Category: Poems

The Con King

He became an ogre when his luck was on the line;
His mistress left him, his con business went under.
He beat his wife for stress relief six times.
Too drunk to beat her one more time,
He’d planned a seventh attack the next day.
He never got the chance, his wife beat him to it;
She stabbed him to death in the back sixty times.
And that was the celebrated end
Of the Con King, Diamonds Jack.

Bob Boyd

Invasion of the Palmetto Bugs

I lived in Florida for about twelve years
I liked the little lizards that seemed to constantly do push ups
Maybe it was a male mating thing, showing off to a lady lizard
They reminded of the lizards on the backs of comic books
You could send away for when I was a kid in Massachusetts

The palmetto bugs were another matter, a scourge to me
Giant obnoxious cockroaches that invaded everything relentlessly
And don’t think you could leave a lovely display of fruit on a table Overnight
A palmetto bug’s delight, probably snack on it in the night to your Fright
In the morning light when you saw it scurry away and tried to kill It

And if you succeeded in killing one, no problem to the palmetto bugs
More awaited the chance to invade your dwelling and annoy the Hell out of you
And when they died invading your home, they probably thought they’d be
Rewarded with a hundred palmetto virgins in a palmetto bug Heaven

My worst encounter with one of these bastard bugs was when I saw one six feet up on a garage wall. When I went to attack him he flew off the wall nearly dive bombing into me. Shocked, I never knew they could fly
A sight almost reminiscent of a monster in a horror movie
Crawling out of the grave coming back to life

And if you’re a palmetto bug reading this, imagine me giving the finger to you
And if you think I should be beyond such a crude gesture at my age
I never claimed to have completely grown up

After all, I’m the guy who can walk off a job after over twenty years Of working there
Provoked by an outrageous, unpardonable slight by the director. And I’m proud of that

Bob Boyd

The Lamas

The lamas were said to have preternatural powers,
Unattainable by most holy men and women.
Stories about their paranormal abilities, legendary.
Elite Tibetan priests, it seemed they could rule the skies
Or create impenetrable force fields to protect Tibet
By reciting powerful, sacred mantras and
Spinning massive prayer wheels continuously,
Releasing thousands of protective prayers.
Tragically, when the Chinese invaded Tibet
Their bullets were stronger than mantras
And spinning prayer wheels,
And the lamas had to flee.

Bob Boyd

Guru at Harvard U.

Saw the poster, the Guru at Harvard U
Thursdays 7 PM come experience him
Open to the public in a reserved room
Got there at 7, didn’t see the Guru

A Devotee said, he’s in Europe
But his consciousness will be here at 7
Wondered if that were true or imaginary
Devotees so gullible, believe anything.

At 7PM a phenomenal, palpable spiritual energy
Lit up the room. Sitting in meditation, I got blitzed
Lasted for hours, higher than I’d ever been

Devotees said the Guru meditated on them
Every night. Spiritual energy pouring in
Sometimes awakening them from sleep
Bona fide powerhouse guru

Most gurus couldn’t do what he could
Years past and the troubles began
Women coming forth and reporting
How the guru sexually abused them

A common tale with most of the gurus
Who came to America triumphantly
Like kids set loose in a candy store
They couldn’t resist the exotic treats

Didn’t care for the Hare Krishna Guru’s
Path with shaved heads, the chanting, etc
But at least A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada
The real deal who behaved like a true and saintly guru.

Bob Boyd

Oh How I loved Your Beautiful Red Hair

I must have been sixteen
When I saw you at the dance.
With your red hair you looked beautiful.
I always loved the uniqueness of red hair, still do.

I asked you to dance, surprisingly you accepted.
Tongue tied, overcome by your beauty, I couldn’t talk.
You didn’t talk either. Maybe you felt the same way.

I remember when you and two other girls phoned me.
Not sure how you ladies got my phone number,
Didn’t care, a compliment to have three girls calling me.
I didn’t know you were one of them until you said you danced with me.
And kidding, I said, “You were lucky.” You cracked me up when you said, “No you were lucky!” and told me you were the red-headed girl.

In retrospect had I been wiser back then I would have said
You are right and told you how blown away I was by your red hair
And your beautiful looks, and how I was too shy to start a conversation.
How I hate possible missed opportunities like that,
All those if onlys. And God Almighty I had so many misses.

Bob Boyd

A Young College Girl’s Demise

Good girl, honor roll in high school
Nice, caring, friendly and well liked
Went to church, remained a virgin
Her hard work in high school
Earned her a scholarship
With the University of Vermont
First year, studied hard day and night
Wasn’t there to party
Focused on good grades
And becoming a social worker
In her Sophomore year met a senior
Didn’t know he was a playboy
Who’d slept with many women
And bragged about his conquests
After many dates and persuasions
Took her virginity and moved on
Gave the young college girl AIDS
Does that seem fair to you?
And this poem isn’t fiction.

Bob Boyd

A Young College Girl

A Young College Girl

Good girl, honor roll in high school
Nice, caring, friendly and well liked
Went to church, remained a virgin
Her hard work in high school
Earned her a scholarship
With the University of Vermont
First year, studied hard there
Wasn’t there to party
Focused on good grades
And becoming a social worker
In her Sophomore year met a senior
Didn’t know he was a playboy
Who’d slept with many women
Bragged about all his conquests
After many dates and persuasions
Took her virginity and moved on
Gave the young college girl AIDS
Does that seem fair to you?

Bob Boyd

Three Sisters

One became a PhD
The other an MD
The third never
Amounted to anything
According to her critical mother
An underachiever
A ne’er do well
Never went to college
Lacked the expected ambition
Required of the three sisters
In their high achievers family
Father a prominent lawyer
Mother a distinguished professor
Sister number three just
Worked selling ladies shoes
In an upscale retail store
When the mother and father
Got old and became seriously ill
One and two, too busy with their careers
Number three was there for her parents
Their Caregiver twenty four hours a day
Until they both came to their final ends

Bob Boyd

Feline Dirge at the Door

When a kid in the fifties had to bury a family cat,
Buried in the woods. The burial felt eerie to me.

Late that night cats meowing at our front door,
Seemed a paranormal frightening thing.

Somehow the cats must have known
Their friend, our family cat, had died.

And like people crying at a funeral,
They were mourning their dead friend

With a group funeral dirge that
Sounded like something from Hell.

Thank God they didn’t dig up the cat
And drop her at our front door.

I felt bad enough losing our beloved pet
And hated having to bury her.

Bob Boyd

Watching Dead People Dance

Going way back to the twenties on YouTube
Seeing people dancing back then, young and merry,
All dead, their dancing done, all in the ground,
A sobering reminder of life’s transience.
Not always easy to really get the grim fate
Awaiting you and me when our dancing is done.
Living like we’re here forever, even though we know better.
Sad how many leave the dance younger than age thirty three.
Often wonder why many so young have to die, never living full lives;
Sometimes I say things like maybe they were needed in heaven sooner,
Or perhaps God needed more angels in heaven.
But those words are insufficient to answer the ultimate: Why?
And the seeming injustice of it all. God’s call.

Bob Boyd

DeLorenzo

DeLorenzo made a big mistake in the city I’m from,
Key witness to murders in the east of the city.
Thought he was a fearless gangster but kind of a punk,
Refused police protection too tough for that
Could take care of himself, no problem.
The killers ain’t gonna do anything to me
They can go straight to Hell.
Shortly after that, Delorenzo disappeared.
Suspicions pointed to the East Side Gang.
Everybody in the pool hall I hung out in knew that;
The word was prominent on the street.
No clues needed. Obvious. Open and shut.
He should never have messed with East Side
Or chosen to rat them out to the police.
All that eventually turned up of Delorenzo
Was one of his arms in the local dump.
No witness, no DNA, the killers went free.
One knocked him out. Another held him down.
A third ran over him with a car relentlessly
Until he was stone cold dead.

Bob Boyd

Calling It a Day

The Pavement’s sizzling sitting in the merciless sun,
Got no money, no job, no friends, no wife, no life.
Used to be a high flying CEO, had the monied, extravagant life
Blew it all beginning with white lines on my plush desk
In my executive suite. Lost it all, even a beautiful, faithful wife,
That looked kind of like a famous social worker, Madonna Moss.
Now I shuffle in the sad streets screwed up and bumming money
For more drugs and the never lasting euphoric high, reduced to that.
Diving in dumpsters behind fast food restaurants for garbage food.
The homeless shelter doctor says I haven’t long to live, a year at best,
Doesn’t matter to me, my life sucks; it’s over anyway. I’m done.
Tomorrow I might jump off a bridge or walk in front of a freight train
And take my chances, heaven or hell if either exists, don’t care where.
If I can get a gun, I’ll put it to my head, pull the trigger and call it a day.

Bob Boyd

Robots and Cancer at the Grocery Store

Packaging shrinking, prices going up.
Cashers being replaced by self service machines.
Robots coming to replace grocery store workers.
Meet your local grocery store manager, Mr. AI.
More food alleged to give us cancer
No matter which ones we eat.
Maybe the cause of younger people getting cancer,
Hidden in the food, a head of lettuce a death sentence,
Peas and carrots in a can, seeds of future cancers.
I write this sitting here eating junk food copiously,
Playing Russian Roulette with my health, supposedly.
I’m 79, had cancer, and it doesn’t matter to me.

Bob Boyd

A Thieving Girlfriend

Last time I saw her she drove off with my car,
Unfortunately she stole it after arguing with me.
I called the police, they put out an APB.
A clever woman, she evaded the police
And drove to parts unseen never seen.
Ten years later I saw her in a dream.
She asks me to forgive her. I did.
Then I see an old shaped grave
That seems connected to her,
But I cannot read her name on it.
In the dream the name of the town
An hour’s drive away
Is somehow revealed to me.
I visited the town, explored graveyards
Until in a little old Methodist Church
I find her in the church graveyard,
Beloved Minster Joyce Matthews
1952 to 2021.

Bob Boyd

A Great Guru

The young husband and wife
Had an incredibly powerful guru
With many paranormal powers
Mostly seen on a blanket in India
Hailed as a great sage by
New Age notables of the day.

To have a guru that great
Was a boon from God,
And one was granted
The unfailing protection
Of a cosmically guarded life,
Provided by a fully enlightened guru.

But something went awry
In a car in a garage in America.
The wife killed herself
With carbon monoxide.
The great guru couldn’t save her,
Perhaps he was a charlatan,
Or the protections of great gurus
Are only bankrupt guarantees.

Bob Boyd

Jennifer

She isn’t a Miss America …
She isn’t a PhD …
She isn’t a CEO …
She’s more than those three.
She works in a grocery store making pizza,
But she’s so much more than what she does
And to me so much more
Than Miss Americas, PhD’s and CEOs.
She’s sweeter, kinder and inwardly
More beautiful than the three.
She’s untainted by self obsession, self-importance
And being better than others.
That’s why to me her humility, her indifference to
The things that drive the three
Make her far better, humbler and nicer
Than Miss Americas, PhD’s and CEOs.
But, alas, she’s too young for me.

Bob Boyd

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