Poems by Bob Boyd

Body wearing down, arthritis setting in, joints and muscles straining.
Balance out of whack, muscles weakening, wrinkling.
Skin screwed, wrinkles and ugly aging spots everywhere.
If you’re lucky, you’ll still have your hair and your teeth.
Senior discounts only serve to validate what may not be clear to you.
Sleep, waking in the night, risks of falls if meandering to the bathroom.
Blood tests show many problems; a godawful cancer might be one of them.
Examined and poked by gerontologists like a nonentity lab specimen.
More doctors than ever, appointment after appointment after appointment.
The memory firing on only five cylinders, days of senior moments, maybe dementia.
The voice sounds weak or hoarse unless you’re lucky or genetically blessed.
Once youthful looks, often pretty, now lost; new roles as nondescript grannies.
Once handsome young men, now like Paradise Lost, looks gone forever.
Friends and generational icons dying, depressing reminders that nothing lasts.
You wonder when you’ll be next, your immortality forsaken, your mortality waning.
If unbearably sick, or in unbearable pain, or dying in a nursing home…
You might pray you are next.

Bob Boyd

The largest witch trials in Sweden by godly men, 1675 in Torsaker, Sweden. Thanks to the dark arts of these zealous men of God, 71 innocent Swedes—65 women, 6 men—were accused of witchcraft.

But the fun had just begun. Shortly after the trial, the 71 were beheaded and burned on the stake, a banner day for the Lord’s work in the twisted minds of men more Satanic than godly, more sadistic than holy.

A blight upon religion, to be sure. No angels, no saints, no infinite God intervened. The falsely accused went up in the fiery smoke, headless and betrayed by the leaders of their flocks, a fine day for dark forces, if they exist.

Were I the Supreme Being back then, I would have smitten the religious desecrators of the faith with a thousand lightning bolts and maybe some locusts and plagues, just to smite them more. And I would have welcomed the 71 into heaven evermore.

Bob Boyd

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Just as I find it sad that
a woman’s looks fade
I find it sad that flowers
fade and die
and I wonder if flowers
just die
as surely many assume
but I’d like it more
if flowers went to
a flower heaven
to bloom again
and forever.

Bob Boyd

I hear the song birds
singing merrily
outside my apartment
seeming happy
they won’t live as
long as I will
and it’s likely
they will be killed
by a predator
unlike human me
but in a way
I think they might
have a better life
than I have
less stress
less frustrations
less heartaches
less worries
and as they
grow older
and weaker
they won’t have
the increasing
medical problems
the doctor visits
the pills
the medical bills
so in some ways
maybe being
a song bird
is better than
being a human

Bob Boyd

Cruelty that knows
no bounds.
Delight in torturing
and killing people
Demonic human beings
Surely crated in a hell
Sadists every one
The bigger question is
why do we have to have
these monsters in this world?

Bob Boyd

Supposedly yeasts were used “to turn plastics and other waste into edible proteins, fats and flavourings.”

“Plastic is carbon and food is carbon, so why not look
into food,” a Dr Lihiru Jayacody said.

And with a 3D printer, disc-shaped cookies were created
that in no way look appetizing.

I don’t know about you, but to me, food, plastic and waste
do not go together.

Besides, according to the latest reports, we have plenty of
microplastics in us already. So no thanks to more plastics

in the form of crappy, plastic cookies.

Bob Boyd

I saw a documentary once where three men had
sex dolls they said were their girlfriends.

A fourth said his sex doll was his wife, and he
treated the doll with tenderness as one would a wife.

To my surprise, I didn’t find any of these men weird,
and I could tell they legitimately loved the dolls.

I even found the men likable in spite of their
unusual choices for a girlfriend or a wife.

And I could see the benefits, if one were imaginative
enough. No arguments, no jealously, no cheating, no

broken hearts, always there for you, totally agreeable,
guaranteed shared interests, and no unkind words.

And because I believe human to human romantic love
is designed by Nature solely for procreation, in my

opinion, it doesn’t matter if a person finds romantic love
in a sex doll or an AI as long as it works for that person.

Besides, far as we know, romantic love is temporary;
it ends with a break up or when Death ends it.

And in a way, I wish I could have the imagination to
have a doll for a girlfriend or a wife; it sure would

have made my romantic involvements easier, less
painful and far more lasting. But, alas, no doll, no

AI girlfriend, in my mind and in my heart, could
ever take the place of a lovely flesh and blood

enchanting, human woman. No way.

Bob Boyd

I haven’t had a drink in 50 years, but … in my misspent
youth, I drank to insane excesses. Back in 1966 or so,

I was in a bar in Zweibruecken, Germany getting drunk
on my keister, and a young German woman, unappealing

and crazy acting to me, kept trying to get my indifferent
attention until, about six beers later, she began looking

beautiful to me, and I bought her a drink and walked
her home, thinking I was going to get lucky, but

when we got near where she lived, a woman started
shouting at her, and that shout somehow sobered me

up enough that I realized I had been deceived by the
beers, and I didn’t want to be with this woman. And I

definitely didn’t want to wake up in the morning with
her, so I fled in the night and saved myself from a

horrible morning, and I never saw that curious woman again.

Bob Boyd

Suppose what the people who have been
clinically, temporarily, dead say is true.

Suppose when we die we go up the white light
tunnel like a passageway between this life and the next.

Suppose after that we go somewhere where we
have a life review and see the good and the

not so good things we did in this life and have God
or someone angelic with us without any punishment:

the purpose being to help us grow more spiritually.
Then, if we’re lucky or blessed, we experience

Source, also known as God, and the unconditional
love beyond conditional love, beyond imagination,

and beyond words. And a place that you know is
your real home, a home you never want to leave.

And say that all is true – despite Science claiming
it’s only illusions, separate and shared, when

the brain is shutting down as a person is dying
and dead is just dead and nothing more –

what I wonder is, where do all the millions,
probably zillions or more, of spirits stay

disembodied in the afterlife?

Bob Boyd

In the mid-sixties they graduated from high school
and decided they wanted to become bad-asses,

so Mark and Andy joined the US Marines and
looked forward to returning home as tougher guys.

Mark got kicked out of boot camp; he wasn’t
tough enough to hack it.

Andy got through boot camp, but was sent to the
far east, where unknown to him before he enlisted,

the Vietnam war was heating up, and he hadn’t
signed up to go to war.

But, worse than that, though he’d been a hero in the
war, he came home dead in a body bag.

Bob Boyd

I met her in college.
She was cute and
fun. It seemed like
we had something
until a friend gave
us a ride one day
and she said who
is your friend? and
I saw the writing on
the wall then and
knew she was too
flighty for me. As I
anticipated my so-
called friend took
her out, and that
was the last of me
and flighty her. And
she didn’t last with
him either, probably
moved on to some
other guy, and I was
glad to be rid of her.
And I expect my so-
called friend was too.

Bob Boyd

Ben dabbled in the paranormal, Ouija boards,
tarot cards, seances, divining et cetera.

He claimed he became a medium and was
conversant with spirits in the ether.

People came to Ben for messages from the dead;
he told them all sorts of phony tales.

A black magic witch, incognito, visited him and asked
him to contact her dead son named Amon.

When Ben began his fake spirits contact ritual, his face
turned ashen, blood poured out of his eyes and ears.

The witch cackled, and Ben fell to the floor stone dead
with his face frozen stiff in horror.

Bob Boyd

I see in you more
than the stars in the sky
more than the planets
spinning in the cosmos
I see in you
everything I’ve
always wanted
always needed

Bob Boyd

Presumably you have more brains than a fly,
and unlike a fly, you can read and write,
talk, sing, and do many things a fly cannot,
except stick to and walk up walls and fly.

But maybe when you breath you last breath
all those superior advantages will slip away
when your heart stops beating, and you die
just like a fly and become as insignificant.

Bob Boyd

I’ve been living so long that I no longer fear dying.
I see it as the awakening of a lifetime or, maybe

better, the relocation of a lifetime with perks like
seeing and hearing a Jimmy Buffet concert for free,

or perpetual peace and bliss in an ethereal paradise
with the soulmate I never found in this life like

the elusive forever afters the fairy tales held the
promise of but never delivered for me.

At the very least, I’ve lived long enough, sucked
enough life out of this existence, and I long to

see and experience what I see as the mysteries
and the wonders of the great beyond.

How about you, reader wearing blue?

Bob Boyd

Some people say when we dream we astral travel.
Maybe that’s true, but I don’t think we do, and

I’ve never had any sense of living my body in
some kind of ethereal, OBE dream. For example,

one day I was watching a woman doing ASMR
in a YouTube video, and her ASMR was soothing.

That night I saw and felt her in a dream performing
ASMR on me, which I see as a dream memory of

what I observed/experienced during the day.
Of course, I’ve also had dreams that had nothing

to do with what I saw or experienced during the day.
And I have had many dreams about woman I’ve

never met or known. Now maybe I met them during
astral travels, but, if so, I wish I could see them again.

Bob Boyd

His days speed by like cars racing on the Indy 500.
His body, with 90 years of use, is breaking down
like an ancient, outdated Ford Model T car.
He’s lost most of his hair and some of his breath.
If he falls on the floor, he cannot get up, and he
prays he never falls in the bathroom with his
head hitting the hard floor, but sometimes he
almost wishes he would as much as his life
is near nonexistence and he’s in constant pain.
Tired, as usual, he eases into an arm chair
and prays to God to take him away from his
barely tolerable, pain-ridden, miserable life.

Bob Boyd

The old man shuffles down the corridor on a walker
and wonders where his wife is who died a year ago.

He’s in a nursing home but doesn’t always know
where he is.

He’s medicated twice daily, and when he’s cognizant,
plays bingo in a well carpeted room with other

residents, whose names he sometimes remembers.
And when he’s self aware while playing bingo,

he thinks to himself —

how the hell did I come to this?

Bob Boyd

many of them dreaming dreams
envisioning their bright futures

some of them dead before they’re
old enough to dream

some can never dream any dreams
born too incapacitated

some are murdered in the midst
of their dreams

the fortunate realize their dreams
the unfortunate never do

maybe we dream beautiful dreams
in the afterlife

dreams that come true

Bob Boyd

In his twenties, Jonathan’s avowed goal in life was to become a great poet, and he was well on his way to achieving that goal:

he had many poems published, won a few contests, and was completely committed to his craft.

Because there wasn’t any money in poetry unless you became renowned and sold many poetry books,

he had to work at odd jobs to get by financially.

One day, after being lonely without a woman in his life, he decided to try a dating app.

But he learned most of the women on the app were mercenary and couldn’t lower their financial requirements by going out with a

low-income poet, despite the fact that Jonathan was a caring, honest, and loving guy who would have been an ideal boyfriend

or husband for any of them. Disgusted with the greedy women on the dating app, he gave up on women and decided to stay solo

until, at a poetry reading, he met Melinda, who loved his poetry and was more about true love than money.

After a year of dating, Melinda and Jonathan got married, and friends who knew them said they both were lucky to have found

ideal marriage partners who were about true love instead of riches and material things.

Bob Boyd