Poems by Bob Boyd

Sometimes I wonder where they all have gone,
people who disappeared from my past.
People I knew in grade school, like the sweet
little girl, a classmate I used to walk home with
and felt the stirrings of infatuation with. Now I
wonder if I’d known her longer where that
infatuation might have gone. The Hell’s Angel
named Nicky who was a relative of a friend
of mine and offered me a hit of a drug in a club
before a while later he smashed a bat over
a bar patron’s head and with other bikers
blew out of the club and probably never
got arrested. My first love, Pat Curran,
a pretty blonde from New Jersey who
said she would marry me when we got older
only to cheat on me not long after that.
There are so many others, more than I
can count. I’m sure you have that many
people who have disappeared from
your life too.

Bob Boyd

The weather is so fickle here.
Yesterday it was as if fall
had arrived a little early.
I thought the weather was
going to give people a break.
Today it’s up to summer
temperatures again, 78 degrees.
I suspect as in the past the
heat will linger deeper into
this month, September.
Oh how I pine for the
cooler, invigorating weather.

Bob Boyd

Your time is running out
but you don’t want to
think about your upcoming
one way ticket departure
from this tenuous world

sometimes you feel like
you are here forever
except when you wake up
for brief moments and
ponder your impermanence

I don’t blame you one bit
I’ve been the same way
for much of my life

who wants to think of dying
who wants to go to the grave
who wants to think of such
dreadful, depressing things

when you would like to
live forever and die never
especially if everything is
going great in your life

Bob Boyd

She was heart achingly beautiful in her youth
and sexy beyond belief, a living dream many
men dreamed of being with.
Now men who see her just see an unappealing
mishapen, sexless old woman, more like a
nightmare than a dream, and none of them
dream of being with her anymore.
Yet, somehow, she doesn’t seem to care
about the loss of her allure, and I don’t know
how she accepts the loss of her beauty
that amazed men all over the world.
It had to be more devastating than losing
a million fortunes in a disastrous day.
Maybe her mind is more beautiful in it’s
own way, and she sees that beauty is
only superficial and a temporary
treasure in this passing existence
and just doesn’t care about it, like all
those foolishly infatuated men did.

Bob Boyd

No proof of an afterlife exists
according to Scientists, and
I supposed they are right.
But the common threads in
near death experiences
seem as close to proof as
anyone needs for hope in
a continued existence far
from just being eliminated.
They appear as beyond
just having faith in more.
I tend to believe them and
if I’m wrong, I’m okay with
being wrong because when
I’m dead if there’s nothing
I won’t even know it.
I’ll just be dead and free
from worries and concerns.

Bob Boyd

You can’t trust the news anymore.
It’s biased and often untrue.
Whatever happened to objective
journalism and telling the truth?
Sometimes the news lies about
things we see with our own eyes.
They don’t even hide their lies
anymore or think we’re stupid.
How I pine for the days when
news was more objective and
less untrue and blatantly biased.

Bob Boyd

I look at the wrinkled, weathered face of an elderly woman,
and I can see the wrinkle free beauty she used to be.

A sadness like a shadow passes over me thinking about
how beautiful she once was.

I wish she could have kept her beauty forever instead of
aging robbing her of it.

I wish we all could stay young and wrinkle free forever.

I take solace in hoping that at some point we all become young and
beautiful forever when we die regardless of our imperfections and mistakes in this life.

Bob Boyd

There must be a name of a disorder
for people who lie all the time.
They change the truth to suit them
and act like everyone will believe their
false and fabricated untruths,
no matter how evident their lies are.
I’m not sure what compels them to
engage in such deceptive behavior.
Perhaps it’s inborn, an innate
unchangeable part of them, just as
one cannot change the DNA one
is defined by from birth.

Bob Boyd

I’ve never liked vultures.
Maybe I was brainwashed not to.
In movies like ghouls in the sky
I always saw them circling overhead
when someone was close to dying.
And I knew they was salivating to
macabrely eat the dead.
But now I see vultures as only
doing what they’re designed to do,
cleaning up the earth of rotting
carcases, like a public service, like a
street sweeper keeping things tidy
and swept up.

Bob Boyd

Teenagers
delighted
under the
welcoming
summer sun
holding hands
sharing kisses
hearts melting
the warmth of
newfound love
oblivious to the
fact they’re
fated to be
breaking up
when the cold
unwelcoming
winter comes

Bob Boyd