Category: Poems

Not Addicted

No way I’m getting addicted to you
I’ve better things to do,
writing poems like an assembly machine,
mind in the heavens, heart hermetically sealed,
card carrying MGTOW member.

Never ever will I surrender to your
siren-like charms, angelic face,
caring heart, irresistible
inner and outer beauty,
mesmerizing ways ….

Damn! Once again you’ve got me
thinking about you.
But no way I’m getting addicted
I’ve better things to do.

Bob Boyd

Surfer Charisma Death

Like a surfer, he had the look and the mellow attitude, a beach pretty girlfriend too. Peaceful, cheerful, charismatic, fun guy, the best.
An auto accident on a curve, him driving, her dead. After that, surfer charismatic fun guy died inside.
Became dark and sinister, began collecting Nazi memorabilia, praising Hitler. Never understood why he became like a retro Nazi.

The tragic loss of your love caused that dark descent? Maybe it was guilt because you were driving and she died instead of you. Maybe you felt like you killed her, even though it was an accident. I could understand that. Maybe you went mad. You have the love of your young life cruelly snatched away from you. No justice in the universe, at least not for her and you, insane and unjust she was taken from you.

Haven’t seen you in over 50 years. Maybe you’re dead. Maybe you resigned from the quasi Hitler Youth. Maybe you went from the Third Reich to the Holy Cross. Hoping that’s so, rather
than you lost forever in that descending, swastika darkness. Hope you’re In heaven reunited with her. My heart bleeds for you.

Bob Boyd

The Song About the Sun Catching You Crying

Decades ago heard a song about not letting the sun catch you crying. Why not? Wouldn’t the heat of the sun dry your tears, and I don’t think it would care one way or the other if you were crying. Did that song mean it would be better to have the moon catch you crying
when many people and werewolves go bonkers when the moon is full? I truly doubt that. But what if I was crying then? Would the tears turn into
craziness and cause me to do something totally irrational like trying to fly off a tall building like the legendary Superman? Or, does the sun have a problem with overly sentimental people who for human reasons cry now and then. Is it some kind of solar condition that the sun’s allergic to tears? Or is the sun so sentimental that it would cry too if it caught you crying. Is the sun that sensitive, that thin skinned, like some people have skin sensitive to the sun? If I wrote that song, I’d be more concerned about the moon catching people crying, especially a full moon for aforementioned reasons.

Bob Boyd

Cancer and Women in Dreams

When I had cancer, dreams of women every night.
Angels, spirit guides, soulmate in many guises, something else?
Visiting me in dreams because I was near death?
There to guide me Into the afterlife? Never knew for sure.
When the cancer went into remission, the women in dreams
disappeared, and haven’t been back. Maybe a close call.
But I miss those women in my dreams. And I long for
the unconditional love of the afterlife.

Bob Boyd

Reverie

A lady bug strolls across the top of my computer monitor.
I can’t tell if its pronouns are she/her or he/him.
Maybe it took gender studies in college, and it’s nonbinary.
Gnats flail in vain against my apartment window screens;
I imagine a few hot-headed ones are swearing.
A red-bellied woodpecker taps a tune on a nearby tree outside.
I think it’s an oldie, maybe Knock on Wood from 66 by Eddy Floyd.
The guppies in my aquarium swim happily going nowhere.
I think they’re hedonists living for today partying the night away.
The ceiling fan spins like a planet rotating in the cosmos;
I imagine an asteroid striking it and blasting it out of orbit.
In a reverie I find myself thinking of how in a perfect world
I would have been with the sweet looking, sweet sounding
woman who sang It’s Gonna Take a Lotta Love.

Bob Boyd

Dark Clouds

Dark clouds, inevitable in one’s life,
often related to disappointments.
Worst for me if because of a
disappointment with a woman
when dark clouds gather and
the rain falls like tears
from my eyes even though
I’m not crying on the outside.
Been through too many dark
clouds and even storms
in my life.

Maybe bad karma,
maybe random,
maybe dumb choices,
maybe bad luck.

But for me and for most
dark clouds eventually
disperse, the rain
evaporates in the healing,
rejuvenating rays
of another sunny day.
Tomorrow will be my sunny day.
Tonight’s my dark cloud.

Bob Boyd

Eminent Domain

Behold one of the darkest arts of
Government: Eminent Domain
Reminiscent of stolen Native American lands
Some cases underpaid for the seizures
Some cases of removals at gunpoint
How is it in what some politicians claim
is the greatest country in the world
we have a government perpetrating
intrusive, insensitive land grabs
And while I’m on this insidious topic,
Here’s what eminent means
“Well-known and respected, especially
for achievement in a particular field.”
I see nothing respectful
I see no achievement
I see only a particular field of stolen lands
watered with the tears of people
those lands were seized from
I see a disgraceful well-known
diabolical practice by a government
in cases not by the people but
against the people
I see broken hearts of families
who owned lands for generations
robbed regardless of forced
compensations
Eminent Domain, a
Goddamn shame.

Bob Boyd

Inspiring Little Dog

Standing in line to buy guppies in Petsmart, saw a cute
little brown and white dog jumping in front of me.

Then saw something unusual,three legs instead of four,
didn’t matter to the sprightly canine, didn’t care he
was a three-legged dog.

Impressive, inspiring how that dog adapted to his disability.
A hit by a car caused the loss of one leg, didn’t need it,
never limited him. Three just as good.

Bob Boyd

Love 8,000 Miles Across the Sea

At first she was a beautiful Asian woman in a photo
living in an archipelago 8,000 miles away.
An alluring snapshot that spoke to my lonely heart,
suggesting a thousand enchanting things.
I wondered if this exotic woman would be with me.
For two years she waited from across the sea,
talking to me every night courtesy of Skype.
On Korean Air wings I flew to her, met her in Davao,
the connection complete, the romance official,
months of romantic bliss consummated in marriage.
Had I a soothsayer been, I would have seen
five years later after I brought her to Greensboro,
the photo and the romance would have faded
into an ill fated long distance love.

Bob Boyd

Alaina

Knew Alaina when she was an eleventh grade high school cheerleader, wholesome girl, fluffy blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, a perfect figure, father a doctor, on her way to a stellar future, maybe a doctor too.
Always had a crush on her, but not good enough, wrong side of town, ill bred, family with little money, lesser social class.
Enlisted in the military, four displaced years, unscrewed my life, scrambled my mind, but took college courses part time, improved myself, my diction, my writing, and my bearing, still thought of Alaina.
Returned to my hometown, changed, an outsider, curious about Alaina.
A lowlife named Laney said she’d become a whore.
I went crazy, punched him to the ground, jumped on him and wailed until friends pulled me off.
The sacrilege of what he said, a sin against the wonderful, beautiful Alaina.
Driving through a bad part of town, gasped when I saw her swaying back and forth on the street like a weed stirring in the wind, her looks gone, hard lines etched in her face, hair unkempt, clothes ragged, eyes spaced out, her drugged out, my heart broken.
Parked my car across the street from her wondering what to do, then a greasy man in an old pick up truck stopped; she talked to him, took his money, hopped in his truck, the man drove it into a nearby alley.
I knew then what Laney said was true, felt sick, almost threw up.
Drove home heavy hearted bemoaning what happened to Alaina, couldn’t sleep that night thinking what to do, if I could save her from the streets, decided to take action the next day.
Jumped in my car, drove to where I’d seen her; she wasn’t there. Looked for her, a long anxious week. No sign of her until I found her obit: Died of an Overdose.
Alaina, Alaina, what happened to you?

Bob Boyd

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