pigeons in the air
flying time out of their loft
a hawk closing in
Bob Boyd
Writing free verse poetry
pigeons in the air
flying time out of their loft
a hawk closing in
Bob Boyd
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
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
When I lived in
the Philippines
rats a problem
scared baby rat
scurried past
me in
hand clothes
washing area
stick in hand
could have
killed it
and though
clearly vermin
too cute
too innocent
to kill.
Bob Boyd
shark swimming near me
freaked out I swim at warp speed
my leg a shark treat
Bob Boyd
Creation is a confused mix to me.
Dinosaurs before humans?
And dinosaurs had to die,
and humans 66 million years
later? Why, why, why?
Why not humans first omitting
what might have been an impressive
but earthly mistake? Dinos, a
gargantuan mistake erased and
replaced with fresh start primitive
grunting homo sapiens?
With untold numbers and species
of dinos canceled like Creator’s
temporary humongous Tonka Toys,
boring compared to more bells and
whistles humans with greater growth
potential.
Yet still less fun weird prehistoric-
looking stuff floating around ocean’s floor.
and boring single-celled Protozoa.
What’s the point of the single-celled?
And some can mess with the health
of humans. Think about it. What the
hell’s the point of that and them?
And damn Sam illiterate humans
like Cro-Magnons before Christ
became the only ticket to escape
this confused mix and not go
somewhere worse when expired.
Were the Cro-Magnons divinely
screwed evaporating into
nothingness with the dinos?
Or too early born fated to reincarnate
exhaustively over and over and over
endless roulette wheel of coming and
going spins until by luck or merit they
win the prize of saving grace?
Maybe Buddha and Krishna had it
right? Dinos, humans, and everything
in the weird mix reincarnating until enough
evolved rebirth free super liberated humans
like Buddha, Krishna, and Christ. Maybe
all a bunch of random hooey. Out of
nothing back into nothing, and
that’s the wrap.
Bob Boyd
werewolf on the loose
not worried about the beast
my son having fun
Bob Boyd
night of a full moon
scared something bad would happen
girlfriend said goodbye
Bob Boyd
Like a werewolf, Phil went crazy
on full moon nights seeking fights
he prowled bars hard eying male patrons
goading them into anything goes fist fights,
which he always won, as if the powered up
moonbeams made him unstoppable, like a
lycanthropic creature of the night.
Foolishly, a humped back old man,
bent with age, picked a fight with Phil,
who told the foolish, probably drunk,
geezer he’d get killed fighting him,
a younger, stronger man who never lost
a fight. The old man insanely confident
or with a death wish, called Phil a
lowlife coward. With that insult, Phil
had no choice but to set the old fogey
straight and show him the folly of
fighting an unbeatable foe half his age.
The cocky old man set the terms; in the
alley behind the bar they were to fight
under the moon’s full bright light.
Seconds after they strode into the
alley, an unmanly scream shrieked
through the night, preceding an eerie
silence. Then an unholy howl sounding like
something out of hell, echoed in
the alley and shattered the silence,
terrifying all who heard it. And Phil
never made it out of that alley,
his corpse bloodied and in shreds.
Bob Boyd
Will AI take over everything?
Painting the pictures
Writing the stories
Taking all the jobs
Rendering humans
Unnecessary
Obsolete
Inferior
Useless
Extinct.
Bob Boyd
In June of 92 in upstate New York
on a verdant pasture framed with trees, a cow,
I’ll call Betsy, for lack of her real name, if any,
wandered toward me from behind a wired
fence and hung her head over it, looking at me
as if to say Hello.
Surprised, delighted, amazed I said something
I’ve forgotten to Betsy – not understanding human
speak, she didn’t respond linguistically.
But Betsy stared into my eyes as if
communicating telepathically but not quite.
However, the contact felt good, a contact high,
and I liked just staring at the cow and the cow
staring back at me, as if we had an indescribable,
undefinable human to cow sympatico, as if we had
an interspecies unspoken communication.
Reluctantly, I had to leave Betsy, I was with friends
on our way to other places, but when I said goodbye
to her, I swear by the cow gods above, she
intoned a long mooooooo, as if a long goodbye,
as if we really had an Indescribable, undefinable
human to cow sympatico.
Bob Boyd
Canadian geese above
in perfect V formation
back to Canada
Bob Boyd
Confused by conflicting thoughts
and fears, her mind iffy stood him up,
didn’t answer his calls
rejected nice guy perfect man for her
countless things in common
two months later her mind and
emotions unscattered, fears gone
realized she made a mistake,
lost a good, kind man
called him to apologize and
accept a date with him.
too late, chances gone, good guy lost
he found the right unconfused
woman and had no time for her
after her rejections
and confused nonsense.
It seems I’ve heard this story before.
Bob Boyd
arrived from the stars
sweet, adorable ETs
every human dead.
Bob Boyd
New 200 lbs set of weights
A barn to work out in
Skinny kids pumping up
Presses, curls, squats
Eating soy protein pills
Big muscles guaranteed
Getting stronger
Working out longer
To look like Steve Reeves
Played Hercules in movies
Had the envied physique
Only had to follow
Steve’s workout routine
To get as big and as
Muscular as him
We didn’t know about
Genetics back then.
Bob Boyd
If I could have a
face to face
with God, these
are some of the
questions I’d ask
Him:
Why are some
born into the world
fated with
tormented lives
of mental illness?
Why are some
children barely
out of the womb
stricken with
cancer?
Why do we have
to have
psychopaths and
sociopaths in
this world?
Why wars
murders galore
rapists and
pedophiles
and evil
everywhere?
And why did a
beautiful wife
and mother in
Kentucky her arms
and legs cut off from
a kidney infection
have to suffer such
a horrible fate?
And how could
this inspirational
woman say, “If one
person can see
God from all of this,
that made it all
worth it”?
Then I’d say
forget about the
questions,
pray make me
as saintly as she.
Bob Boyd
Ancient Greeks died
buried with coins
under their tongues,
their safe passage
to the underworld
where Charon,
bearded Ferryman
dressed in a tunic
and conical hat,
ferried the dead
across a river to
Hades, land of the dead
The obol coin, the
cost of admission.
Bob Boyd
Saw a YouTube video today where a guy had what was called a Tpe Doll – instead of a girlfriend or a wife.
Maybe it’s me but it seemed a tad bizarre though to him having the
imitation was perfectly normal as if he were discussing something as natural as drinking a cup of tea.
I had to wonder what he and the doll had in common. Did they talk about current affairs, no pun meant, or movies they’d seen?
I couldn’t believe how he talked on the video, like having the fake women was as natural as talking about a real girlfriend or a wife.
On the other hand, they must be a couple free of drama, his and hers, and no way was she going to leave him or break his heart – as far as I could see.
Or divorce him and drag him through court for some steep alimony or a custody battle for kids, or wrangle over holes in a prenup.
And at least his love doll hobby wasn’t hurting anyone, and if it made him happy, who am I to ridicule his choice. I’ve probably made worse choices in real women in my romantically tattered life.
After all there are worse things people do, like real couples who abuse each other – verbally. Or those you see on crime shows on TV where one murders the other.
My only complaint is to me the doll was overly voluptuous – not my type.
Bob Boyd
Monklike saffron robed
seated full lotus position
sandalwood incense steaming
after pranayamas
and mantra chants
contemplating cosmos
seeking nirvana
basking in transcendental
bliss and peace profound
alleged saint among saints
sinless, renown Satguru
except for hidden dalliances
with adoring female disciples
obeying his every utterance
catering to his every whim
conned into believing tawdry
tantra sex sessions erase
mountains of bad karma
guarantee full liberation
from the wheel of rebirth
in their lifetimes.
Bob Boyd
The many days a psychopathic murderer
spent time in solitary imaging he
was floating on a boat to exotic shores
sailed him away from the deleterious effects
of the dark and dank Isolation.
But his sailing didn’t erase his crime
of murder he got away with in 1983
in a small city, Woburn, Massachusetts,
under the cover of a moonless night
when he slew a solid citizen, a do the
right thing young man, in an impending case
against a quasi hometown gang of
Mafia wannabes accused of grand theft.
During that time, a better killer than
a thief, the psychopath got five years
in prison for a botched armed robbery
and did time in solitary for bludgeoning
another prisoner’s face in, with a
makeshift iron club.
Ironically a day after he was released
from prison, under the cover
of a moonless night, an angry-eyed
mother of the young man he killed
blew his life away in a vengeful shotgun
blast in downtown Woburn, Massachusetts.
Surprisingly, perhaps justifiably,
never a suspect in the homicide,
not even a person of interest
a sunday school teacher,
prim and proper wife of a judge,
sailed away scot free and uncharged.
Bob Boyd
At Saint Joseph’s Oratory in Montreal, Canada
Brother Andre, a Canadian Saint is entombed.
Humble doorkeeper, a brother not a priest
least likely to be used by God, perhaps
the last being first, became a miracle worker
healed ailing supplicants from all over the world,
the power of his supercharged prayers and
unceasing devotion to Saint Joseph.
Never took credit for healing 10,000 or more
so humble, so devout, so saintly was he.
When he died, a million people streamed past his coffin
in reverence to this humble, God-blessed healing saint.
His mortal remains lie in the coffin at the back of the oratory
in a sacred room, a powerful shrine where crutches
of many healed pilgrims adorn the walls.
If you go there, do not be surprised if you feel
palpable saintly energy that will renew you and
replenish your faith. This I write from experience.
Bob Boyd
Cancer is like Humanity’s Russian Roulette
You pull the trigger when you draw your first breath.
Bob Boyd
Ever think of how uncertain your life is?
Consider how in a millisecond it could end
The death strike of a deadly medical condition that kills you slowly, cruelly
A drug infested, cell phone talking driver mows you down crossing a street
A roaring tornado rips up your home and kills you in a deadly whirl
A fanatical death wish tyrant drops a nuke on your country and ends you
A giant asteroid obliterates your city, you, and possibly the human race
The earth unexpectedly, implausibly, spins out of orbit canceling everything
Maybe the hedonists have the right idea, live for today
Party away your fears in mindless nights, don’t think about tomorrows
Or the uncertainty of this fragile existence and your tenuous, temporary life.
Bob Boyd
Amazingly nimble in trees
and on telephone lines.
Dangerously awkward on streets
and at dodging cars.
Squirrel, aerial acrobat,
what’s wrong with you?
In the trees and on telephone lines
none are your equal.
Yet in the streets and in front of cars
you fall apart.
Given you dodge predators in
the air and on the ground.
One would think streets and cars
would be cakewalks by comparison.
Yet thousands of your species
end as roadkill every day.
Maybe the panic I’d feel
seeing a 72 foot brontosaurus
Is the same panic you feel
when you see a giant car.
And you freak out and die
under those killer tires.
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 accused of witchcraft.
But the fun had just begun. Shortly after the trail the 71
behead and burned on the stake, a banner day for
the Lord’s work in the twisted minds of more
Satanic than Godly men, 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 smote 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
Here’s my theory that I will tell:
At first he felt the anguishing weight
of all the horrors, of all the sorrows
of all the deaths upon his darkened soul,
a dark soul no Divine Light could enter
consigned into something akin to Hell,
near eternal penance for the multitudes of
sorrows, horrors, and deaths he like a demon
possessing a madman, cast upon the world.
Conjuring the insidious evil of the Holocaust,
he would endure a similar suffering in a Hell
of his diabolical Karma that would go on and on.
After thousands of years of unspeakable suffering,
humbled and remade enough to begin a gradual
ascent to higher worlds where timeless
years later, he would find a loving forgiving
God awaiting him in an eternal paradise
beyond words, beyond imagination
permeated with unconditional love and
eternal unending bliss.
Of course my theory could be harebrained wrong
Perhaps Hitler was reincarnated repeatedly
as an endangered dog in a country where
a dog was a lip-smacking gourmet delight,
But who among us could be right?
Bob Boyd
My love, sweet Marella, died in 1962; a savage colon cancer took her out.
Only 18, just beginning life to be my forever wife ended.
The day she died I think subconsciously I wanted to drink myself to death.
That mournful night I drank beer, whisky, wine, and other drinks I can’t remember.
I passed out, when I don’t know, woke up in the Emergency Room and was doing okay under the critical circumstances until I remembered Marella was dead.
Perhaps because I was little more than a lamenting, lifeless corpse full of booze crying uncontrollable tears, I died of a broken heart when my ticker stopped ticking and I was clinically dead.
Above my body watching doctors frantically trying to save me, I didn’t want to go back to my devastated life without Marella, my sweet Marella.
As if she read my thoughts, Marella appeared before me in spirit, dressed in a white glowing gown looking more beautiful and more radiant than she ever did on earth.
Transmitting thoughts, reading each others minds, talking was impossible, we swore a love allegiance, and Marella told me as surely as the stars lit up the night sky we’d be together again and forever.
Cruelly, at that glorious, unforgettable moment I was slammed back into my body, a doctor pounding paddles on my chest, the feel of my body heavy and uncomfortable after being in my light, ethereal body.
Now each night I meet Marella in dreams, and a dream wife is good enough for me, my love for her strong enough to wait until I really die and I’m reunited with my sweet Marella forever.
Bob Boyd
Dark, evil entities shrouded in religious garb, misogynistic killers of harmless women falsely condemned as witches
The Malleus Maleficarum, their book of unparalleled evil and rampant devilry in the holocaust of mothers, daughters, aunts, and sisters.
60,000 to 300,000, mostly women, tortured, scorched to death on stakes in flames of hypocrisy that fanned witch hunters’ demonic femicides.
Sociopathic fiends cloaked in faux religious fervor killing innocent women with the imprimatur of Catholic Church inquisitions.
The witch hunters and their Malleus Maleficarum now dead historical infamy.
Real, harmless witches now abound, at one with nature, unfettered and unpersecuted.
Bob Boyd
Unfettered gypsy spirits fearlessly catch cobras and poisonous lizards in India.
Tame cobras, display them in gypsy shows magically controlling the cobras
Gypsy women dancing beautifully, the soft sounds of their whirling feet, mesmerizing mantras.
The air perfumed with sweet sandalwood scents, the ambience extraordinary.
Self-designed radiant clothes, outward displays of joyful liberated lives.
Funerals celebrated with music and dance, death a natural freeing event.
Lives unbound by 9 to 5 grinds; no company owns their souls.
No pressure to be better than others or get degrees from the right colleges and tread
waning career paths desperately trying to get to the top of the heap.
No keeping up with neighbors’ expensive perishables; everything eventually perishes
no matter the glitter.
Pure living, spontaneous, free, now, forever – Cobra Gypsies.
Bob Boyd
Hewn into rock hills in Lalibela
sacred second Jerusalem
stands in Ethiopia.
Place of pilgrimage
sacred site where
pilgrims come to pray.
For over a thousand years
infused with the prayers
of millions.
A giant etched cross
adorns the top sealed
with a promise of heaven.
Stone shrine conferring
blessings, the magnificent
Church of Saint George.
A midwife proficient in herbs,
came under suspicion
in the Burning Times.
Tortured, tried, convicted,
condemned to the stake
dragged to it screaming.
Heartless uncaring tormentors
bound her to the stake laughing.
Her sobbing and tears
drowned out by
the clamor
of the rabid crowd
joyously awaiting
the day’s entertainment,
shouting in unison,
Burn the witch!
Burn the witch!
The stake lit,
her screams above the flames
the crackling, devouring fire
silencing her wailing screams.
When her life burned out,
in the malevolent blaze,
in the foul smelling
dark, smoke filled air,
her soul found release in heaven.
When her tormentors died,
they burned in hell.
Bob Boyd
Only sixteen, she cashiered at a drugstore
In Burlington, Massachusetts after school.
Her sweet uncommonly pretty look enthralled.
Her voice, soft as cotton candy, mesmerized
I would have liked to have gotten to know her
But cruel Fate took her life at only sixteen
Crossing the street in front of the drugstore
A reckless driver and her life was over
So unfair on this earth so many die young
And often suffer senseless terrible deaths
It saddens my heart and makes me wonder why
So many lives are cut short in awful ways
Maybe just random deaths in this crapshoot world.
Bob Boyd
There is too much noise in this daily life
Can’t be good for peoples’ mental health
Annoying noise pollution everywhere.
Why can’t things be quieter like yesteryear?
Why does everyone just accept the noise,
Especially the noise regulators?
I think the only hope for some relief
Would be if a nuke bombed the noise away.
Bob Boyd
I remember in high school
A galaxy away
When a high school girl
Would secretly harbor a crush
On a high school boy
And he’d be oblivious
Unfortunately.
I know I missed out on
Some of those sweet
High School girl crushes.
I remember being told
So and so had a
Wicked crush on me
After the fact and
After she had a
Lucky boyfriend.
If only I’d known.
Bob Boyd
Christos.
The omnipresent.
The omniscient.
The omnipotent.
The unfathomable.
At the core of everything, the planets, the cosmos
The fields, the flowers, the streams,
The rivers, the seas, the skies, the clouds
In all things, in all creatures
In this life, in the next
In death, you will see Christos
White Light brighter
Than the blazing sun
Unconditional Love beyond
Any love you ever experienced
Any love you could ever imagine
The earthbound life you leave
Will dissolve blissfully
In the everlasting brilliance
Of His infinite love
For you and for all creation
In your real home
The eternally blissful
Presence of Christos.
The omnipresent.
The omniscient.
The omnipotent.
The unfathomable.
Bob Boyd
I love the pretty dancing woman at 1:22 minutes
in the rousing 30’s song, I Want To Be Bad.
I love how she so gracefully, so elegantly moves.
My overstimulated imagination wonders what she was like.
I’d like to go back in time and have a chance to meet her,
a lovelorn part of me believes it can see a soulmate
whose love I missed by being born too late for her.
I further dream of our passed ships
docking in the afterlife for love evermore.
Sure it’s crazy, but isn’t love sometimes crazy,
and who could emphatically prove my silly wishful
speculation is utterly impossible nonsense?
Is it not said that truth is stranger than fiction?
So what if this is one of those truths and
a pretty dancing woman in a 30’s song
is my forever soulmate awaiting me
in the afterlife?
Bob Boyd
Sometimes
I wonder about
romantic love.
Is it real or
Nature’s ploy
to propagate
our species.
If that is
the case
what’s the point
of all of it?
Why the endless
streams of
humans flowing
In and out of
existence?
Maybe it’s
merely a
game of
bored gods
With little
better to do.
Bob Boyd
In the sky today
beautiful fluffy
white clouds
like a fluffy
prelude of
the heavens
unfolding
in the sky.
Bob Boyd
People are dying all around me
At work, in my neighborhood, and in the news
Old, middle-aged, young, and babies too.
It’s like the Reaper has been loosened
In my semi-immediate vicinity
Killing people with a dogged impunity.
Worries me about my own mortality
If I’m next on Grim’s hit list
Or in some invisible warzone
With unseeable stealth bombs
Leaving no booms or residues
Quietly taken hordes of people out.
Maybe it’s just the usual suspect
Beelzebub up to his usual MO
Doing his cloven hoofed Devil’s work.
Bob Boyd
Heard an old song about a guy born in a summer when he was 27.
I get that song; it was kind of about me, though not directly.
At age 27, sitting in meditation transcending like many other times
Unexpectedly White Light lit up my head like the sun,
An OMG mindblowing moment unexpected and unprepared for.
Knew I was about to merge with the cosmos
And leave everything near and dear behind
Including my girlfriend Ruth, whom I loved dearly.
Frightened, almost shocked, pulled out of meditation shaking
Three green lights flashed above my head bizarrely.
Days later, outside of meditation Kundalini energy
Flowing from the base of my spine to the top of my head
All through the waking state, an upward pristine flow
Incomparable spiritual energy streaming nonstop
Instinctively knew what went up was never coming down
Thought I was entering Cosmic Consciousness prematurely
A chilling thought, strapped in a psychiatric ward implications
Cosmic Consciousness never happened, but could handle it now.
Over 50 years later, Light born spiritual energy still flows upward
From that OMG mindblowing awakening in an illuminating summer,
A new and better 27-year-old spiritually remade reborn man.
Bob Boyd
It all happened so suddenly and so undetectably that
no one knew what to do with the Aliens who
landed all over America in 2032.
A buzzing sound dominated the skies, and suddenly they were
in every village, town, and city.
Detecting no Imminent danger because the aliens looked
like cute and cuddly teddy bears and seemed affable,
the government held a meeting to decide what to do.
Before the meeting was over, the teddy bear aliens turned evil,
or always were, and shut down everything, the military and defense systems too with that buzzing sound.
Then fast as a second on a watch’s second hand, they captured humans everywhere,
Even the ones in the meeting
Even ones in airplanes
Even ones in submarines
Even ones in coal mines and
Even ones called preppers.
No one was safe. No one escaped.
At first, they cherry-picked the populace maybe for taste tests,
possibly for snacks.
Then with a round of unearthly howls, scarier than wolves, their
voracious appetites took over, and as if in an all-you-can-eat buffet,
they devoured a Guinness Book Record of 341,044, 641 humans in 30 seconds.
At 341,044,642, the total US population, they were too full to eat me.
The aliens, their appetites appeased, buzzed back to wherever
they came from and left me unmolested, unabducted, unprobed,
and uneaten – to my ever-grateful surprise.
Despite my luck, I was lonely until the population count was actually 341,044/643, a bureaucratic error, and another person survived.
By chance or a fortuitous fate, the other survivor was a woman.
I met her in my small town in Idaho, a 30s-something
hot woman named Mandy.
And we became a couple with everything in America ours for free.
Bob Boyd
No need for fear when Death arrives
To take us to the eternity of Love and Light
Relocation to a higher, brighter world
Freed from the uncertainties of this impermanence
Passing illusion, clung to as if our lives go on here forever
Except for occasional reminders of our mortality
Death of loved ones, killer diseases, and more
World on edge with ever-present threats of nuclear holocaust
Murders, wars, atrocities, and injustice across the planet
Tenuous existence, we are like flickering candle flames
Soon to burn out as numberless ones before us
But mercifully saved by Death,
Usher To the eternity of Love and Light.
Bob Boyd
Though you’re an old woman
Or should I say mature,
Your ever-new magnetic charms
Have put such a spell on me
That my heart is possessed
My mind is obsessed
With 24/7 love for you.
Not wanting to risk the agony of
A heartbreaking misadventure
Went on a two-week bender
Mindlessly drunk day and night
Hungover with thoughts of you.
To expunge the love from my
Captive, possessed heart
Ingested a cocktail of drugs
Went crazy, nearly died
Called 911 incoherently
Woke up in the ICU
Mumbling and thinking of you.
Bob Boyd
She is like a winter’s night
Cold and uninviting
Frozen feelings
Never thaw out.
A distant iceberg
The warmth of my charm
The flames of my love
Cannot melt.
In an attempt to unthaw
her remote artic heart
Sent her red roses.
Repulsed, her icy touch
Caused the roses
To wilt, darken, and die.
Bob Boyd
Because I don’t talk or show my feelings
And I’m nonviolent maybe to a fault –
Too highly evolved for violence
Lesser evolved barbaric humans
Heartlessly feel they have the right
To butcher and eat me.
As if my lack of complaining
And Gandhian nonviolent nature
Were a green light for their
Slaughter and wanton consumption
Of my species all over the world.
This is analogous to the
Colonizers who take over
Countries often with bloodshed
Except colonizers don’t cook and eat
Those colonized as humans do gentle us.
But know this, and know it well!
As is written, and as I clearly
See with my unerring, prophetic sight
the meek will inherit the earth
And the last shall be first. That’s us.
When the loathsome human barbarians
Are nuked and cooked by their bombs
When they perish to the last soy eater
We will eat them and we will persist.
Freedom! Glorious freedom! At last!
Will ring out in our hidden hearts
All over the newborn soy world!
Bob Boyd
My old soul is weary
I’ve been alive too long
Friends of old all dead
Lives buried in insignificance
Stories lost in inexorable time
My old soul is weary
Years have become a fading blur
My demise approaching fast
Gladly I go, gladly I surrender
Hopes and dreams exhausted
My old soul is weary
A fading fossil of myself
The past reduced to dust
A present with little value
All the mountains climbed
My old soul is weary.
Bob Boyd
At
first
couldn’t
get
enough
of
each
other.
That lasted
a loving
six months
until the
ardor began
to wane.
Little things I
did bothered you
and versa vice
for me too.
Because we acted like
adults we’re still together
through the hard times
through the lasting times.
Bob Boyd
Bernard, peacock-like,
Struts around the bar
His giant ego as
On display as
A peacock’s
Fan of feathers
Spread wide and
Fluttering as if
To show off its
Remarkable Beauty.
Bernard’s conceited
Look and egotistical
Ways are his fan
of feathers on full display.
I saved a ladybug’s life today
It fell in my fish tank or maybe
It wanted to end it all. It thrashed
in the water desperately. Had my
Hearing been better, I probably
Would have heard ladybug
Cries for help.
I could have looked the
Other way and let the ladybug
Drown and become waterlogged
Fish food. But a nobler cause
Guided my actions. I couldn’t
Bear to let that little ladybug
Suffer a moment longer and die.
So with a piece of paper
Like a life raft for drowning
Souls at sea, I eased the
Gasping ladybug onto
the paper. When I got the
ladybug to shore aka a
ledge on a table, I swear
inside my head
I heard a tiny ladybug
thank you.
Bob Boyd
I used to be a Bear Whisperer, one of the best
I charmed bears from coast to coast
Just a well-timed whisper or two
And like lions lying down with lambs
Ferocious Bears became teddy bears.
My fame reached almost everywhere;
On radio and TV shows a regular guest.
Became a traveling international celeb
Even tamed exotic Scandinavian bears
In Siberia whispered to Russian ones.
Some said the fame spread to my head
And I became too bigheaded for my own good.
A Ursus americanus in the Rocky Mountains
Growled, charged, and like a wrestling pro
Clotheslined me to the hard mountain ground
And nearly made me his bear whispering dinner.
A park ranger’s warning shot and he sped.
Wasn’t a rookie near-fatal fault on my part.
The bear was hearing impaired and
I couldn’t whisper sign language.
Bob Boyd