Category: Poems

I’m liking the young ASMR lady
probably not in the way you might think
I’m too old to be thinking about her
other than objectively, realistically
she has long dark brown hair
about six inches beneath her shoulders
bangs just above her eyebrows
sufficiently pretty light, brown eyes

she starts off her ASMR session
by lighting a candle and moving it
back and forth in front of the viewers
I get a little buzzed looking at the flame
like I did when once I was initiated
into a spiritual path with a fire ceremony
got high looking into the flickering flames
that maybe the god Agni was hidden in

she then lights some sage and waves
it back and forth as if it’s a purification
despite not being about sage and such
I find myself liking what she’s doing
I find myself getting quite relaxed

she reaches toward me and grabs
what must be “the negative attachment”
out of me like a cord and cuts it with scissors
I’ve seen this before; I think it’s a Reiki thing
I don’t know if it actually works or if
I have any negative attachments in me
but I’m liking the cutting and the sounds
of the scissors cutting, snip, snip snip
I’m liking the graceful way she moves her hands
and her somber, clinical manner as she ASMRs
like a dedicated medical practitioner

she ends the session with the sage and
the mesmerizing moving candle
she smiles and folds her hands in prayer
signs off, and I’m so relaxed and impressed
that I subscribe to her YouTube channel
for more of her ASMR Reiki enchantments.

Bob Boyd

Sitting here getting older
sitting here closer to dying
after eight decades of living
amid the wreckage of aging
I’m looking at the cobra endlers
swimming merrily in my fish tank
as if without an earthly care
except for getting fed their
Aqueon fish flake food

I’m thinking they probably
are having a better life than me
no worries, no loneliness, no cares
no infirmities, no doctor appointments
no threats of many age-related
medical conditions or falls

sure they have the disadvantage
of short lives – 3 to 5 years
but living a longer life isn’t
always great when your body
unexpectedly begins breaking down
or, worse, if you lose your mind
to Alzheimer’s or a dementia

and maybe those 3 to 5 years
for those endlers are like 60 to 90
for aging out humans like me.

Bob Boyd

Heard today that 77 percent
of marriages fail
so if you get married
only 23 percent is your chance
of the nuptials lasting
sometimes I feel I’d like
to find love again
but with 77 percent
of things going awry
if you get married
probably higher if
you don’t get married
it’s no wonder I don’t try
it’s no wonder I don’t go looking
for a 23 percent chance of
a love that lasts instead of
a love that disappoints,
and, at the least,
breaks your hopeful heart.

Bob Boyd

I’ve read the stories about people dying alone with a cat
and the cat beginning to feast on the corpse

as disturbing as those stories are, a cat or cats will
feast on your body after you die rather than starve

I find the thought of that gruesome, and if I had a cat
that would happen to me

I live alone and have no contact with others, so were I to
die, it could take days or weeks before anyone found me

and the beloved pet cat would begin to feast on me –
all it could do to survive

were I aware of things happening on earth after I died
I’d have no hard feelings against the cat

but the thought of a cat eating me after I died is a bit
too macabre for me

which is one of the reasons I don’t have a pet cat
and have tropical fish instead

far as I know, 🙂 they won’t eat me when I die.

Bob Boyd

I remember asking my parents if I could have a pony
when I was a kid

like some other kids had
and being told they couldn’t afford to buy one for me

unaware of the haves and the have nots in this world
I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t have a pony back then

so out of desperation, I prayed to God for one
thinking at least he’d come through for me

but even God wouldn’t give me a pony
dejected, I gave up on having a pony

and praying to God for stuff.

Bob Boyd

Like little mechanical people
eyes, hands, arms, legs move
in mechanical ways

been around for hundreds of years
perfection in precision

impressive, close to real, especially
the eyes

despite how amazing they are
I don’t like the eyes

creepy to me, as if, though mechanical,
they had dark souls.

Bob Boyd

The ghost dogs began appearing
nights a week ago

they appear and disappear
with scary, red glowing eyes

So far they haven’t harmed
anyone

but they keep appearing
closer

the locals say if they
bark once

you better run and hide
pray you get away

if they catch you
they will savage you

rip your soul out of you
and take it to hell.

Bob Boyd

Sometimes I feel there’s a woman in the ether
like a soulmate watching over me

of course, I could be mistaken

maybe I just imagine it

maybe somehow I conjured it

but more and more I think she is real
though not able to interact on this earthly plane

I think she is patiently waiting for me to join her
no matter how long she has to wait

the feeling of her presence is vague and
only occasional

it could be a far fetched imagining
maybe out of loneliness

but more and more I’m beginning
to think she is real

that there maybe be something to this

and real or imagined the feeling
sometimes is comforting.

Bob Boyd

The angels above
the demons below
battled for his soul
he was influenced
by each
not a holy saint
nor a damned soul
some knew him as
essentially good
others knew him as
innately bad
when he grew older
the angels won
the demons cursed
and those who
died and
had seen
the bad in him
were surprised
when he got
into heaven
as if he snuck
in somehow.

Bob Boyd

Beware! Watch out!
He’s got his eye on you.
From the day you are born.
He’s hunting you.
Don’t slip up.
Don’t take dangerous risks.
He’s always watching
He’s always stalking.
Who is he?
Who is this ghoul?
His first name is Grim.
His last name is Reaper.

Bob Boyd

According to many people who have
been clinically dead and came back, NDEers

when you die, aside from the tunnel of whte light,
there’s a life review

kind of like watching a movie, and maybe like acting
in it at the same time

you view all the good and not so good things you
did in your lifetime

but, take heart, it’s not punitive; God or a higher being
is there with you

not to condemn you for the not so good, but to help you
grow spiritually from the viewing

I don’t know exactly how the viewing helps you grow
spiritually, but if the NDE accounts are true

at least you don’t get sent to hell, but a small percentage of NDEers, felt they were in hell

what I really don’t know is – what happens if you’re permanently dead, the end of you or a new beginning

though I believe despite our not so goods, no matter how bad,
no matter how heinous

like rivers flowing in an ocean, we all eventually get to what the
Hindus call Sat Chit Ananda Eternal Bliss Consciousness

the degree, the speed of getting there, a matter of either
many incarnations on the wheel aka rebirths

or, hopefully, growing spiritually up a ladder of different levels,
in the afterlife; for example, a Hitler beginning at the lowest rung

but gradually, he begins to ascend up the ladder and
after near timeless penance and spiritual growth

some scientists think the NDEs are illusionary, even the common
ones, and they make good scientific arguments

in simple terms, despite all the beliefs and NDE experiences,
when you’re dead, you’re dead

if they’re right, I’m okay with that, and I’d be unaware of being completely erased – no me to be concerned.

Bob Boyd

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