Poems by Bob Boyd

When she was nice,
she was sweet.

But then she’d
go psycho,

and her demons
would come out.

She’d scream and
she’d shout,

swear and attack
him.

He hung in there
with her,

thought he could
change her.

But she changed
him

when she drove
a knife into

his chest one
night

and changed him
into a ghost.

Bob Boyd

Day runs into night
night runs into day
sun during the day
moon at night
light and darkness
time speeding up
faster and faster
people getting
older and older
graves opening
for their corpses
soon skeletons
eventually all dust.

Bob Boyd

She was always uncommonly nice
and often angelic.

Perhaps that’s why God took her to heaven
at age seven.

Bob Boyd

When I was a teenager
back in the sixties,
I knew a kid who liked
to thumb rides and get
picked up by a gay guy
to beat the shit out of
him.

It made no sense to me.

Why intentionally go out
of your way to harm
people with different
sexual orientations?

Now I think he had gay
tendencies he was
uncomfortable with and

beat up gays to try to
beat the gayness out
of himself.

I only saw him once,
and I wonder if he
tried to beat up the

wrong gay and got
killed or put in prison.

Bob Boyd

I saw a woman on YouTube
complaining about men
who don’t chase her.

You may think that’s not
unreasonable.

I see it as an egotistical
game some women play.

And I’ve never been one
to grovel for a woman
or to play foolish games.

Bob Boyd

Pink seems to be a woman’s color.
I wonder why that is.
Why not yellow or green,
for example.
Is there something in their DNA
that predisposes them to the
color pink?
I probably could do some easy
research to find out,
but I prefer to remain perplexed
by this mystery.
And I really think women
look great in the color pink.

Bob Boyd

Everyday someone is born.
Everyday someone dies.
Ever wonder what the
point of it all is?
Is it a revolving wheel
of rebirths, a forever
heaven or an eternal
hell?
I don’t like either choice.
I’d rather, as some NDEs
suggest, live forever in
unconditional love.
Or, maybe better, live
forever with an eternal
romantic love.

Bob Boyd

He murmured to the plants
in his garden

as if they could hear him.

I wonder if he ever heard them
murmuring back to him.

Bob Boyd

Many old people
are alone near the
end of their lives,
even those with
children.

The stalwart among
them don’t bemoan
their isolation.

They find ways to
enjoy their final days
by themselves or
with others.

Bob Boyd

I hate how one’s life is so unpredictable
that in a moment it can be over –

a woman murdered by the man who
claimed he loved her;

a tree limb falls on a woman walking
through a peaceful park and ends her life;

a sudden and unexpected heart attack
kills a high school athlete;

a single car accident that happens in an
instant on a highway, killing people;

a shooter in a fast food restaurant
shoots six people to death.

Sometimes I think it’s like a miracle that
most of us escape those sudden and
unpredictable deaths.

And I hope you get through this life
as one of us.

Bob Boyd

I have come to see romantic love
as a bad investment of one’s heart.

Along with the initial euphoria that
doesn’t last,

at some point, weeks, months
or years, the love may not last.

And like a bad investment with money,
you’re squandered the currency of your heart.

Bob Boyd

From what I read about a theory
called False Vacuum Decay,

if it is true, the universe could
vanish in a moment.

Everything, you, me, planets,
worlds, countries, oceans, gone.

Sure, it sounds terrifying, but I
see it the same as dying.

Like the universe being gone
in a moment,

in a moment the you, that
you identify as, is gone.

And I’m okay with both,
the universe or me

vanishing in an instant;
maybe because

I’ve lived a long life,
and I’m good with dying.

Bob Boyd

Sometimes he sees them in dreams,
wakes up thinking they’re with him alive,

the spirits of his deceased parents.

It’s a curious thing, and he wonders
if he’s really seeing their spirits in dreams

or just occasional illusions.

Bob Boyd

When he was married his wife
interfered with his decisions,

led him down one way streets
and dead ends,

became selfish, argumentive,
left him for men with more money.

When she was out of his life
and he was rid of her,

he and his decisions were
finally liberated,

and he found peace and
happiness without her.

Bob Boyd

He had a dream of a woman
he went out with decades ago.

In the dream she’s interested
in him again

although she left him
for another those decades ago

when he was a teenager
and had only dated her briefly.

In the dream common sense
is abandoned.

Instead of an old woman now,
she’s young again.

He wakes up lost in the illusion
for a moment.

Then he wonders why he had
such a foolish dream.

Bob Boyd

How can love,
euphoric at first,

gradually lose its
allure?

Why does that
elated feeling

eventually wear
off

when love gets
old?

Bob Boyd

His wife left this world
at age 50:

breast cancer.

He believes her
spirit lives on

because sometimes
she’s in his dreams.

She never speaks
to him

in those occasional
dreamworld visits,

but she always looks
serene and happy,

and he’s sure she’s
in heaven.

Bob Boyd

They’re nice at first,
charming, delightful,
disarming.

Chameleons with
dark sides hidden.

After you’re in their
control,

the monsters they
really are

mentally and
physically abuse
you.

If you’re smart,
you leave the first

time they hit
you.

Otherwise, if you
stay with them

the day may come
when they kill you.

Bob Boyd

To his neighbors
he was a kindly old man.

Always friendly, a good
person, a nice neighbor.

But when the police brought
him out of his house in handcuffs,

the neighbors were shocked to
learn he’d raped and murdered

a teenage girl when he was a
young man in an unsolved crime

that thanks to advancements in DNA,
he finally got apprehended for.

Bob Boyd