Category: Poems

A Perfect Couple

They had a wonderful, heavenly wedding
Handsome husband, beautiful wife
Seemed destined for nuptial bliss forever
Perfect couple, so many things in common
Looked great together, an ideal couple
Many wished they had their perfect love
Six years later wife falls in love with coworker
Husband, healthy and fit, dead not long after that
Heavily insured

Bob Boyd

What Matters to Me

I don’t care how rich you are
Riches are a negative to me
I don’t care how degreed you are
You might think you’re better than me
I don’t care how successful and important you are
You might be too self-centered and have no time for me
I do care about how, humble, compassionate, and kind you are
Those are the things that matter to me.

Bob Boyd

I Wonder Where You Are Today

16, beautiful, always nicely dressed
Worked at a drugstore in Burlington, MA
All the guys wanted to be with you
Dream girl, few could compare
I believed you’d always be true
If some lucky day I could be with you
But crossing the street one rainy day
Your life and beautiful you ended
By a careless teenage driver
One of the worst tragedies of
My wayward teenage years
I wonder where you are today

Bob Boyd

Tsutomu Yamaguchi, Survivor of Two Atomic Bombs

On business in Hiroshima on August 6th 1945 at 8:15 AM,
Tsutomu Yamaguchi heard an aircraft and thought he saw a parachute in the sky
Atomic bomb, Little Boy, 15 kilotons of TNT, exploded 2,000 feet above the city
80,000 people burned alive immediately. Tsutomu Yamaguchi saw the blast in the sky
Light brighter than the blazing sun shocked and temporarily blinded him.
The sound of the booming blast ruptured his eardrums, radiation burned his body.
Returned to his work in Nagasaki, able to work, air raid alarms sounded in the city;
Atomic bomb, Fat Boy, 21 kilotons of TNT, devastated Nagasaki on August 9th, 11AM,
Instantly killed 40,000 people. Miraculously Tsutomu survived that atomic bomb too,
High fever and vomiting for a week, became an advocate for nuclear disarmament.
Suffered from radiation-related ailments all his life, died at age 92, stomach cancer.
Today nuclear bombs have 455 and 800 kilotons of TNT. I pray never comes the doomsday
When those are dropped on any country, and so sad Tsutomu experienced such devastation.
And tragic over a hundred thousand people died in those explosions and more in the aftermath.
And wars still go on.

Bob Boyd

Missing 411

A full moon rises tonight. Oh God how that worries me.
My body sweats profusely, my heart beats louder;
I feel the changes in my body from mild man to terrifying beast,
Cracking sounds and hair sprouting all over me.
My canines turning into fangs, my height increasing to ten feet.
I feel inhumanly strong and invincibly unstoppable.
A howl I cannot suppress bursts out of my enlarged lungs
Before I run into the night seeking my frightened prey.
And if you don’t believe werewolves are real,
Pray you never see me on a full moon night.
You ask, “How come I’m not in the news?”
Because I’m a reluctant government experiment since 1973
Government contractors clean up the bloody messes
And keep my hundreds of kills out of the news,
No traces of the carnage, bodies never found.
Ever hear of Missing 411? Google it and you will see.

Bob Boyd

Oh How I Wonder About Being With You

Sometimes I think I’d love to be with you
Sometimes I think it would be like sticking
My hands into the flames of red hot fire
At the heartrending risk of getting burnt again
At other times I remember the wonders I see in you
Your inner beauty vastly beyond any outer beauty
Your captivating lightness of being, your joyfulness
And ponder if you’d be the love beyond loves
But wonder if because I’m a deep thinking man
Mystically spiritual and never ending philosophical
Ever questing new and fascinating knowledge
If our minds could ever meet in an Elysian Fields
Of ambrosial, mythical, epical immortal love
That would soar our hearts into the heavens
Oh how I wonder about being with you

Bob Boyd

I Don’t Know About You

I know about things like
Consciousness expansions
Bliss beyond measure
Peace unimaginable
White Light like the sun
Permanent kundalini energy
Palpable spiritual radiance
Amazing synchronicities
Spiritual dreams
Love without limits
Loving kindness
Compassion in action
But I don’t know about you
I can’t fathom
I can’t divine
I can’t prophesize
If I could trust you
If you’d be true
If you’d be there
If ever I needed you
If I could depend on you
And I’m thinking
I’m too old
My heart too
Battle hardened
From too many
Wars of Roses
To ever throw
The dice again.

Bob Boyd

An Appalling Level of Casual Brutality

Essex England, 1600s, witches everywhere
Elizabeth Clark, elderly with only one leg
Hair cut off, body searched, roughly treated
By three women searching for Devil’s mark
Later tied to a chair, denied sleep for days
Forced to confess by Witch Finder General
Matthew Hopkins, fantical, cruel, evil
Proudly broke the 80-year-old woman
Who lied to stop the sleep-deprived torture
Confessed to being a witch and claimed
Other women in her village witches too
Her life ended with 15 other women
Condemned as witches, hung on the gallows
At Chelmsford Market Square in 1645.

Bob Boyd

We Had It All

Like the song Key Largo said, we had it all
Until you got involved with that crazy cult
Abandoned me and our true love
For a fake Avatar in Goa, India
Who promised full enlightenment
In a single lifetime by obeying him
Sad you fell for his impossible con
Heart broken and screwed up
I vowed never another woman
Became like a bona fide monk
Three years later, you came home
A disheveled, babbling crazy women
Used and abused by the bogus holy man
You got delivered by an Exorcist
Died a year later in Harvard Square
Drug overdose, no coming back
I placed flowers and tears on your grave

Bob Boyd.

When Dan’s Wife Died

When his wife, Jessica,
A stabilizing influence on him, died
Dan returned to the wild ways of his youth
Drugs, alcohol, badass attitude
Robbed a liquor store in Stoneham, MA
Shot the clerk and got away
Drove to Abilene, TX the next day
Stopped at a convenience store
In Canton, OH to rob it on a whim
Lazy-eyed teenage girl at the counter
Quick drawed a gun and shot dan dead
Teenage girl behind the counter
Psychopathic pretty in pink killer
Who shot the real counter guy
And posed as easy prey employee.
If only Dan’s wife hadn’t died.

Bob Boyd

Hannibal

In 218 BC, I crossed the alps with my
Famous North African War Elephants.
I brought burning hell to Rome
Winning scores of victories
In battles at the Battle of Ticinus,
Trebia, Lake Trasimene and Cannae.
The arrogant Romans felt their
defenses were impregnable.
They’d never met the likes of me.
Nor could they believe I’d taken
Those magnificent beasts across
The treacherous Alps.
But fifteen years later at the
Battle of Zuma, the Romans
Defeated me and I fled.
I was on the run for years
Until at the court of Bithynia,
I was handed over to the Romans
And poisoned myself to death,
Rather than let the Romans
Torture and execute me.

Bob Boyd

Madam Wei

I enjoyed a high reputation as a great
poetess in China in the 11th century.
My poems were considered as good
As the famous poet Li Quingzao’s
Celebrated masterpiece poems.
Though some nearsighted critics
Disagreed (No doubt because
I was a woman, and they were men).
Had I been a man, they would
Have raved about my poems
And hailed me as the
greatest poet in all of China.
I’m sad to say time wasn’t kind
To my best selling published collection
Madame Wei’s Works, that made
The China Times best seller list
For ten years. I suspect Misogynist
Male critics burned them after I died.

Bob Boyd

Lenora

At age seven, my sister Lenora
Developed an obsession with ants.
If you accidentally stepped on one
She would scold you for a week.
When my parents bought me an
Ant Farm one joyous Christmas,
As soon as I received the ants
Through the postal service,
I remember the stormy day,
Lenora went maniacally psycho
And smashed the farm to bits,
And set all the bewildered ants free
When a teenager, her obsession worsened;
She vowed to set all the ants free
At what she called the ant gulag,
The ant farm factory in Pittsburg, PA.
I worried she’d become a loopy
My suspicions confirmed when
She broke into the factory,
Somehow set numberless ants free
And tried to burn the factory down.
Now she’s spent fifty years
In a psychiatric hospital composing
Crazy paeans to ants while I write
Weird poems about stink bugs
Obsessively and dream about
Inventing a Stink Bug Farm
And selling it to the world.

Bob Boyd

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