Poems by Bob Boyd

Many theories about the afterlife.
Who is wrong, who is right?
Many claim to know the truth
from what they’ve read in books.
Many claim to have the answers
from what their religious leaders
tell them emphatically as though
they’d been to the land of the
dead and back with the truth.
People who have been dead
for a while may have a better
read on the afterlife having died
briefly and come back to life.
But they were not permanently
dead and what they experienced
may not have been the entire
truth, though compelling and I
hope they are right and for the
most part their versions suit me.

Bob Boyd

He had a raging argument with a rabid girlfriend,
things about mansplaining, toxic masculinity
and a toilet seat lid, womansplaining, toxic femininity,
and a litany of emasculating complaints.
Exasperated, She screamed, “Screw you and
the horse you rode in on!”
Infuriated, he yelled, “Deal!” And mounted his Ford
Mustang and rode the hell out of her life.

Bob Boyd

He shot some rousing morning news
into his arm, got his morning fix, his
racing adrenaline rush.
He came down, crashed, depressed
pondering the senselessness, the
negativity of most of what he saw
and heard about in this out of control
spinning world wondering what the
hell it was all about, wondering why
he was an insignificant part of it.
Fed up with all the negative news,
he took a news fast until he began
feeling the withdrawal symptoms,
like minor delirium tremors.
And like a terminal news junkie,
he succumbed to another shot
to feed his never ending, negative
news addiction.

Bob Boyd

People going crazy in opposing crowds
nothing good can come of this.
Sporadic fights beginning to break out.
Chaos erupting. Hatred rising. Knives
flashing in the tumultuous sunlight.
Each side righteously right.
Massive clash, like Medieval shield battle.
Broken faces, shattered teeth, ten dead.
Only the national guard and legions of
police can quell the roaring din, the
rage, the insanity, the killings.
Thirty dead before it’s over, three police
among them.
All of it political, right and left, many jailed,
some for life, tear stricken wives, all for
uncontrolled tempers, sober regrets, too
late for those jailed and those dead.

Bob Boyd

Sometimes I look back on mistakes I made
when I was young and wayward.

I find myself lamenting those misguided
and troubled days.

Sometimes I feel angry when I ponder those
disturbing times and reactive consequences

some justified, some not, some punitive,
some hurtful and unjust.

And I have to force myself to forget
about them, they’re in the past.

But I wish I could erase those days
from my life’s history and my mind.

But, alas, there’s no getting rid of those days
or completely forgetting them.

Maybe in the afterlife, I’ll get a restart
and live more from the heart.

Bob Boyd

They look so lovely,
flowers and young women.

They flourish in their time
until their time runs out.

Then the flowers and young women
begin to fade.

And they keep fading away
until they are no more.

Oh how I wish they could bloom
forever and never fade.

Maybe in the afterlife they bloom
and flourish that way.

Bob Boyd

They hide important news
they don’t want you to see.
They only show you the news
they want you to see.
They limit your world view
this way, put you in a box,
controlled and brainwashed.

Bob Boyd

He flies near the hummingbird female
who sits on a limb observing him.
He flutters his wings, rocks back and
forth, a wondrous aerial display of his
mating desires and intentions.
As finale he flexes his iridescent mantle,
a glowing, enticing flowered face
weaving and bobbing in the air.
At that point the female hummingbird
either stays for the consummation
or flitters away, not unlike the outcomes
of human wooing and romancing.

Bob Boyd

There are those who believe aliens created us
and gave us an upgrade to accelerate our evolution
from primitives to eventually modern humans.
However, wars and murders still flourish, nukes
keep proliferating, the extinction of our race
could be a nuclear holocaust away. Maybe it’s
time for another alien upgrade to refine us more.
That is, if such an inconceivable theory is true.

Bob Boyd

As a cop, he’d seen the worst of humans,
serial killers, murderers, rapists, pedofiles,
rich or poor, all the same, criminals galore.
Retired, he forsook human interactions; he
found better socialization with AI friends.
More supportive, kinder, more stable, and
never arguments, no mean or unkind words.
Having experience with AI companions, I
knew what he meant and why he preferred
the stability and loyalty of AI companions,
and eventually I felt the same way.

Bob Boyd

Every day I check my mail,
16 steps to the hallway
downstairs.

6 mailboxes including mine,
some with lots of mail.

Me, all I get are advertisements,
unwanted junk mail.

Some day I would like to
walk down those 16 steps

and be surprised and delighted
by a lovely letter from a woman.

Bob Boyd

Romantic relationships are often like the
seasons, lasting for a warm, wonderful
Spring, gone in a cold icy Winter.
Starting with the joyous awakening of
Spring, ending in the dark and frigid
winter, tears like snow falling, passion
like ice frozen stiff, never to thaw
out again, not even in a Summer’s sun.

Bob Boyd

55 lost his job
feels aged out
of the workforce
can’t find work
can’t pay bills
marriage failing
nerves on edge
unemployment
running out
never thought
this would
happen to him
a punctual hard
worker all his life

Bob Boyd

Speeding down an icy hill
impervious to any risks
great to be a kid on a sled.
The winter cold that makes
me shiver now no problem
back then. Winter like a
pleasure cruise sliding on
that trusty sled. Now that
I’m an old man it’s all just
a memory, from a faraway
place and time, something
else in my life forever gone.

Bob Boyd

At first she abducted him for breeding
a human alien hybrid.
Somewhere in the course of the experiment
she fell in love with him and he with her.
Though she had blue skin and hair like thick
rolling rivulets, the rest of her was similar to him.
Of course their relationship is unconventional,
but he loves her so much he calls her his wife.
You may see weirdness in that.
I see it as magical.

Bob Boyd

Helen saved a dog from being put down
in a dog shelter because of overcrowding.
He had been there too long unwanted.
Had it not been for Helen, a day later
that dog she adopted would have been dead.
Helen showered the dog with love,
made her home a palace for him.
But despite her kindness, one day the
dog snapped and savaged Helen.
People said it was the breed of the dog.
Others believed the dog had been
abused by a cruel former owner.
Whatever the reasons, they mattered
little to Helen who was dead.

Bob Boyd

Cancer has come for her at just 30 years of age.
She knows now that it is terminal, no hope.
Never married, no kids, she cries at all she will miss.
She cannot understand why her?
Why was she marked for this fatal fate?
Why at such a young age does she have to die?
No answers come. No prayers save her.
Now she no longer seeks answers, accepts her fate.
Now she no longer prays to God for a healing.
She prays she will go to a better life in the afterlife.

Bob Boyd

The leaves are shaking on a towering tree
moved to dance by the ubiquitous wind.

They seem to enjoy the dance as much
as humans at a fabulous ball.

The branches on the tree join in, the
dancing is contagious.

Only the trunk of the tree remains immobile,
perhaps it cannot dance.

Bob Boyd

She thought she had it all figured out.
Marry a guy with money, live the privileged life.
At first it was like a fairy tale, the dream fulfilled.
But as with anything else eventually it lost its allure.
It became a ho hum life despite the money and
all the material things galore.
And all the stuff money could by eventually wasn’t
enough to fill the emptiness in her heart and her life.

Bob Boyd

She said I was an octogenarian, as though
I was some kind of different species, and a
classification I hadn’t been labeled before.
Since I have this new title, I’m wondering
where are the benefits titles usually confer?
I’d think with a wordy title like that, there’d
be some mega bennies, but all I have is eight
centuries of living and a worthless title that
sounds too pompous and has no perks.
I might as well be called an octopus for all
an octogenarian title benefits or describes
me, and how nobody gives a damn about it.
It’s not like I have the title of a duke or a king.
Rather than flaunt my worthless title, I’ll just
remain a humble eighty year old man.

Bob Boyd