Category: Poems

Will AI take over everything?
Painting the pictures
Writing the stories
Taking all the jobs
Rendering humans
Unnecessary
Obsolete
Inferior
Useless
Extinct.

Bob Boyd

I’d been on sixteen ghosts hunts
But never saw any real ghosts like Midnight Mary.
In fact, I never really saw a ghost before Mary.
Sure my equipment suggested ghost activity,
But that’s not as spooky as coming face to face
With a real, dead spirit roaming the earth.

I’d heard about a ghost named Midnight Mary,
At the old, abandoned Bradmore Hotel.
I even saw an alleged photo of her ghostly face.
The photo looked fake, bogus urban legend stuff.
Supposedly people died messing with Mary.
Inside the Bradmore heard a scary rustling near me.
Shined my flashlight in the direction of the sound
Rats dashed away to their hiding places.
Searched the entire hotel, saw no sign of Mary.

Just more nonsense I mumbled to myself.
Drove to a motel, disappointed, another fake lead.
Retired for the night, fell into a dreamless sleep.
Heard an eerie sound fill the room, thought it was a dream,
One minute like a witch’s cackle, the next a ghostly wail.
Felt hands clutching my throat choking me to death,
Frightened, opened my eyes: Midnight Mary!
Died of shock in that old motel bed, my face frozen in fear.
Sometimes when you hunt ghosts, they hunt you.
Now as if I were bitten by a vampire, I’m a ghost too,
Every night I haunt this motel.

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

I remember …
I remember
when you were
young, funny
bright and
beautiful

when you
were so
joyously alive

and I was yours
and you were mine

sad how time
and some
gnawing
incompatibilties

erased our
unlasting love

sad how now
all the wonderful
that you were

a cancer
unexpectedly
erased and

you’re buried
like a sacrilege
deep in
the brown dirt.

Bob Boyd

I’m ever reminded on the news
China and Russia are
enemies of my country
I’ve met Chinese people
and seen many on Youtube videos
I’ve met Russian people
and seen many on Youtube videos
I don’t think of them as enemies
I see them essentially like me
people who just want to live
peaceful and happy lives
if only enemies who rule countries
could see each other the same way.

Bob Boyd

Since 2024, 340 have died on that mountain
more than 200 left there frozen in the snow

but despite the risks of dying
many still take the risk

that costs thousands of dollars
for everything needed to make the climb

included permits, a sherpa, gear, etc
on average, over $60,000

an exorbitant cost for the risk of losing
your life on a dangerous mountain

and were I a monied mountain climber, the sight of
one or more frozen dead bodies on the way up

would give me reservations about making the climb
along with the exorbitant cost for risking my life.

Bob Boyd

Her name was Rebekah
twenty-four and beautiful
kind and caring
mother of a little boy
religious, went to church
every chance she could
worked in retail management
liked by everyone
didn’t make it to work
on October 31st
her body found
in a woods near her home
murdered and probably raped
by her mother’s boyfriend
a church preacher
sentenced to eighty-five
years in prison
killed himself
in his cell.

Bob Boyd

Canonized in 2010
thousands of healings
he lies in a coffin
in a church high on a hill
a sacred shrine
two million pilgrims
visited yearly
the shrine is in
Saint Joseph’s Oratory
Montreal, Canada
the saint is
brother Andre
who went to heaven
in 1937.

Bob Boyd

A thinking man had a wife
exotically beautiful
but incompatibly incurious
only interested in superficialities
disinterested in deeper matters
small talk her modus operandi
deep conservations her nemesis
no meeting of the minds
never shared ponderings
it’s no wonder they were ill fated
being so mentally incompatible
that not even her exotic beauty
could fill that forlorn abyss.

Bob Boyd

Your life, my life, suspended by a thread
one day we are alive, next day we are dead
we go through this life as if dying never
until all that we were is gone forever
except for our lifeless corpses by death bound
to rot away in the smothering ground

Bob Boyd

Li Po and Du Fu I admire what you do
or I should write did.

Your poems are without peer
profound and so clear

It amazes me you wrote such
masterpieces of poetry way back
in the 8th century

If I could travel back in time
I’d like to be mentored by
both of you

maybe on
top of the Green Mountains

And maybe if we had
the time and the daring
between creating works
of poetry

in the literary
landscape of the Tang
dynasty

we could
go on a quest
for the dragon pearl.

Bob Boyd

Brad went on a 3 month meditation retreat
meditating up to 12 times daily
after 2 months, he had to leave the retreat
called me from a hospital emergency room
said he had attained cosmic consciousness
and could look into my eyes and take me there
as he talked on his words became disconnected
his voice sounded more than a little creepy
and he began talking about crazy things
I could tell he had overdosed on meditation
and had a severe, mental breakdown
instead of attaining cosmic consciousness
he spent the rest of the time I knew him
bouncing in and out of psychiatric wards
all from a single overdose of meditation.

Bob Boyd

Sparrows, do you ever seek the truth,
Or like many preoccupied humans
Do you just seek food, mate and eat?
Do you ever wonder what it’s all about,
This uncertain fleeting life?
Or are you born like Zen birds
Not needing to question existence
Not concerned with the transience
Having built-in Buddha Minds
And free tickets to Nirvana?

Bob Boyd

To humans I’m a cute bird that seems to have the life,
Chirping merrily and flying ever so freely, like a free spirit.
But believe me that free spirit stuff is kind of an act.
I’m anything but free with many predators after me,
Hovering hawks, night owls, jays and magpies in the air,
Foxes, snakes, weasels, cats and raccoons on the ground.
Despite my free spirit bravado and the happy songs I sing,
I’m little more than a predator’s next feathered meal.
And always in a state of paranoia with death in pursuit.

Bob Boyd

Never go to doctors
They’ll find something wrong with you
Stay away and you won’t get sick or die
For example
My granny was the healthiest granny on the planet
Bench pressed 200 pounds, repeatedly
Squatted with 300 pounds, easily
Ran triathlon marathons, effortlessly
Kicked the crap out of a psycho subway pusher in NYC

All that, until she saw a geriatrics quack
A wacko psycho doctor of death
He diagnosed her with the big C
Placebo screwed her with a BS death knell
Stage 4, three months to live, he claimed sadistically

Three anxiety-driven, brainwashed months later
granny couldn’t bench or squat a mere 100 pounds
or even run twenty yards

Then granny was stone cold expired,
waked and buried at Bellevue Cemetery
Don’t ask me about the costs

In denial about my sweet granny’s passing,
vowed to find a way to bring her back.
Prayed to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
and Catholic saints of impossible causes
Didn’t work

Because Jesus came back successfully,
thought maybe he’d share
his secret resurrection formula
and give a dead granny some love
Didn’t work

Granny remained unresurrected
Exasperated and driven to near madness
I robbed granny out of her grave
and tried to Frankenstein her back to life
Bound her to a metal table
Rigged a lightning rod to it
A thunderstorm raged and rumbled
Lightning flashed and crackled
Struck her corpse, made it sizzle
Didn’t work

Lightning only barbecued her body
Or cooked it, not sure which
Brainstormed a better idea
Jump started her like a dead car battery
Problem solved, kinda
Granny is up and running
and chasing me around my house
alive and electrically zombified.

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.
And I never met a bear I couldn’t subdue
with a whisper or two until one near fatal day.

A Ursus americanus in the Rocky Mountains
Growled, charged, and like a wrestling pro
Clotheslined me to the hard mountain ground
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.
My whispering technique should have worked.
But the bear was hearing impaired and
I couldn’t whisper sign language.

Bob Boyd

I write a lot of fiction poems
but this one is true
about two hooligans I knew
in my tumultuous teen years
bullies, immoral, bone bad
was certain they were
fated as future criminals
headed for long prisons stays
increasing criminality
instead they became members
of the local police force
bad boys in blue.

Bob Boyd

Nelly Craig lived in the 1800s
got pregnant and abandoned
by a heartless philanderer
scorned by the society of that day
refused respectable employment
impoverished, desperate,
turned to prostitution to survive
her only means of making money
because of the stigma of being
a disgraced, fallen women
a pariah nobody would hire
some back then would have
deemed Nelly a hell-bound sinner
I see her as a causality of
less enlightened times
that no loving Creator
would ever eternally damn.

Bob Boyd

I used to pay no attention to the fleeting nature
of this impermanent world

I just walked and talked in it, as if it were forever
unmindful that in this world forever is never

the worst part of impermanence to me is
romantic love dies in it

no matter how wonderful, no matter how close
to perfect a love is

no matter if it lasts a lifetime

it’s doomed to extinction, like the dinosaurs of old

when death cruelly ends it

I find that disheartening

I find that disturbing and a bit depressing

but maybe, just maybe, romantic love lives on
in the unseen world beyond this impermanent one

where soulmates are reunited or found in a permanent
and blissful forever

am I dreaming here, am I overly optimistic?

probably, lol.

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