who get their sooner despite how they died
are the luckier ones.

Bob Boyd

Though she was ungrateful for all I did for her,
and walked away despite my kindness to her,
I wonder if she is okay now.

I wonder if after her being gone for 11 years
if she is still alive and doing well,
or if she is in a bad relationship
or entirely alone and miserable.

I don’t carry the torch for her.

Leaving me was for the best for both of us.

I wish her no ill will and hope the 11 years
have been good and happy for her.

She had been a forgotten part of my life
until today when I briefly thought of her
and felt a little concern about what might
have happened to her, if her life might
have gone badly and hoping it had not.

As I end this poem, my thoughts of her
are ending too with a final hope that
her life has gone well and that she is ok.

Bob Boyd

The longer I live, the more I see how
one’s history begins to fade away
as time passes.

Monumental events begin to seem
as if they never happened.

It’s all like a dream that becomes more
and more indistinct.

Some of it eventually is completely forgotten,
or you have to really think hard about your past
to get even a fleeting glimpse of it.

It’s like a preview of how with death and
time everything you were and did will be
forever forgotten.

Bob Boyd

In videos, I’ve seen many people try to get close to dangerous wild animals, like bears, buffaloes, and lions.
Tragically, sadly, sometimes, maybe oftentimes, these attempts
lead to their deaths.
I can understand the appeal. I’d like to be able to get close
to dangerous wild animals too.
I’d like to be able to befriend them and even pet them.
I’d like to have a human to dangerous wild animal connection without putting my life in peril.
Imagine if like the Biblical lambs lying down with lions, we
could interact with bears, bullalos, and lions without fear,
without attacks, without injuries, without dying.
What a thrill that would be.

Bob Boyd