Genetically Twisted

Born twisted
Unreformable
Never had a chance
Unsurprisingly
She led a
Crime-filled life
Got caught
Drugging
Robbing
Lonely men
In seedy hotels
Went to prison
Even religion
Couldn’t save
Her
When preached
To in prison
Got out of
Prison
Went back in
Again
For seven
Years
Got out
Found a
Boyfriend
Who cheated on
Her
Went psychotic
Killed him
Went to jail
For life
Never had
A prayer

Bob Boyd

Alone

You come into this world alone
Friends come
Friends go
Good times
And bad times pass
Boyfriends, girlfriends
Husbands, wives
Come and go
If not by volition
Then by death
And you go out of his world alone

Bob Boyd

John White Was One Crazy Hombre

They left chicken bones and chicken heads
And blood on the altar, a Satanic sacrifice
In an old abandoned church,
A desecration of a once holy site.

They sacrificed crazy John White’s cat as well
And cut off his head,
Which was a more dangerous mistake
Than those responsible could have imagined.

John loved his cat like a member of his family,
And John was one tough, crazy hombre nobody
Wanted to fool with.

He found out who was responsible for killing his cat,
The leader of a wannabe Satanic cult, Evil One John.

He hunted Evil One John down, slew him with a sword, and
Cut off his head.

And put it on the altar of the church to freak
Out the wannabe satanists when they held their next sacrifice.

He hid with has AR-15 assault rifle the night they all entered the church
And screamed. He leaped out of his hiding spot, shot them all to death when they
Stormed out of the church terrified.

The police never solved the case, and John White got a new cat.

Bob Boyd

A Nonviolent Man with a Violent Woman

A Nonviolent Man with a Violent Woman

He drove as far away as he could from her,
Frightened by her abuse, mindful of her threat to kill him,
Ashamed he had been so unmanly
that he let her abuse of him happen.

Disappointed in himself when he never reported her for stabbing
Him in his shoulder and maybe stopping her violence
By having her jailed for attempting to kill him.

Now a too peaceful, too nonviolent man he realizes he’s a coward,
But at least by fleeing he’s still alive for now,
And no longer trapped in the toxicity of her twisted love.

She stalked him before when he fled to another state,
And give him a near death beating, her love brutal and obsessive.

When he reached Tulsa,Texas, he bought a pistol to shoot her with if
she found him again, which he felt sure she would do.

But when she showed up a year later, with a demonlike look in her blazing eyes
And breathing fire with the torrent of threats she screamed at him
And with a machete in her hand

For the first time in their insane relationship he stood up to her.
He aimed his gun at her enraged face and threatened to shoot her
If she didn’t leave him alone and get the hell out of his life.

When she charged him screaming like a female berserker swinging the machete,
He dropped the gun and let her hack him to death and end his unending fear and misery.

Bob Boyd

Retirement

Saturday rolls around just like another day
Now that he’s retired and liberated from
The workday controls and time constrictions
That ruled his life for over seventy years.
Now that he’s free and no one controls him
Or runs interference on his activities,
He does whatever he pleases.

Bob Boyd

An Old Poet

He wrote his poems just to create
He no longer cared about getting published
He enjoyed the satisfaction of the process
Writing poems about everything he imagined
Amazed at the things he could make up
As an old man with a shrinking brain and body
Like a one last gasp of creative activity
That helped to keep him alive and well

Bob Boyd

Mary Primping Herself in Public

Mary primped herself in public
At a lovely age eighteen
And all the guys drooled
And wanted to be with her

Now Mary primps herself in public
At a vintaged age seventy
And even old guys who drool
All over themselves don’t
Want to be with her

Maybe Mary primping herself
Was a bit much
But I wish she could have
Stayed young and beautiful
And still looked great when
She groomed herself in public
And had such a fresh and
Springtime beautiful face

Bob Boyd

Donuts

She was beautiful and she loved her donuts
Perfect face. Perfect body. Passable personality.

I felt she was donuts obsessed and ate too many of them.
She said I work out. I burn off the calories and can eat
All the donuts I want, which I’m going to keep doing.

Years later, after she turned forty, she complained to me.
“You were right,” she said. “Now I have a donut belly with
All the fat around my waist like an imitation innertube
Shaped like a round donut.”

“But,” she said. “I have a plan. I’m going to just eat those
Rectangular cruller donuts and slim down with a waist like them.”
Crazy as this sounds, somehow it worked. Her waist
Got slim again.

Or maybe she was just messing with me.

Bob Boyd

Past lives

Under a past life regression hypnosis session I learned
I’d been Moses, Julius Caesar and Robert E. Lee
In former lives. I had always known I was special.
Now I know why.

I went to another past life regression hypnosis session and didn’t fare as well,
Nobody famous, nobody notorious,
Just humdrum lives. That one knocked me off my high horse.

I went to third past life hypnosis session with a dour-looking hypnotist
Who I sensed didn’t like the way I looked as I didn’t like the way she looked.
I learned I had a thousand insignificant past lives and was an old soul.

I left that session despondent, thinking I must be quite the insignificant, karma-ridden SOB to have lived all those lives and not gotten off the wheel.

Bob Boyd

The Poet

He dreamt of becoming a great poet.
He knew he had enough talent to be one.
He lived off some savings he had in a bank
After ten years his dream not fulfilled,
Nothing published. No savings left,
He had to take temp jobs to support himself
And live in old rundown boarding houses.

He squandered what little money he made
On beer and cheap whisky to erase his sorrow
Over his failure to become a great poet.
He became an alcoholic, wrote worse poems,
His brain damaged from all the drinking.
He could no longer get any temp jobs,
Became homeless and begged for money
He spent on beer and cheap whisky.
Gave up on becoming a great poet,
Drank himself to death instead.

Bob Boyd

New Pitbull in the Neighborhood

I liked the new pitbull in my neighborhood.
I hoped he liked me.
He eyed me sideways when he first saw me.
He made me wonder what was on his mind.
The other day in the news a pitbull,
Described as being as harmless as a baby,
By the elderly woman who owned him
Killed her granddaughter’s newborn baby.
I know not all pitbulls are dangerous
Like that pitbull.
But some of these powerful dogs are.
And the neighborhood pitbull growled
And snarled at me today
But doesn’t realize I’m open carry.

Bob Boyd

Acorns

I hear birds singing in an acorn tree
Like a chorus in a church
While acorns drop to the ground,
Like paratroopers falling from planes
Into the arms and hands of
Hungry squirrels on the ground.
And I wonder if the ants want some
Of the leftover acorn crumbs.
And I wonder why those birds have
Chosen that acorn tree to sing in.
Do they have an affinity with acorns
Or was it just a random choice?
And I think to myself how much
I missed when I didn’t pay as much
Attention to the goings on of nature.

Bob Boyd

Jailed for a Tweet

He sits in jail wondering how he and his country
came to this.

For a mere tweet criticizing his heavy-handed government,
the police knocked on his door and carted him to jail.

He never thought his beloved country would become
a totalitarian nightmare state.

He never thought living in a proposed new world order
would get him ordered to jail.

Yet there he sits silenced in a soul-stifling cell
as if he were a dangerous criminal.

He vows when he gets out to begin a fight
against the injustices of the oppressors.

And he takes solace in knowing
a revolution is brewing.

Bob Boyd

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