Don’t Go There

Bridgewater Triangle, a dark place where evil spirits, cryptids, and aliens dwell
Disembodied voices, feelings of dread, terrifying visions, many fear to enter there
Maybe a vortex of unholy, hellish things from this dimension and others
If ever you choose to go there, don’t be surprised if you feel afraid
To take too many steps in, and if you go too far in, you might never get out.

Bob Boyd

Conversion

Cancer and heart failure robbed him
At seventy and six years of perfect health,
His immortality evaporated, illusion exposed
Reduced to an endangered, terminal mortal.
Death sensing the opportunity drooled and circled
Like a ravenous vulture eyeballing vulnerable him.
Resigned to the inevitably of that hungry bird reaper
Consuming his tenuous mortal life someday
Decided he needed roadmaps before
His assisted departure into the Great Beyond.
Remembered NDEs he read in the seventies,
Reread about the Life Review, the White Light,
The Unconditional Love none wanted to leave,
The true home, more real, less dreamlike
Then the earthbound temporary life.
Listened to many NDEs on YouTube,
Heard about the order in the chaos,
Seen by some of the NDErs, clinically dead.
Death became the ultimate awakening.
He wanted to experience the mysteries, the wonders.
Then he read horrible NDEs of atheists, terrified,
thought they were in Hell, demons, hellfire, damnation.
Desperate, tormented, horrified, thought about Christ,
Hoping for help, suspended their hard nosed disbeliefs,
Prayed and pleaded to Christ, saw no other way out.
He heard their contrite prayers, appeared in Light,
Whooshed them out of the fires and torments of Hell.
Returned to life Believers, some became ministers.
The newly minted mortal awed by the validation
Asked Christ to forgive his sins and come into his life.
Full blown Believer miraculously morally enhanced
Looks forward to meeting Christ at the doorway to death.

Bob Boyd

Tin Hat

Given billions of planets are considered habitable
Believed life had to exist on other planets
Somewhere.

Didn’t believe all the claims of UFO sightings
And numerous abduction claims in the US
Until —

The government came clean and acknowledged
The Existence.

Now the gates of my mind have opened
And torrents of UFO and abduction stories
Pour In.

Tall Whites, Grays, Reptilians, Nordics and more,
Aliens living in the sea, underground, shape shifting,
Mutilating cows, experimenting on humans,
Impregnating young women, collecting human semen,
Colluding with the Government, might be
Advanced human Civilizations time traveling,
Benevolent or malevolent agendas. Does anyone
Know For Sure?

My mind is so flooded, so overwhelmed, with
Theories so vast, I was better off, a simpler life,
Before I put on a tin hat and gave credence
To It All.

Bob Boyd

High Value Woman

Mary Callahan lived a simple, quiet life.
Never had a lot of money, raised in a poor family,
Good, honest, noble people, supportive and kind.
Never knew the high life and its excesses,
Didn’t desire extravagances or expensive things.
Never cared for overpriced fancy restaurants,
Content with inexpensive ones minus the glitz.
Never compromised her praiseworthy ethics,
Trustworthy in her work, true in her love.
Never cheated on her devoted, faithful husband,
Married at 17, kept her vows, sacred to her.
Never paid attention when told young love doesn’t last,
Stayed married to her husband until he died at age 55.
Never married or went with another man after he died,
Believed she’d be with her husband when she passed away.
Never missed a Sunday church service,
Brought food and joy to homebound church members.
Never shirked family responsibilities,
Raised her dead daughter’s child, worked two jobs to do it,
A true and humble high value woman.

Bob Boyd

Mortality

The clock is ticking. Your life is running out.
Is that important or a thought avoided by you,
Your inescapable, destined demise?
Or most of the time do you fool yourself
Unconsciously feeling like you’ll live forever
Even though sometimes you wake up
And your mortality briefly makes you uneasy
Quickly suppressed, hidden in your mind
Too dreadful a reality to dwell upon.
Till a life threatening medical condition
Invades your body and your anxious mind
And your mortality becomes front and center.
But that possible clock stop can be liberating,
A time for great personal and spiritual growth.

Bob Boyd

Love Can Find A Way

Al and his wife Eleanor inhabited a tiny house off grid in mystical Taos, New Mexico.
For a while their lives were idyllic living off the Taos desert land
Before an obscure band of zombies, unreported by the MSM,
Their origin story unknown as mysterious as UAPs,
Roamed Taos rabidly seeking unsuspecting human prey.
While Eleanor was tending her garden of prickly pear cacti
Behind their tiny house, the sun ducked behind a dark cluster of clouds in the New Mexico skies,
A pitiful little girl zombie approached her crying and growling
Not suspecting a zombie, but thinking the child in shock, her body in tatters,
Perhaps from an awful auto accident maiming her body and mind,
Eleanor, a woman of great compassion, concerned, worried for the innocent little girl
Invited her into her house to console her and dress her wounds
And drive her to the Holy Cross Medical Center for medical attention.
Al wasn’t home at that time, hiking in the environs, enjoying the flora and the sunny day.
Before Eleanor could help the girl, she bit Eleanor on the jugular vein and
After a few unheard gurgling screams, the wound fatal, Eleanor died.
The little girl zombie feasted on her for a few moments, her young appetite easily sated
And ambled away at a frightfully fast pace for a zombie.
Eleanor rose from the dead pretty much brain dead and zombified.
Al returned home horrified; he’d seen enough zombie movies
To know Eleanor’s irreversible plight, not wanting to share her fate
He locked Eleanor out of their house and prayed for a miraculous restoration of Eleanor’s former living life every night.
After one week of Eleanor scratching and pounding on their front door,
Al missed her desperately, despite the deal breakers of her walking dead disease,
And still loving her like the in sickness and in health marriage vow they solemnly shared in a little Methodist church in Idaho
He opened the door and took her in his arms while she
Bit into his jugular and ended his free spirit life.
Somehow her romantic instincts, her wifely loyalty, survived her zombically deactivated mind.
When Al returned to life zombified, she kissed him on what remained of his face,
And they walked withered hand in withered hand to some distant neverland,
Proving even for the zombified – love can find a way.

Bob Boyd

Separation

They’d been together 44 years
until at age 70 when
her mind began to slip
and blanked out.

Then it became like
they were no
longer together –
she didn’t know him
anymore.

His heart broke at
her loss of memory,
her loss of self
recognition.

He still loved her, but
she no longer loved him or
knew who he was. Love was not
supposed to be like that.

Bob Boyd

Rasboras

Rasboras, rasboras, why is your species always on the bottom of my aquarium?
Plentiful food carefully scattered on surface of the aquarium, ignored by you.
How do you keep from starving? I never see you eat.
Since you remain alive and don’t get emaciated.
You must, no offense, be bottom feeders subsisting on fallen flakes from the surface table.
But why not go first class and swim to the top and enjoy the full buffet?
In truth, you’re a never ending submerged mystery to me.
Thought you’d be all over the tank like a bright tailed, rambunctious guppy.
You just scurry around barely above the bottom, otherwise you seem to be hiding.
A snail is more fun, a turtle more active. Maybe you’re just shy.
Despite those seeming drawbacks, you have an uncanny appeal.
Your swimming is unconventional, you dart instead of true swimming.
And unlike duller colored fish, you are an attractive strawberry color.
And I must admit in rare moments I do see you dart almost to the surface.
Maybe one of you is an anomaly or a rebel rebelling, who occasionally breaks free.
Fun to watch, cool to see, rasboras, rasboras.

Bob Boyd

Old Single Women Nonsense

Tired of old single women
I’m too old for their nonsense
lack the patience, won’t engage,
better an old monk poet,
and compassionate helper.

Sticking with poetry and Service —
loves of my life, writing poems,
helping people.

Blissful with the right woman,
finding one at my age,
risks of ongoing drama,
tensions, disappointments,
ripples in my unperturbed
tranquility.

I don’t take these women
seriously; some far too
young; some touched me,
as if interested,
means nothing,
foolish girly games
too old to play.

Having a quiet peaceful life.
raising the MGTOW banner
going full monk mode,
maybe better luck in
the afterlife, a soulmate
awaiting me, my heart,
my mind, free of the
old single woman
nonsense here.

Bob Boyd

A Good Catch

Leslie had no time for Winston,
His flashy cars, his inheirited wealth, his bragging
His big balance credit cards, his designer clothes,
Meant nothing to her.

Nancy, a different breed,
A keen eye for self-enrichment,
Saw the benefits, the monied life,
Overlooked the negatives, worth the sacrifice.

Leslie married a male social worker,
Who aiding the poor, the disabled, the elderly,
More about Service to others than the money.
They didn’t have the rich trappngs;
They had the true love.

Nancy married Winston, a lavish wedding,
Landed the big fish, mined the gold,
Lived the abundant, material life,
Got everything she wanted …
Except true love.

Bob Boyd

Aliens As Us In Time Machines

Consider the theory that aliens are the future us,
A curious evolutionary leap, more so than
Cro-Magnons to our current refined appearances.
Imagine future humans, theorized to look like this:
Reconfigured faces and bodies in a far future,
Larger heads, bigger brains, oval eyes, thinner bodies,
Navigating the past in saucer-shaped time machines.
Perhaps traveling back in time but for what,
An attempt to reshape humanity’s future
Stop a nuclear war that would kill off many of us?
And why so mysterious and obscure?
If the theory is remotely plausible
And speaking of time, maybe, as the saying goes
Time will tell.

Bob Boyd

Earth’s Burdens

As I grow older life speeds up as I slow down.
I imagine the planet spinning faster, unfelt by me,
Except for the faster time and my slower life.
Maybe me going slower to stay balanced in
The whirlwind cycles of impatient earth,
I imagine impatient to see another human gone,
A life spun away into an ever lighter corpse,
Less weight for earth to carry.
Another burdensome human gone,
The planet spins on.

Bob Boyd

Aliens Under The Sea

Aliens in spacecrafts
flying in and
out of the sea
real or utter bunk
credible witnesses
seemingly
but man made
or extraterrestrial
If aliens, grays,
tall whites
reptilians or
little green men?
An agreeable
mystery to me
I’m beginning to
like bizarre
theories and beliefs
Fills a little time
with fascinating
stories and claims
like all these Bigfoot
sightings with no
body alive or dead
and no irrefutable proof.
But back to seagoing
Alien air and sea crafts
Here’s another theory
maybe AI robots
collecting whatever
from the sea and
as unable to communicate
with us as a kid’s
windup toy.
Or maybe they’re
interdimensional.

Bob Boyd

Clinically Dead Never More Alive

Spoke to one of the post clinically dead
yesterday.

She can’t wait to go back to the Light
and the Love.

I yearn to go there too and experience
the wonders of the Light and the Love

beyond this often unfair, sometimes
dangerous, coin toss life.

Too many things in this impermanent
world I no longer like.

Let me fly to the higher one in a
heavenbound kite.

And bask in the Light of eternal
peace.

To live forever in the unimaginable,
the no one wants to leave it, the
unconditional Love.

Bob Boyd

Angela

At first you seemed angelic,
your face, your voice, even
your name.

But when you got
comfortable the darkness
crawled out of your soul.

Even your angel face
changed, eyes in unguarded
moments evil.

At times your voice
lost its sweetness,
sounded malevolent.

And you became
insanely jealous
of Gina, my coworker,

culminating in you
enrage and armed shooting
her and me at work.

I survived, Gina didn’t.
you vanished, and the
police learned

your MO was to get insanely
jealous and kill any
perceived rivals,

six in five states, reinventing
yourself with different names
and disguises each kill.

I don’t know it there’s a hell
but I believe you’ll be
somewhere like that

when you die, probably a
horrible death, and that’s
revenge enough for me.

Bob Boyd

Crime Show

At first phenomenal love
then nuptial bliss and two kids
years later passions refrigerated
boredom on front burner
dalliances, hers and his.

Affairs discovered
divorce lawyers consulted
custody battle for kids
bitter wife and paramour
plan permanent solution
kill husband get kids
and her insurance money
husband forgot to fix.

Met with recommended hitman
undercover cop.

Bob Boyd

A Granny Is Good Enough For Me

why you liking on grannies
benny said i said at 78 i’m too
damn old for pretty young things
you got to get realistic when
your testosterone is practically
on life support and your mojo
is nearly on empty and you ain’t
what you once was when you
could party all night and without
sleep work all day with barely
a yawn what do you want me
to do party all night and wreck
myself and be the no fool like the
old fool and be fooling myself
with a pretty young thing young
enough to be my granddaughter
hell at my old age even being
with a woman of 50 is like
robbing the cradle besides
with a cool granny I can
reminisce about woodstock
love ins psychedelic music the
peace and love days and
nights of the age of aquarius
the beatles white album
getting back to the garden
being bummed out turned on
and heavy and outasight
and groovy and going to
california with flowers in
our hair so give me a fine
as vintaged wine old granny
and let’s make rock and roll
love till those cows in woodstock
come home and those chickens
come home to roost – if we
can without busting hips
bursting varicose veins and
increasing aches and pains
excuse me gotta go late for
my hot date at the nursing home.

Bob Boyd

Male Actors With Ugly Wives

YouTube video entitled something
Like Male Actors with Ugly Wives
Insulting, unkind, cruel, and crass.
More like mature male actors with
Wonderful wives not self obsessed.
Beauty superficial, overrated
In a telling moment can lose
its superficial glitter
When an ugly personality
Lurks behind beautiful eyes.
And beauty soon gone with the
age erasing, impending years.
So called ugly wives a
better choice, more beautiful
In their own ways. Their inner
Beauty a constant, lifelong
Comfort to their husbands.

Bob Boyd

The Gardeners

Earth seeded by aliens
A cosmic flower pot
Many humans flowering
Some poisonous weeds
Some roses and clover
Extraterrestrial gardeners
Will prevent nukes from raining
Saviors of the Eden Garden
Or clinical observers
Of their grand experiment
Uninvolved in the outcome
Of a species likened to insects
Compared to their vastly higher
intellects and advanced civilization
True or incredibly false, and
Where would Jesus, Buddha,
and Krishna fit into all of this?

Bob Boyd

Real Love

My love for you is so pure, so true, so strong that
I could even love you beyond the pleasures,
the ecstasies, of consummated physical love –
platonically.

My love for you is a higher everlasting love beyond
the ravishes of aging, the illnesses, the infirmities,
the declining passions, beyond anything and everything –
unendingly.

I love you immeasurably, and as long as you want me to,
I will keep on loving you no matter our trials or our fates,
and I will cherish you and love you always and –
eternally.

Bob Boyd

conned by the moon

full moons always screw with me
mess with my brain misfire synapses
spontaneous reckless choices
set me up with moon beam troubles
stay in full moon nights once badly beamed
twice shy and only fool me once
hiding inside protective tin hat on head
garish crucifix around neck holy water sprinkled
watched YouTube videos none with moons
you may think I’m nuts for what I did
me under full moon you’re probably right
frantic loud knocks on my door sweet girly voice
help me please help me I’m dying of thirst
goth woman maybe 22 that dark eye makeup
kinda scary looking in morgue black clothes
obscene dental worked fanged teeth
pierced everythings on her face
unforgettable horror movie smile
could I give her a drink of water
trickster full moon clouded my mind
forgot to be wary of strangers
especially vampiric-looking ones
you know how they always say
trust your instincts listen to that small
voice inside of you when it says
something like MAYDAY! MAYDAY!
because of those damn full moon
beams my instincts and small
voice offline needed a reboot
forgot how to do because
transformed into mindless lunar loon
turned my back to get her a glass of water
good deed punished goth girl had gun
shot banged loudly bullet in my back
passed me out losing a lot of blood life exiting
goth girl rummaged my apartment stole all my goods
and my beloved 2001 Dodge Ram pick up truck
ex girlfriend neighbor heard shot
despite nasty break up still had a heart
drove to the ER few minutes up the street
me close to dead bleeding on car’s upholstery
mumbled an I’m sorry before passing out again
died on the examination table temporarily
rose out of my clinically dead body
astral traveled to the moon kicked its ass
okay I’ll admit it hallucinating but when the paddles
slammed me back to life damn It felt real
like sweet revenge on the moon
the murderous evil goth girl drove my ram
into a garbage truck ironically
probably drugged up and mercy mercy
unlike me clinically than terminally dead
presumably woke up in a dark goth hell
I miss my truck

Bob Boyd

Shiva’s Dance

Do the Hindus have it right;
Shiva’s dance a real or
metaphoric thing?

A universe created and
destroyed in cycles,
who came up with that?
Shiva?

Imagine cosmos and
our world, starting over
again and again –
indefinitely.

No one trick pony,
recurring circus.
New entertaining delights,
different life forms each time.
Maybe green and gray
alien-looking creatures.

Recurring creation and destruction:
In like manner, do we recur too,
reincarnation maybe.
Who really knows?
Shiva?

If pure mythology,
still spiritually cool.
Dance of Shiva statue
amazing, loaded
with deep symbolism.
The mantra is cool
and powerful:
Om Namah Shivaya.

Tried it once, intense
and images of tigers
everywhere I went,
even on TV.
Shiva Synchronicity.

Bob Boyd

Passing Women

Passing women in this brief life,
what’s the point? Procreation
of the species? Or are these
parades of princesses merely
random encounters, some, one,
or none, that stick to a man’s
millisecond life in the timeless
eternity and make him happy,
miserable or nonplussed. And
why is the nearly irrepressible
need for a female’s endearments
and addictive charms ingrained
in a man’s DNA to his dying day?
And how is it some monk men
seem immune to this persistent
need? At times, eight years strong,
I have been one of those monk men –
almost, not quite. Yet sometimes
stirring amore undercurrents still
well up in me breathing unguarded,
old man foolish longings into my
weathered heart. Occasionally
I ponder will death rid me of
this resurfacing need, that
I repress and try to negate, my
resistance borne of too many
disappointments and painful
heartaches, or unite me with
a bona fide eternal soulmate,
disappointments and heartaches
nevermore.

Bob Boyd

Summer Love

Sixteen each, we met at the YMCA dance and I trembled
when I got the courage to ask you for a dance, I remember
the band played Sixteen Candles. You honest to God felt like
an angel in my arms, your beautiful blonde hair heavenly,
your sky blue eyes, divine. I think I fell in love with you the
moment you were In my arms; it all felt so natural, so true,
so incredibly real, like nothing I’d ever experienced.

It was so many years, so many summers ago, I can’t remember
who said I love you first. I only remember I meant it forever. I
remember I loved you so much I would have died for you
without hesitation, without reservation.

And oh my God those kisses on the banks of the pond,
the pond waters caressing the shore, my head in you lap
looking up at your sunlit angelic face, captivated by your smile
and how beautiful you looked, how intoxicatingly sweet your
perfume was when I inhaled it with my every breath, and the
soft summer green grass like a love nest enveloping us in
romantic bliss and how when summer was over it was so hard,
so painful to be apart from you, sweet you.

I remembered how we planned to get married when we
graduated from high school, and how your heart was so true.
And how even though you lived faraway in New Jersey and
I lived in Massachusetts you spent your summers in Woburn
the city I lived In, and how I went to your prom in
Montclair, New Jersey before the summer love faded into a
dark frozen winter when all the summer flowers and our love
wilted and died. And how I cried and cried and cried.

And you broke what I thought was our forever vow when you
cheated on me with some guy going to Rutgers U., and I
remember how I never knew I had a heart that could be
shattered into a million pieces that would take years to put back
together, misspent years of dissipation and dissolution
not caring if I lived or died, such was the agony of the
fairy tale evermore love lost.

It was even more painful because I stayed true to you beyond
the distance, beyond the seasons, and I would have stayed true
to you eternally. Even now decades hence and me like a monk in
the world, sometimes I still think of what might have been,
what could have been. But alas we’re not sixteen anymore and
Sixteen Candles was so long ago, and you might be dead
and I almost was, and if we were to meet again, maybe I’d wake up
and see it was only like a dream, and that teenage summer
love was never meant to be, and I’d dry my older, wiser eyes.

Bob Boyd

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