Poems by Bob Boyd

Last time I saw her she drove off with my car,
Unfortunately she stole it after arguing with me.
I called the police, they put out an APB.
A clever woman, she evaded the police
And drove to parts unseen never seen.
Ten years later I saw her in a dream.
She asks me to forgive her. I did.
Then I see an old shaped grave
That seems connected to her,
But I cannot read her name on it.
In the dream the name of the town
An hour’s drive away
Is somehow revealed to me.
I visited the town, explored graveyards
Until in a little old Methodist Church
I find her in the church graveyard,
Beloved Minster Joyce Matthews
1952 to 2021.

Bob Boyd

She seemed like a nice ordinary woman
I was falling for her on the first date
I loved her bright blue eyes
And the way she laughed
We talked about many things
We had so much in common
Everything was wonderful
Until I drove her home
Went to kiss her goodnight
And her fangs came out

Bob Boyd

In a graveyard mourning my recently deceased sister
I spied a willowy white-haired woman dressed in white

She was elderly but still beautiful and fetching
With a siren like quality that was getting my attention

She beckoned me to her with an enticing smile
As if she knew me, and we’d been close before

Reluctant, I didn’t want to walk over to her
I started feeling uneasy about the strange graveyard situation

With one finger, she motioned me over, her face looking evil
I felt like a lifeless puppet on a string

With my mind subdued and no will power I began to falter
But I somehow regained my resistance despite the horror

And she swore at me and said on this day I curse you
Before the day is out misfortune will befall you

She hissed at me and walked to a nearby grave and oh my God
She sank into it like she was sinking into water

She must have been a ghost. No trace of her
Going into the ground was visible

Freaked out, I ran to my car and hopped in it
I drove out of the cemetery like a fireman going to 4 alarm fire

An unseen force took control of the steering wheel
And crashed me into a tree, my head smashing into the windshield

I woke up in the hospital and screamed
The attendant nurse looked exactly like the woman in white

Bob Boyd

The young husband and wife
Had an incredibly powerful guru
With many paranormal powers
Mostly seen on a blanket in India
Hailed as a great sage by
New Age notables of the day.

To have a guru that great
Was a boon from God,
And one was granted
The unfailing protection
Of a cosmically guarded life,
Provided by a fully enlightened guru.

But something went awry
In a car in a garage in America.
The wife killed herself
With carbon monoxide.
The great guru couldn’t save her,
Perhaps he was a charlatan,
Or the protections of great gurus
Are only bankrupt guarantees.

Bob Boyd

She isn’t a Miss America …
She isn’t a PhD …
She isn’t a CEO …
She’s more than those three.
She works in a grocery store making pizza,
But she’s so much more than what she does
And to me so much more
Than Miss Americas, PhD’s and CEOs.
She’s sweeter, kinder and inwardly
More beautiful than the three.
She’s untainted by self obsession, self-importance
And being better than others.
That’s why to me her humility, her indifference to
The things that drive the three
Make her far better, humbler and nicer
Than Miss Americas, PhD’s and CEOs.
But, alas, she’s too young for me.

Bob Boyd

I know a woman who was named Moonbeam
Stoned out of their minds on LSD
Her hippy parents ill-fated her with it
Somehow she survived all the teasing
Said it made her stronger and kinder
Never wanted to be like the mean kids
Who picked on her because of her weird name
Despite the growth she got from Moonbeam
Tired of having it, and wanting a normal name
She went from Moonbeam to Sunshine.

Bob Boyd

Men punching women in New York City
Could they be more cowardly?
What kind of fiend does it take to strike
A lovely woman walking down a street.
We’re a far cry from gallant chivalry
When rarer for a man to attack a women
On the streets of New York City.
And what has happened to Gotham City
With all its crime and craziness?
How I miss the days when New York
Was immortalized in songs.
Now the only song that immortalizes it
Is a funeral dirge because the great
New York I knew has died.

Bob Boyd

Rasboras, Rasboras what shy fish you were
For at least five months you always hid
The bottom of the tank beneath the sponge filter
Your permanent hidden aqua Shangri-La

You never swam to the top of the tank for food
I wondered if you would starve to death
Then a week ago, an explosion of bravery
Suddenly you were everywhere

Swimming all over the tank
Merrily chasing one another
Dashing to the top for daily fish flakes
Now I think I know why the sudden change

When all of you were shyly reclusive
One of you was like a fearless rebel
Swimming to the top occasionally
He must have been your scout

Bob Boyd

You left me on a rainy day in May
You were surprised when I
Didn’t beg or try to make you stay
You’d never met a man like me

You didn’t know I saw it coming
When you became more materialistic
Which was a major negative to me
I’ve no time for greedy women

That debonair rich guy you left me for
Cheated and made a fool of you
When you begged me to take you back
And said you changed and needed me

I couldn’t go back with you; I’ll tell you why
You desecrated our perfect love
As if you drove a stake through my heart
And killed everything we had forever

And I could never trust you again
And I knew usually changes don’t last
Despite desperate promises and tear-stained vows
And the wound from that stake will always be in my heart

Bob Boyd

Free verse poems

A Thieving Girlfriend

An Ordinary Woman

Woman in White

A Great Guru

Jennifer

A Woman Named Moonbeam

Funeral Dirge

Rasbora Scout

Rainy Day