The sex was wonderful
he couldn’t get enough
of it

she couldn’t either
but it wasn’t sufficient

to keep their marriage
and them together

she had become
an incurable extrovert

had to be out with her
girlfriends nearly every night

leaving him alone at home
lonelier and lonelier

until despite the great sex
and the once good times
he had to leave her

but decades later
once in a while he remembers

how good the lovemaking was
and how great their love was

until she became
so much of an extrovert
that she neglected him
night after night

and wanted him back
when he left her
forever

Bob Boyd

I’m sure this is a common tale that many others have experienced. Despite when the bloom is on the rose and everything is heavenly, and the sex is mind-blowing, when things start to go south even the best sex in the world is not the glue that holds a ill fated relationship together.

Mikey ignored the rumors
that the old lady

who lived in the
old Gothic house
secluded on the
edge of a forest

was a witch

though he had
to admit

she looked like one

his friends dared him
to throw a rock
though one of

the windows in her house

not one to chicken out
he snuck up on
the old lady’s house

in the dark of night
when all the lights
were out in her house

and he heaved a rock
through a second floor
window
and sprinted away
so he wouldn’t
get caught

but that night in
his bed
he saw and heard
the old lady

cackling like a witch
in a nightmare …

right before his body
exploded in flames

and smoldering burnt ashes
were
his only remains

Bob Boyd

Sometimes I like writing dark poems. I loved horror movies when I was far younger. But I didn’t like the slasher movies or the gore-fests. Hammer Films was my favorite with real stories that had a lot of substance and good scares. I rarely watch movies nowadays, but I like writing horror-like poems sometimes. Sometimes with humor or absurdities in them.

He grew older
and older
and kept
wrinkling away

lost his muscle mass
his youthful strength
his stallion virility

in his muscled up youth
he never
believed he’d get
weak and scrawny
one day

but at least he
kept working out

without the pump
without the gains

he had in his muscular
younger years

he resigned himself
to the muscle
and strength losses

by knowing soon
he’d die
and believing
in the afterlife

he’d be strong
and muscled up
again

Bob Boyd

This is all me. Man, how I hate how age has reduced the muscle mass that I used to have. I wasn’t bodybuilder muscled up being an ectomorph. But I had decent muscles for my body frame without resorting to chemicals. And I didn’t wear clothes to try accentuate my modest muscularity compared to that of the mesomorphs.

And as a slender guy in regular clothes it wasn’t obvious I worked out. Now as an old man who still works out but with bands and dumbbells for curls, I don’t look like I ever worked out, lol. But, despite age reducing my muscles and me making no gains anymore, I still benefit immensely from working out and feel more alive and mellowed out.

he thinks or says things
like wow
nice legs

holy moly she’s
so hot

and I wonder if
the female bettle

has beauty enhancements
like perfumes and
lipsticks

or if unlike human
females

she’s born with those
enhancements installed

and has no need to
improve upon her
natural beauty

Bob Boyd

I’m kidding around here. I write poems about many things, even insects sometimes. And I lie giving insects human like behaviors in some of my poems about them. For example:

Stink Bug on My Computer

A stink bug just flew on my computer screen.
though they’re grotesque looking, I like them.
but I must admit the first time I saw one
It looked so bizarre it startled me,
wondering if it was harmful and would sting or bite.

Rarely had I seen a weirder looking bug.
It had kind of a threatening don’t touch me look.
We don’t have them where I’m originally from,
just outside of Boston, MA in the milder burbs.

Despite not knowing if it was harmful,
I couldn’t kill it, just coaxed it onto a tissue
and walked it outside my apartment
into the freedom of a warm summer’s night.

After I learned stink bugs were harmless,
I grew to like them, as I like the one
that just soared off my computer, tiny wings flapping,
airborne for a few seconds in lamp lit skies,
and it landed on a runway somewhere behind me.
In a little while he might land on me.

Maybe he’ll sit on my shoulder like a best pal
and watch YouTube videos with me and listen to 30s music
and tearfully tell me how he can’t meet any female stink bugs online.
I’ll say I feel your pain, been there with female women. Never going back.

Maybe after he pours out his love life miseries
and cries for a while on my supportive shoulder,
I’ll tell him he’s a handsome enough stink bug
to find a decent and beautiful female stink bug
who will be his true love and treat him like a prince among stink bugs.

And maybe I’ll adopt him as an exotic pet.
I wouldn’t tether him to a restraining leash
or stick him in a four-sided oppressive aquarium,
or imprison him in a soul crushing, miniature cage;
that is if stink bugs have souls, which I imagine they do.

But mercy me I don’t know what I’d feed him,
and I doubt I’d find stink bug food at PetSmart.
I could probably find him some food on Amazon,
hopefully with a five gold stars rating
and next day shipping between 4 and 8 am.

I hate that it has such an undignified, unfitting name.
I would have jazzed the name up with some Latin,
like Incredibilis Insectum or maybe something more relatable
like Super Cool Bug or Bug That Only Stinks If You Mess With It.

And by the way, stink bugs only stink If you
harm or try to crush them to death,
as if harmed or dead they get the final say.

Bob Boyd

Some people aren’t happy
unless they’re making
trouble for others

they’re psychology has
to be terminally
screwed up

they seem to confuse
being happy with

being unhappy

piling woe upon woe
upon themselves

but mostly on others

and God forbid if ever
you get tangled up

with one of them

pray you can get out of
their sticky webs

before you can dragged
into more

trouble and sorrows
than you ever

could have imagined.

Bob Boyd

This poem is about people who have annoyed the hell out of me and others. People who seem to live and breathe to make trouble, as if that were the sole purpose of their lives.

I even saw/experience this with an elderly couple me and my agency tried to help. No matter how hard you tried to help them it was never appreciated, and they always were trouble with every agency they sought help from. And they badmouthed all the agencies that tried to help them.

My thinking for them was even if you’re a miserable, mean and trouble-making, SOB, at least fake being halfway decent when you come to an agency seeking help.

So nice to travel by train,
compared to by plane,

seeing the scenary
leisurely instead of

high in the sky
with barely a view.

No airpockets, no fears
of falling from
the sky.

I’ll take traveling
by train

over by plane

any day.

Bob Boyd

Alas, this used to be my dream, traveling cross country in a train, sleeping on it over night, and dining in it on the way. The best would be watching the scenery passing by all the way across the U S of A.

I won’t do this because at my age I now longer desire to travel, and I don’t have the money for a cross country trip, and I won’t use my savings. And if I had the money, I wouldn’t spend it on a train trip. But it was a nice enough dream to write a short poem about.