Kevin Trent Boswell

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paranoiaquatic

Bait fish…

bait fish

quick, nervous movements

where to turn?

swim w/ the school,

swim by the rule

swim for yourself,

swim alone

catch 22

still the sponge lung,

pumps an essential fear

evolutionary prerequisites

there in the shallows

the predator swallows

“thanks to our selfless brothers

in the sacrificial, outer circle”

For more, see…

for music:

The Plastic Infinity and

Conjure Sound

and for more poetry:

Antiverse and

Patreon

oh, little dog of pity

oh, little dog of pity,

i have been of once as thee

cast aside, as tied to a tree

i frown on you not in spite,

nor in mercy, for to

set you free would be right

but i will not unbind you and you will not run,

even if i did, you are too dumb

you would but pant and froth and bounce

and for your master, trot patiently about

for she who scooped you up as a puppy,

only a tiny puff of cuteness fluffy

i know too well of your dilemma

i know of it, yes… am forced to remember

how it happened that once i was cute…

yet somehow, i no longer fit the suit

of childhood’s clothing and abandoned toys;

outgrew the mold of being a boy

as favored youth slips away from thee

you, no fault of your own, lose your novelty

i have been where you were, in her bed at night

i have been where you are now, seen as a plight

i have felt sweet caresses on christmas morn

i have slept in hunger amongst bristles and thorns

i too, was once fed by her hands

i too, lost my charm, upon becoming a man

a friend told me once, in a moment of truth,

that the larger things instinctively protect the youth

but small things grow up, as they always must

and fear compels them to crush them to dust

painfully, these things i have come to understand

it is not by criminality that i have become a man

but instead, it is my fortune and honor indeed

for now, of her milk, i have no need

but you, i will pity forever after

for you do not realize the cruelty of your master

and so, if i loosed you and set you free,

you would only wait for your master, beside the tree

you have grown in your body but not in your head;

you will not run away, though you will not be fed

or given water, or love, or be cared for again

as this is the way of grown dogs and men

By Magus

Kevin Trent Boswell

* Author’s note: The poem is not an actual account of animal abuse but rather a metaphor about toxic relationships. The dog in the picture is Stacie and she’s spoiled rotten, so don’t feel bad for her 😉

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Patreon

Antiverse

untitled

Of course it hurts

No matter…

You will continue

Is a mountain

A grading slope

Or a colossal venue?

There is no escape…

Nor can you pretend to

Simply reach inside

Find it in you

Go on your way

By Magus

Kevin Trent Boswell

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Patreon

Antiverse

Looking For A Way

soundcloud.com/kevin-trent-boswell/looking-for-a-way

If you like The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Jane’s Addiction, Jimi Hendrix or Jethro Tull, you might like

Magus & The Plastic InfinityHear more and get some free .mp3 songs at: The Plastic Infinity

Observationist

He concluded then,

After seeing the starry night

Unfold –

Cluing in

On times of old

– And expelling smoke

That all the universe

Dwelled within himself

(Perception is ALL)

At least until,

The hammock broke and

He took a fall

Suddenly, he felt

VERY small;

Became aware

Of what he did not know

So, he retreated

To the house

To watch

The late show

——–

Written by Magus of Conjure Work

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

min. wage

who do i think i am?

you ask

why,

i am joe schmoe,

don’tcha know?

i am he who plays

by the rules;

the servant of fools

i am the scrounger

of pocket change

i am he

who will exchange

himself

for gain

you know my name.

yours is the same.

By Magus (Kevin Trent Boswell)

For music, see:

The Plastic Infinity and

Conjure Sound

For more poetry:

Antiverse and

Patreon

last day

in the days of short pencils

and long papers

an earned renunciation of earlier

struggles

supernatural glimpse of a

well cooked tomorrow,

lying on the plate

beside the knife of

decision

bringing in the trot lines;

wrestling with those large, fat fish,

ready for the pan

and the flame

no more kung-fu,

arduous battle with

quadratic equations

instead, glancing at a

moldy clock,

I see that the

little hand is on armistice

and the big hand is on

congratulations

By Kevin Trent Boswell