Attended an open to the public
Hare Krishna dinner once in
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Liked the devotees
Their devotions
Their chanting
And their food

Didn’t like the dogma
Krishna was the only way
And Krishnaloka was the
Ultimate heavenly state
Where you had to
Strive to be forever
Otherwise you were lost

Was surprised at that
Hinduism is accepting
Of other religions usually

But maybe all those only ways
Are all completely right
and are each separate
Only ways In the mix
Of many paths
To the mountaintop

Or maybe all the only ways
have their own only way
heavens like the
Biblical many mansions
Kapish, Kemosabe?

Much respect to
The Hare Krishna’s
Esteemed founder
A.C. Bhaktivedanta
Swami Prabhupada
Unlike many gurus
Never a breath of a
Scandal about him
Seemed genuine
And saintly

Bob Boyd

Mel had an aunt he called an ant
Why he called her an insect
Is baffling to yours truly me
She hailed from Billings, Montana
Mel said she was like Bonnie
From Bonnie and Clyde

Robbed banks with a shotgun
And hand grenades strapped to her
A female bandito first class
A public enemy, never caught
Pictured on post office walls
So he claimed

When she came to visit him
She was just a gentle, little old lady
Probably not taller than five feet
And weighing in at a mere 90 lbs
Harmless and too frail for
Bank robbery and such
I called Mel out for his nonsense
He still claimed it was true

After his aged aunt or aged ant
Went back to Billings
The news on TV reported
Three local banks had been robbed
By a masked old lady with a shotgun
and grenades strapped to her

I still can’t believe she did it
I can’t believe it’s true
After all we’re living
In an era of fake news
And maybe jokester Mel,
Paid serious money for
Some news report fakery

Bob Boyd

If the beginning of life was cooked in a primordial soup,
Does that suggest God is some kind of celestial chef?
Or was he/she/it or whatever a bad short order cook
When serial killers, psychopaths, sociopaths and jerks
Eventually slithered out of a badly cooked primordial soup?
Did God mess up the exact ingredients for the best soup?

Or did that no good, rascal Satan spoil the soup when God
Had to take a bathroom break in the heavenly rest rooms?
Going with the saying, “God doesn’t make mistakes,”
I can’t see any other plausible reason for the soup screw up
Except for meddlesome Beezlebub mucking up the ingredients.

You’re thinking God would know his soup was messed with
Because God is all knowing and knows every little finite thing.
But maybe God was distracted on that fateful creation day
With a billion more important things on his infinite mind
And he thought rascal Satan was just burning happily in hell.

Bob Boyd

When Samuel traced his family tree extensively
He learned he had an evil grandfather named Paradox,
A serial killer who killed hundreds of people in his forties,
Most of them women, some of them little children.
Samuel decided he needed to erase that family infamy
And heroically save all those women and children

Using a time machine he and other scientists invented,
His mission to kill Paradox before he killed his victims,
He and his crew successfully landed back in time
When Paradox was just a budding teenage killer.
After Samuel ended Paradox with a bullet to the brain
Samuel and generations of his family vanished.

Bob Boyd

She drained him of all his vigor
She seemed to thrive on drama
He read couples were healthier
Than solo singles but doubted it
Based on his tensions with her
Yet he just couldn’t leave her
And she just couldn’t leave him
Better miserable than lonely
After hundreds of arguments
And sky-high levels of stress
He died of Stage IV cancer
Done at age forty-three

Bob Boyd

Caril Ann, pretty as a petunia
Sweeter than cane sugar
Barely a teen, wholesome and nice
Intelligent and well liked
Probably would have had a great life
If she hadn’t hooked up with
That Starkweather fella

Bob Boyd

He often felt like just a puppet in this world
With some unknown force pulling his strings.
He was more correct than he knew.

Aliens were programming his life
From a far off planet with mind-blowing technology
In an experiment to see if they could invent a human
And have it interact in the world like real humans.

As some experiments fail, there’s went terribly wrong,
And he went badly rogue beyond the aliens’ control
And raised his arm and yelled Sieg Heil!
And millions died unmercifully.

Bob Boyd

Born inbred in September of 1945.
Died of Huntington’s disease in 1995.
I used to cry and pray to God and ask:
“Why did I have to be born inbred?”
“Why couldn’t I have had a normal healthy life?”
When I died, the inbred related deformities
Didn’t follow me to the other side,
And now I lead a normal, healthy life
In one of God’s many mansions.
And I understand why I was born inbred
For complicated reasons I cannot reveal.
Where I am now, the thoughts and
The words about it cannot come out to you.
I can say this. Despite the inbreeding,
And the suffering I endured on earth
I’m okay now and everything is wonderful.

Bob Boyd

1956 Packard Caribbean Coupe
Classic car, hot vintage look
Dover White, Naples Orange
And Corsican Black colors
Creamsicle colors with a
Black trim highlight, so cool
Only 65,000 original miles
3 speed automatic, overdrive
8 cylinder powered engine
Creamsicle-colored upholstery
Only 263 produced back then
$39,900 justified price tag
Sweet dream antique car
Probably a great ride

Bob Boyd

I must stop reading the news everyday
Too many people dying in awful ways
Too much bad and depressing news
A once powerhouse football player has ALS
A 5 year old child killed in an airborne bounce house
A pretty mother of two killed in a cycling competition
I’m beginning to feel as if I need a Godlike mind
To handle all the misery, warnings and woes
In the everyday bad news nowadays
Maybe it’s time to take a news fast

Bob Boyd

Her husband thought she went shopping too much.
He didn’t realize to her it was like shopping therapy.
It filled some emptiness within, made her feel better.
And they had more than enough money to afford it.
And many in her position, women and men
Would be the same, like Christmas every day.

Some would say she is too materialistic
In her constant need to buy more stuff.
But she’s harming no one in her shopping sprees,
And as long as she isn’t breaking the bank,
And it makes her feel better, why not?
Were I her and money wasn’t a problem
I’d probably be doing the same.

I’d probably start with a giant aquarium
And homing pigeons galore flying in circles
Above a castle in the country, maybe with a moat.
And probably a hot trophy wife for appearances,
Who otherwise wouldn’t be with old, wizened me,
Too old and and not monied enough to afford her.

And some high dollar, coiffured, pedigree dogs,
Maybe a $10,000 pampered, pedigree cat.
Oh yeah, a personal chef and barber too,
But wait! Already I’m breaking the bank,
And this poem is not supposed to be about me.

Bob Boyd

Seems every week something else gives you cancer
Seems this wretched disease keeps gaining ground
It’s like a never ending plague that keeps spreading
That kills over 600,000 people in the USA yearly
Tragically it’s even killing more young people now
And God Almighty why are some babies born with it
You’d think by now there’d be a cure for cancer
A pill or an injection or a procedure that could end it
At least progress is being made in the fight against it
Cancers that used to kill are now sent into remission
Still every week it seems something new causes it
And the grim reaper never had a better friend

Bob Boyd

Tired of women,
He became a monk
But he fought every
Day between prayers
His need for a woman
In his lonely life
He thought he could
Defeat what he was
Hardwired for
Despite his determined
Intentions in the end
He met a nun and
Both hardwired they
Renounced their holy vows
And took marriage ones

Bob Boyd

Full moons had a strange
lunar effect on him.
He wasn’t a werewolf.
He didn’t go bat crap crazy.
He didn’t go temporarily insane,
Or maybe he did a little.
When the moon was full he
claimed to have lived on it
In a long ago former life.
He said the moon had been
Populated millions of years
Ago by inhabitants like him.
He did look a little weird;
So it almost seemed true.
And during those full moons.
He would talk In a strange
language intermittently
Unlike any language on
earth which made you wonder.

Bob Boyd

Sexually abused as a child by monks
when he was a little child monk.
Said a Buddhist tried to kill him.
Described other Buddhism problems,
sounded like a forlorn Buddhist being.
Opened my eyes to the truthful fact
that Buddhism isn’t the exception
to child abuse and the imperfections
of all the sects, cults and religions.
This goes beyond the precepts
and the imperfections of them all.
We have to be our own spiritual
leaders and not be controlled by
all the rules or dismayed by
the corruption and bad leaders.

Bob Boyd

She loved to play the victim
When she screwed you over
She couldn’t take responsibility
For her repeated wrongdoings
Perhaps she couldn’t face
How messed up she was
And all the people who hated
Her because of her hateful ways
She’ll probably go to the grave
Thinking she was always right
Maybe when she dies and
Has the Life Review, she’ll wake
Up and see how she really was
Where she’ll go from there
Is anybody’s guess

Bob Boyd

“The Being of Light presents the dying with a panoramic review of everything they have ever done. That is, they relive every act they have ever done to other people and come away feeling that love is the most important thing in life.” (Dr. Raymond Moody)

Rasbora fish swimming joyfully
In my ten gallon aquarium,
Eighteen in a school of them.
I’d like to know if any thoughts
Come into their little heads,
Aside from mating and eating
And where they go when dead.
I’d hate to think they just die,
And that is the end of them,
As if they were unworthy of
Some kind of rasbora heaven.
Maybe the Hindus have it right
They reincarnate higher,
Maybe into a dog or a cat.
But rather than having to go
Through many incarnations
Some with joy some with strife
Repeatedly facing uncertainties
Maybe horrors and miseries
I’d rather they stayed as rasboras
And went to a rasbora heaven.

Bob Boyd

Claimed to be Christ come again
Built a flourishing cult worldwide
Alleged to have many powers
All his disciples fawned over him
He turned out to be a monster
Talked his disciples into infamy
killed people on Japan subways
Murdered them with sarin gas

Bob Boyd

Hells bells! Even chocolate can give you cancer now!
Does that dastardly cancer have to ruin everything?
I could accept cancer in fruits, vegetables, and red meat.
I could accept cancer in the environment and in plastics.
But chocolate? That’s the hill I’m willing to die of cancer on.

Bob Boyd