Author: Bob Boyd

A Hundred Blows

I hear the raging rain outside,
A hundred blows against the windows
Like ancient archers shooting arrows
Attempting to bridge my apartment fortress.
I, like a fearless knight inside, scoff at their puny blows;
I’ve taken far worse blows in my war torn life.
Cancer was a far mightier foe than paltry rain drops,
Who’s hundred blows nearly killed me
On the battlefield of this transient life.
So let the rain strike as much as it wants;
I’ve survived more serious things.

Bob Boyd

Those Lives of Quiet Desperation

Always liked that time worn saying
Lives of quiet desperation.
Makes me think of couples miserable,
Too afraid to part, fear of being alone
When joys of romance and love worn out.
Perhaps from growing apart or boredom
Or missing the excitement of first falling in love.
Pity that excitement fades with passing years
And for some those lives of quiet desperation begin.

Bob Boyd

Hovering Angels

I always thought angels hovered around her
Nobody could be that nice without angelic influences
She even looked like a beautiful angel without wings
Wondered if she was one and her name was Angelica
Never heard her say a mean word against anyone
Or lose control of her nonexistent temper
Was with her for a wondrous, magical year
Loved her unconditionally and platonically
A saintlike woman too pure to sexually corrupt
Surprisingly that was how I felt, her way as well
She believed real love should be beyond the physical
Strange though it may seem to you and anyone else
Pure and heavenly as she was I was okay with that
Unexpectedly for the first time in my unrestrained life
I enjoyed the sweet innocence of that absence of lust
She was the greatest, most memorable love of my life
The hovering angels took her home in the spring of 83
Flowers faded, a rainbow blossomed in the sky
And I always knew she was destined for the higher world
And would only be on earth with me momentarily
And I believe now she has heavenly wings
But O how she was the greatest love of my life
I miss you Angelica

Bob Boyd

The Burning Times

An estimated 60,000 to 90,000
Mostly women accused of witchcraft
Tortured into false confessions
Slaughtered with wanton impunity
In the 150 years of the Burning Times
Insane decades, rife with superstitions
High Times for cold blooded psychopaths
Ecstasies of inflicting unimaginable pain
Mostly on hysterical unfortunate women
Who never dreamed they’d be victims
Lived normal peaceful lives unaware
Holy Hell coming into their worlds
Snarling men backed by the times
Bloodthirsty, heartless, infinity cruel
Under the cover of misused religion
Demons masquerading as men

Bob Boyd

Like a Motherless Child

As he wandered through Harris Teeter
Shopping alone as always
Sad words entered his mind
You’re like a motherless child
And alone in this world
Even though he’s an old man
That child thing and the aloneness
Rang a bit too realistically true
And he felt a little sad
Thinking about his situation
Parents dead, siblings estranged
Different paths, darkness and light
All alone in this world
Not a soul caring about
The motherless child
In a small sorrowful moment
He spied a Chocolate Easter Rabbit
With a half price sign over it
He bought it for himself
Though he’s more a giver
Than a receiver
It felt quite nice
For a motherless child
To have the comfort
The gift of a
Chocolate Easter Rabbit
And have his senses
Restored again.

Bob Boyd

Yellow Guppies

Yellow guppies dying in my fish tank
Guppies often die young for many reasons
But this poem isn’t about that guppy fate
I’m putting myself in a guppies predicament
Imagine living just to die young in a fish tank
Imagine probably having no sense of self
And your only purpose to propagate
But thinking deeper are we not like that too
Here possibly only to propagate
Despite our sense of self and grand dreams
And whatever plans that all evaporate in
Death’s undoing, time erasing, all that we did
Unless some fame falls into out lives
And lingers for awhile but time erases fame too
In hundreds, definitely in thousands of years
Except for the propagation where our offspring live on
and on and on generation to generations
Many propagating just like guppies

Bob Boyd

Puerto Ricans and Diablo

In the city where I grew up
In the fifties, some Puerto Ricans
Sadly because they were few and different
Some ignorant people hated them
And disrespectfully called them spics
As a teenager I worked with Puerto Ricans
In a greenhouse picking plants
A father and his son about my age then
Good, decent, humble people and fun
I’ll always remember how the son and I
Had a disagreement about the devil
The son called diablo. He said
Okay Bobby, here’s how I can prove it
Go into the woods alone at night
And call diablo, diablo, diablo
And he will come to you
So I called his bluff and went into the
Woods and called diablo all night
I’m kidding. No way did I go into
A scary woods at night and
Try to summon the devil
The son won the disagreement
I was too chicken to try
What he said to do
Because what if
He was right and
Why tempt evil forces
If they indeed exist
It makes me smile
Remembering the son and the fun
I hope he’s alive today and
having a good life

Bob Boyd

The Insignificance of Humans

Sometimes I wonder if humans are no more significant
then the insects beneath our feet.

Consider that no matter how important a human is
or thinks he or she is

when enough time passes, the human won’t even
be a memory.

And look how many humans die everyday by some
catastrophe showing how expendable we are.

Consider, too, all the evil in the world and how
humans haven’t progressed beyond wars.

Are we really as relevant as religions claim or as
important as some humans think they are?

Sure we’re more intelligent, more advanced, but
in the larger cosmic scheme of things

with time we become as forgettable, as insignificant
as the insects beneath our feet.

And humans might destroy themselves with their propensity for
creating more bombs with the power to destroy more humans.

Bob Boyd

Harold and Frank

Harold wanted to live to be 100
A vegetarian and a nonsmoker
No alcohol, no drugs
He worked out daily
Ran some marathons
In his sixties benched 300 pounds
Ran a triathlon with ease
great physique, low body fat
A specimen of perfect health
Unlike Frank who smoked
Never exercised, not even a walk
Ate high fat meats
Never vegetables
and lots of sweets
Occasionally drank too much
Neglected physique, high body fat
A specimen of bad health habits
At age 67, Harold died of a heart attack
Frank died in his sleep at age 95.

Bob Boyd

Ever Bright

To most I’m an old mortal man
Just a wrinkled body and face
With nary a trace of my inner life
But I’m ever radiant in the Ever Bright
My soul soars with incomparable delight
I’m often there above the troubled world
Peace and bliss beyond a million words
Soon I’ll be there permanently
Ecstasies upon ecstasies in the Ever Bright
Nothing in this drab, transient world
Could ever compare, Ever Bright.

Bob Boyd

Excellence

Good companies keep people
Bad companies lose people
It’s not always about the money
It’s about how people are treated
I recall a documentary, Excellence
That profiled excellent companies
One of the companies, a grocery store
Where employees didn’t get paid much
But they were treated with respect
Listened to, helped, and praised
That’s employer excellence
That’s workers valued like royalty

Bob Boyd

Heaven-Born Beauty

My ex girlfriend had heaven-born beauty
Never seen a woman more beautiful
Then I got to know her better
And saw dark traits in her soul
That crawled out when she felt
More comfortable, less guarded
She became selfish and mean
Argumentative and unstable
And she cheated on me with
A sleazy guy with lots of money
Lesson learned. Don’t put too much
Emphasis on outer appearances
And to coin the title of an old song
Take time to know her

Bob Boyd

Beef with a Female Betta Fish

Unlike males of your Siamese Fighting Fish species
You were supposed to be able to get along with other fish
You did good in a five gallon tank with three tuxedo guppies
Impressed by your ability to get along nonviolently
I graciously put you in a ten gallon tank, a sweet break
But ungrateful you tried to attack the yellow guppies
Ticked me off, exiled you back to the five gallon tank
A life sentence for your deplorable behavior
And that was no way for a lady to behave!

Bob Boyd

When My World Was Young

When my world was young, few things mattered
Unlimited exuberance, hardly a care
Opportunities for love everywhere
Wild unabandoned times, living free
Perfect everlasting health, no medical worries
Party time days and nights, everything great
Old age never a consideration, unimaginable
Living in the sunshine of spring life forever
Till hairs began to gray, skin began to wrinkle
And my body starting falling apart
Like an old rusty failing machine
And the darkness of a winter life descended.

Bob Boyd

Old People Species

As a little snot-nosed kid at some point
I became aware of old people and
I thought they were like some other species
That came into the world that way
and had always been like that
And I knew instinctively I’d never be like them
When with age I saw everyone gets old
It didn’t seem like it would happen to me
I was young forever, old age not a reality
As if I had that fountain of youth in me
At age fifty, I started waking up to the reality
Of old age beginning to creep up on me
Now after many years I’ve made it there
And I kinda don’t care when some
Little snot-nosed kid who’s never been anywhere
Thinks I’m some old people species.

Bob Boyd

Cousin Norman

Cousin Norman seemed like such a nice guy
Gave me a ride when I was hitchhiking to school
When I was sixteen years old, had a great conversation
Got out of his car thinking what a nice guy
A month later he robbed a store, killed a young sales guy
Sent to jail after that, broke out and killed a prison guard
For ten years never found, was out in the open
Writing poems in shy town before he was captured
And put back behind prison bars again
Yet Cousin Norman seemed like such a nice guy.

Bob Boyd

When Public Executions Were Entertaining

The Tyburn Gallows was a popular place
Just outside London from 1108 to 1783
A great day’s entertainment, fun to see
Red faced criminals doing the Tyburn Jig
Hanging by their necks from the Tyburn Tree
Struggling to keep alive entertainingly
Crowds of thousands enjoyed the fun sight
Refreshments served to capitalize on the fun
Cheers and jeers, criminals about to be hung
Oh it was such grand fun, a family affair
Nothing like seeing people put to death
In old Tyburn square. Unless you were
Hanging from the Tree doing the Tyburn Jig.

Bob Boyd

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