Poems by Bob Boyd

He often felt like just a puppet in this world
With some unknown force pulling his strings.
He was more correct than he knew.

Aliens were programming his life
From a far off planet with mind-blowing technology
In an experiment to see if they could invent a human
And have it interact in the world like real humans.

As some experiments fail, there’s went terribly wrong,
And he went badly rogue beyond the aliens’ control
And raised his arm and yelled Sieg Heil!
And millions died unmercifully.

Bob Boyd

Born inbred in September of 1945.
Died of Huntington’s disease in 1995.
I used to cry and pray to God and ask:
“Why did I have to be born inbred?”
“Why couldn’t I have had a normal healthy life?”
When I died, the inbred related deformities
Didn’t follow me to the other side,
And now I lead a normal, healthy life
In one of God’s many mansions.
And I understand why I was born inbred
For complicated reasons I cannot reveal.
Where I am now, the thoughts and
The words about it cannot come out to you.
I can say this. Despite the inbreeding,
And the suffering I endured on earth
I’m okay now and everything is wonderful.

Bob Boyd

1956 Packard Caribbean Coupe
Classic car, hot vintage look
Dover White, Naples Orange
And Corsican Black colors
Creamsicle colors with a
Black trim highlight, so cool
Only 65,000 original miles
3 speed automatic, overdrive
8 cylinder powered engine
Creamsicle-colored upholstery
Only 263 produced back then
$39,900 justified price tag
Sweet dream antique car
Probably a great ride

Bob Boyd

I must stop reading the news everyday
Too many people dying in awful ways
Too much bad and depressing news
A once powerhouse football player has ALS
A 5 year old child killed in an airborne bounce house
A pretty mother of two killed in a cycling competition
I’m beginning to feel as if I need a Godlike mind
To handle all the misery, warnings and woes
In the everyday bad news nowadays
Maybe it’s time to take a news fast

Bob Boyd

Her husband thought she went shopping too much.
He didn’t realize to her it was like shopping therapy.
It filled some emptiness within, made her feel better.
And they had more than enough money to afford it.
And many in her position, women and men
Would be the same, like Christmas every day.

Some would say she is too materialistic
In her constant need to buy more stuff.
But she’s harming no one in her shopping sprees,
And as long as she isn’t breaking the bank,
And it makes her feel better, why not?
Were I her and money wasn’t a problem
I’d probably be doing the same.

I’d probably start with a giant aquarium
And homing pigeons galore flying in circles
Above a castle in the country, maybe with a moat.
And probably a hot trophy wife for appearances,
Who otherwise wouldn’t be with old, wizened me,
Too old and and not monied enough to afford her.

And some high dollar, coiffured, pedigree dogs,
Maybe a $10,000 pampered, pedigree cat.
Oh yeah, a personal chef and barber too,
But wait! Already I’m breaking the bank,
And this poem is not supposed to be about me.

Bob Boyd

Seems every week something else gives you cancer
Seems this wretched disease keeps gaining ground
It’s like a never ending plague that keeps spreading
That kills over 600,000 people in the USA yearly
Tragically it’s even killing more young people now
And God Almighty why are some babies born with it
You’d think by now there’d be a cure for cancer
A pill or an injection or a procedure that could end it
At least progress is being made in the fight against it
Cancers that used to kill are now sent into remission
Still every week it seems something new causes it
And the grim reaper never had a better friend

Bob Boyd

He met an attractive woman named Janice
At the Pisgah Church Harris Teeter grocery store.
She was slim, comely, blonde hair, sweet smile.
The day was raining; lightning boomed in the sky.
She said she had taken a bus to get to the store
And would he be a gentleman and give her a ride home?
He complied, and after about twenty minutes she got out
In front of an eerie-looking cemetery.
Having heard about many urban legends,
He thought she’d be a ghost and vanish, but
Then he woke up and realized it was merely a dream.
The next day he went to Harris Teeter and saw Janice there.
When he told her about the dream, she said, “Is this a pick up line?”
She gave him a dismissive look and in a huff strolled away.
But then she came back laughing and said she had the same dream.
A romance ensued, and they got married in Harris Teeter.
But six months later, Janice died unexpectedly and is buried
In the cemetery he saw in the dream.

Bob Boyd

Tired of women,
He became a monk
But he fought every
Day between prayers
His need for a woman
In his lonely life
He thought he could
Defeat what he was
Hardwired for
Despite his determined
Intentions in the end
He met a nun and
Both hardwired they
Renounced their holy vows
And took marriage ones

Bob Boyd

Full moons had a strange
lunar effect on him.
He wasn’t a werewolf.
He didn’t go bat crap crazy.
He didn’t go temporarily insane,
Or maybe he did a little.
When the moon was full he
claimed to have lived on it
In a long ago former life.
He said the moon had been
Populated millions of years
Ago by inhabitants like him.
He did look a little weird;
So it almost seemed true.
And during those full moons.
He would talk In a strange
language intermittently
Unlike any language on
earth which made you wonder.

Bob Boyd

Sexually abused as a child by monks
when he was a little child monk.
Said a Buddhist tried to kill him.
Described other Buddhism problems,
sounded like a forlorn Buddhist being.
Opened my eyes to the truthful fact
that Buddhism isn’t the exception
to child abuse and the imperfections
of all the sects, cults and religions.
This goes beyond the precepts
and the imperfections of them all.
We have to be our own spiritual
leaders and not be controlled by
all the rules or dismayed by
the corruption and bad leaders.

Bob Boyd