She haunts Schallenburg Castle
in lower Austria
beautiful black hair, about 5’5” tall
a young woman from the neck down
a snout like a dog’s from the neck up
she’s a ghost known as the hundefraulein
the dog maiden of Schallenberg Castle
who roams the castle but means no harm

Johannes Ertl, custodian of the castle
for 28 years, said he’s seen her many times
once she passed through him like a fog
and he felt his body lit up with positive energy

supposedly, when she was alive
her family kept her locked away in a cellar
because of her deformed, dog-like face

she might be what is called a residual ghost
an imprint of an event that plays over and over
like watching an actor on a screen
the ghost not real, the spirit moved on.

Bob Boyd

Greensboro Park contains a Vortex, a hotbed of paranormal happenings. You name it, seen it, parades of cryptids passing through – Bigfoot, Wendigo, Spring-Heeled Jack, to name a few, usually in the dark, rare occasions in daylight.

Saw Spring-heeled Jack, a rainy day in May. With high-powered spring heels he sprang up a 30-foot-tall tree and laughed at me; that devil knew I couldn’t jump that high.

Did you know Bigfoot has a twin? Saw them both in Greensboro Park, Christmas Eve 2023. Could be mistaken, but I think they wanted to give me a surprise Christmas present beneath twinkling Christmas tree lights, but I ran away too scared by the size and frightening sight of the Bigfoot duo to hang around for a Christmas present or my death.

The Vortex has a dark side. For some tuition money, a student at UNC, Greensboro, Michelle Burns, sweet, beautiful sophomore, started cryptid tours in Greensboro Park for $20 a head. Tours didn’t feature real cryptids, members of her sorority dressed as cryptids, disrespectful fakes, an affront to the Vortex.

As I foresaw in a dream and warmed Michelle about, but she wouldn’t listen, the Vortex took offense. During Michelle’s final tour, the Vortex opened, the skies thundered, Michelle screamed, the terrifying Vortex swallowed her, and she was never seen again.

Often on moonlit nights in Greensboro Park, like psychics coaxing dead people to go to the Light, I coax Michelle, who was my girlfriend, to come back to the park, and I beg the Vortex to forgive her and release her.

So far no luck; the vortex doesn’t forgive easily and will not be mocked.

Bob Boyd

I saw her in the grocery store in my perceptive, peripheral vision.
She was taking a long hungry look at me, which I liked.

When she looked away, I took more than a cursory look, sensed a possible thing.
Slightly past middle age, pretty in a blue dress, golden locks, a shade of gray.

Pushed my grocery store cart a respectful distance behind her, eyeballing her.
She began to morph into a Venus in front me, a goddess, a grocery store lights dream.

I spied a smiling Cupid lurking in the flower section drawing back his bow.
I thought maybe the gods of love have brought this Venus to me, true love at last.

My Venus poked through the vegetables, tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, rutabagas.
It was all so grand until she got to the onions and put two bags full into her cart.

Cupid frowned, fluttered his wings, put away his bow, and flew out of the flowers and away.
The horrid taste of onions assaulted my taste buds, and me and Venus were through.

Bob Boyd

I look at the names from back in 1964
and a slightly related memory of that time
comes back to me

I’m at a YMCA dance, and I spy a beautiful
red-hair girl, maybe a year younger than me
I ask her to dance and she accepts

I feel blessed and maybe a little unworthy
I’m so blown away by her red hair and her looks
I get tongued tied and cannot speak to her

months later three girls phone me
one of them says I danced with you once
I kiddingly replied, “You were lucky.”

the girls laugh and the one who said I danced with her
pays me back perfectly with a “No. You were lucky.
and tells me she was the red-hair girl

instead of telling her how I felt that night dancing with her
I just crack up laughing impressed by her comical comeback
but, damn, with hindsight I wish I had said to her

something like, I remember you. I remember how beautiful
you looked, and that I got so tongued dancing with you
that I was unable to speak, and you looked so beautiful that night

but, alas, that was just one of many things I should
have done differently back then, and I often wish I could
do a rewind, for example, good grades and going steady with that girl.

Bob Boyd

He sees her in
that tiny cup
worse than
keeping a human
in a closet.

She’s a beautiful orange
plakat betta fish
weaving back and
forth and
peeking out of her
glass prison bowl

she sees him
her eyes saying
please, please
save me from this
horrible fate

she connects
with him
like what was
once called a
contact high

he hears her
picks up the bowl
takes it to the
keeper of the fish

who scoops her
out of the bowl
puts her in a
plastic bag
twists it secure
writes $15 on it
with a magic marker
hands it to him

he marches to the
registers and buys
the beautiful betta

takes it home and
gives her a beautiful
5 gallon home with
all the amenities a
betta fish likes.

Bob Boyd

My day is off kilter
I wake up at 12 a.m.
groggy and as if
back from the dead
at first I think
it’s 12 p.m.
until I realize I’m
12 hours wrong

but all is not lost
I start writing poems
earlier, and since
I no longer work
or have any
appointments, it’s
of no consequence
whatever time I
leave the dream
world and rejoin
the world of the
living again.

Bob Boyd

By some peculiarity, a feeder goldfish had miraculously gained enough cognizance to know his doomed existence was only to die in the stomach of a bigger, ravenous fish.

He shuddered each time the fish net scooped his fellow fish inmates out of the gulag fish tank knowing he could be next.

When he peered out of the glass enclosure, he envied the purebred angelfish in the next tank. He wondered why he couldn’t have had a privileged life like them.

One day after he barely dodged the death net, he realized inexplicably he had developed telepathic powers, perhaps the shock of his escape jump started the paranormal ability.

He spied a sensitive named Bob Boyd looking at the angelfish and sent him a telepathic SOS.

The sensitive couldn’t tell the feeder goldfish had preternaturally sent him that SOS because the mind to mind transmission was weak, but he felt an irresistible compulsion to walk over to the gulag tank.

He looked at the assorted sixty plus feeder goldfish swimming and frolicking in the tank oblivious to their impending fates.

Then for reasons unclear to him one of the feeder fish caught his attention, who was still sending him telepathic pleas for help.

Though he had planned on buying a fancy angelfish that day, he bought the feeder goldfish instead, and, once home, Bob put him in a 50 gallon tank he had bought to house an angelfish in.

And the feeder goldfish lived the high life in the brand spanking new 50 gallon aquarium estate.

with soothing bubbling water, stunning coral substrate, a fish cave, radiant aqua plants, and bathed in illuminating aquarium lights that made his new home an underwater paradise.

He was fed fish food that was like gourmet fish food prepared by a five star chef instead of the fish food gruel he was sparingly fed when he was just a doomed feeder goldfish.

His telepathic ability waned after the rescue, but he didn’t care.
Mission accomplished, his life spared and an upscale dream life instead of being just fish food.

Bob Boyd

Though you’re ambiguous about amore, I think I can work with that, provided you’re not volatile, rabidly political, self obsessed, or mercenary, and can endure my semi-rebellious, semi-reclusive, anti-authoritarianism, anti-fake news, anti-nonsense, poetry-writing ways.

Besides, we both love helping people, 8th century Chinese poetry, animals, romantic music, philosophical ponderings, spiritual pursuits, NDES, conspiracy theories, aliens, UFOs, equal rights, gentle people, underdogs, antiheroes, just about any kind of chocolate, and Haagen-Dazs ice cream.

And if you’re uncompromisingly unambiguous about the Haagen-Dazs, that would probably be enough. And if you love that Harris Teeter apple pastry, Crostata, that some people say is to die for, and it’s so good some people might have died for it …

I honest to God might no prenup propose.

Bob Boyd

When night cloaks Greensboro Park
During foreboding full moon phases
The park grows eerie and silent
Before the terrors happen:
Werewolves emerge and howl
Aliens and cryptids scatter
Silent trees gasp and quiver
Flowers awaken and panic
Spring grass lays low and shudders
Sedate rocks moan and tremble
Teens getting drunk in the park
Scream and try to run away
All of them caught and slaughtered
All of them werewolf prey.

Bob Boyd

Over 300 crude,
handmade dolls
spread all over
a village in Japan
called Ichinomo
less than 60
residents living in it

the purpose of
the dolls is
to make the
small village
of mostly old people
and no children

more livable
less lonely
more like
a bigger village
filled with
more people

but to me
it would be like
living with
scarecrows everywhere
and maybe a few
evil-looking dolls
not at all appealing
in fact, a bit creepy
especially if any
of those dolls

starting moving
like a village of
the damned dolls
horror movie.

Bob Boyd