Poems by Bob Boyd

An astrologer in downtown Kansas City
Said my stars were perfectly aligned
“Todays the day you’ll meet the love of your life.”
I couldn’t believe that doubtful prediction.
Until in a quaint coffee cafe in another part of the city
While I sipped some exotic Zimbabwe tea
An insanely pretty Lithuania woman
Stopped at the table where I sat, and in a sweet
Lithuanian accent asked if she could sit with me
Speechless, astonished, amazed, I nodded yes.
Then I knew the astrologer had been right.
The prediction was coming true.
As if in a dream, the Lithuanian beauty said,
What’s your sign?
That astrological enquiry was further proof
The reading of the stars had been right.
I smiled gleefully and proudly proclaimed,
“I’m a Pisces, a dreamer of dreams,”
She said “I’m a Leo, you’ll never do.”

Bob Boyd

In his youth he was an Adonis.
Rippling muscles adorned his physique.
He had the V shaped body others envied.
He had the chiseled big muscles few could attain.
He enjoyed admiring looks from many women.
Now he’s an old man past 80, his muscles erased.
His V shape body eradicated.
He looks like he never worked out.
You cannot tell he was an adonis once.
Age related sarcopenia slayed his physique.
It stripped away his muscles and V shape.
As he grew older and closer to becoming
just another muscleless skeleton buried in the earth.

Bob Boyd

Murders everyday and everywhere
Unabated and unceasing
Too many dark hearts in this world
Too many dark deeds committed
It seems we will always have murderers
It seems some of us by nature are bad seeds
A blight upon the harvest of humans evermore

Bob Boyd

I have to wonder why everything seems
to procreate.
Obvious it is to advance and multiply
each and everything.
But what is with this necessity to
always increase each and everything?
Why does this treadmill of constant
births exist that seems to go round
and round ad infinitum?
Many never question this.
Many just accept things as they are.
But me I have to wonder the why of
it all.

Bob Boyd

He had a gun for 50 years.
He only shot it once.
He kept it for protection
in case of a break in of
his and his wife’s house.
At age eighty-eight he
used the gun for the
first time when his wife
had died and left him
alone and depressed.
The shot rang out above
his TV’s loud chatter.
And he lay dead with
a bullet in his head.

Bob Boyd

Though some people thought she was beautiful,
she always said she was cute.
Perhaps she was both.
Beautiful to some, cute to others.
I decided on cute because to me cuteness is
often more appealing than beautiful.
Beautiful can be offputting and distant.
Cute can be sweet and approachable.
Cute can make one smile, with a charming appeal
beautiful often lacks.
Beautiful can be high maintenance.
Cute is usually less materialistic and more natural.
Whatever the case, beautiful or cute, I wish
I could have been with her, but I was too old
for her and she was too young for me.
But I’ll never forget her cuteness, more
beautiful to me than any beautiful woman
I’d ever known or seen.

Bob Boyd

He had a lucrative career as a successful
stockbroker, made enough money through sales
and investments to live an extravagant life.
After thirty years of chasing money above
all other things he felt an emptiness in his
life that he urgently needed to fill.
After days and nights of contemplation,
he chucked his stockbroker career, gave
most of his money away, and sought God
in a Trappist monk monastery.
Three months later he unexpectedly died
of a massive heart attack at age 54, perhaps
a part of him beyond his perception saw his
impending death and led him to God in his
final days.

Bob Boyd

All he wanted was
an unvexed life.
He didn’t find it
until he died.

Bob Boyd

This morning the cicadas are chirping
madly in the trees.
Their chirps are almost deafening.
Those crooner bugs must be especially
romantic today.
I hope all their amped up chirps sound
like alluring love songs to their potential
female mates.
Unlike many humans, they mate for life,
but when you only live a few weeks after
you mate, it has to be easier to have
a lasting love.
Even I could do that even with a raucous
or an incompatible wife.
wonder if to their three weeks are the
equivalent of a seventy year human
life.
One thing I know. I’ve never made a
racket to try to find a new love.
Maybe I should have. It sure works for
the cicadas who find mates for life.

Bob Boyd

When many people are close to dying,
they struggle to hold onto life.
When a person is young that makes
sense to me.
At a certain point when a person grows
real old, say past 80, and illnesses and
balance and mobility issues creep in,
why hold onto an old, decaying life?
I can see it if you still have an other
that you love and don’t want to leave
behind in this life.
But in most cases if the quality of your
life is down to nil and you’ve lived a
long life, why hold onto a losing
proposition?
Better to just let go if death is near
than to struggle against the inevitable.
Besides, maybe in death you’ll find
freedom.
Freedom from the agonies of aging
and the stresses and strifes of this
passing life.
As for me, I won’t be holding on, and
I see death as a friend who will relocate
me to a better world.

Bob Boyd