Strange Leaf

It’s not about just one thing.

You will easily spot some of the references to what’s going on right now and you’ll be tempted to stop thinking about it any deeper. But there’s far more in this than just what’s on the surface. This piece has no less five, separate meanings.

At the link below, you can listen to the recording. It’s an audio track of a poem that I set to music.

It starts very subtly but as it goes on, more and more layers of sound are building up in the background.

When you click the button, it gives you two options. If you just want to listen, click “view”. If you want to keep it, click “download”.

The words are posted below, in case you want to read over it. Feel free to share it with anyone you want.

Enjoy.

Strange Leaf

Turning over the strange leaf

Turning over the strange leaf

This disease is twisted

Scroll of crisp, fleeting knowledge

Closed

Knowledge of fire

Imminent

Throttle the breath

The king demands to be suffocated

In his sleep

Open the store for business

Give away the store

Surrender the kingdom to foreign invaders

Exposing palace guard

To various and sundry diseases

Each lure is enticing

More flies with honey

Otherwise, who would pay

With their histories?

Draw them all in with promises

Dates, compensation

Envelopes of flesh, pay offs

Reward for job well done

Blown secrets

Welcoming the killer

Taking them in hand

Pressing the lips to theirs

The people marvel, asking… how is it?

That one is so keen on this ruin?

Sitting amid the ashes and smoke

Of everything that has been built here?

These modern assassins

With their blades that are not sharp

And somehow, still cut into the chest

Death hides in expensive papers

Slow poisoning

Curses, binding victims

Black operations

Enchantments of vapor

Fog, happy delusions

The superior general is nowhere to be seen

He is conscious

Too clever

Cannot be made

Knows the angles

Lives and breathes the routine

False front

Encryption easy, plaintext works fine

No one puzzles anymore

Steganography is in the obituaries

Citizens are exhausted

Too tired for such crossword puzzles

Going out for a smoke instead

Trade information

In the marketplace

Exfiltration

Bring the defector

Home

Bite down on the dangling bait

Taking it all in

Believing every breath

Of the lies

Hide in plain sight

Got him by the throat

Control every decision

Deep cover

In the king’s pocket

Eight ball, corner pocket

Potentate busy in the honey pot

Playing with the handler’s mice;

Brief pleasures

Foolish pursuits

The intelligence all warned of these things

Plant the propaganda cypher deep

Where invisible moles dig up dirt

Behind enemy lines

Behind the iron curtain

Inside the iron lung

Flimsy robes providing no cover

Leaving your backside naked

Ass hanging in the wind

Summon the executioner

Simple curling of the finger

Roll up the scroll again

Match strike

Set it all off

Breathe in the satisfaction

Knowing operation is in motion

It’s coming soon

Playback is sanitized

Redaction, blot out the salient bits

Stopping up the pipes

Sell the story to the people

Want to play the game

Mutually assured destruction

Broken rhythms, code

Exorbitant bills

Gray sleeper

Uncle should have had the trigger in place

Monitoring the pulse

Cut out

Build up the legend

Elicitation of consent

Keys handed over for favors

Stay on the reservation

Travel in packs

Operative signals

A cough

Smokescreen

Run out to the store

Real quick

Dead drop

Delivery of small packages

Sabotage

Spanner in the works

Monkey mouth

Tinkering with toys

In terminal waiting rooms

Going to see the tailor and then

To see the cobbler

Fitting out the gear

Getting ready for the ball

Cinderella stories

Surreptitious flaps, seal the lips

Ghouls scour the graveyards

Where soon enough, all walk

A stainless steel ride

On the smooth train

Smoke stacks churning

Nonstop trip over the river

The L-Pill is long and round

It feels warm and pleasant as it

Sweeps the room…

Never know where the bugs are hiding

The chessboard is covered

With hundreds of rooks

Provocateurs and their purple ravens

Send in the pretty bird

She who swallows the signets

Conversation starters

Asking if she can bum a ride

No one can resist sharing with her

A most deadly resource

Infiltrating deep inside

Her smile

Lights up in the house

Show time

All sing like canaries

Under her spell

All light up with anticipation

We’d lose it all, were it not for her

Lost inside these dark clouds

Hearing that sultry siren voice

Regularly calling us

Out into the open

Vulnerable

Always comes

Dressed to kill

In something see-through

How excited each one gets

Peeling off those thin, flimsy wrappings

Hurriedly tossing them aside

For the insanely craved

The fumbling, shaky

Handful of minutes that it usually lasts

Carnal knowledge

Taken inside

Surrendering to the temptations

Wiles of the seductress

Little rituals and pats on the bottom for luck

One is literally turned upside down

Her charm is so strong

She deals in illusions,

Mirages, smoke and mirrors

Her stock and tradecraft

She’s good…

She’s very, very good

Never even questioning the matter

Asses feverishly chasing butts

Into oblivion and ash

Nursemaids gather on the back porch

On every coffee break

Swapping nuggets, juice, gossip, stories

Melodies of the official musicians

Open up the secrets of the music box

Sing the song of familiar comfort

Putting tips into the black hat

Saving up ducats to spend at the commissary

The doctor too, is an asset

Take the medicine

Change in the wind

Even dispersion through the system

Everything flows into place

Pouring in waves

Filling the containers

Enemy assets have infiltrated the realm

Moving now in the open

Impunity

Friends begin to distance themselves

Seeing the information come out

Noting how the map keeps rolling up

How it won’t stay in place

No one wants all that mess

Rubbing off on them

Second hand knowledge of good and evil

Disinformation

Civilians

Collateral damage

Innocents… it’s peculiar how they sound

Like innocence, itself

Out of the loop

Not in the know

Once, we too were innocent

Now, so much dirty laundry

So many secrets

Deeds that cannot be undone

We were all so green

Initial brush contact

Obsessed birdwatchers

True converts

Believers

In the cause

Now we maintain silence

Unnoticeable tip of the head

From across the room

Stepping out back for a quick exchange

And back in before anyone is missed

Dropping an innocent postcard

From time to time

Cultivation

Till the rough soil

Turn the flowerbeds over

Spread the chickenfeed

Spread the seed

Burned

Compromised

Smoking gun

A bit of dry cleaning

Removes the odors and stains

Burn the microfilm, papers, documents

Bona fides

Take off your shoes… all of them;

Don’t forget anything

Think hard about where

You might have hidden some

Step onto the scales

Feel the weight

Step away

Take a seat, bow out, tap out

The man in the coat and tie

Will be in to see you soon

Too much heat in the kitchen

Stepping back

Away from the blowback

Maintain cover, deniability

Pockets, littered with hiding

Cooling off in the shade

Double-cross the bridge

A trip to the hospital

Dressed up like a throwaway pig

In a coffin company suit

Book of matches, tucked into the vest pocket

A sequence of numbers inside

Picked up in grandma’s Cadillac

And going to the penthouse

For the all day long

Erase the problem

With assistance from the Dutch

And all of their superior, problem-solving skills

Transfer of power

Exchange

Change, slight

Sleight of hand

A hand in it

Too many hands

Off limits

Safe house

Tall brown grass

Walking sticks

Dead

Drop

Hush, little baby

Never heard a word

Assure the dying

All is well


From the book remission, by Kevin Trent Boswell. Now available on Amazon.

remission , by Kevin Trent Boswell

© 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell

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Flagship, by Trent Boswell

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Other poetry titles available:

Liber Ex Liberi

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on the page – poems for artists, writers and other hooligans

Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity

Chaos Comes Apart

in the current

Nighttime

Author’s Note: This piece is dedicated to anyone who is still awake and should not be, to anyone who is worried about what things are waiting, up ahead.

Nighttime

Trouble, in the nighttime, fell
Upon too wakeful brow,
Which ought to sleep

Coins cast in tainted well,
Uncertainty of where and how,
Enough to cause anyone to weep

Pitching gold piece of its own,
Came an angel of repose and rest
With curious question, whispered, quiet

“A myriad things, all unknown…
How is it you’re certain… to fail the test?
Without shred of doubt, that may deny it?”

Of course, no good answer was there, for this
And searching, mind grew sore and tired
Eyes heavy, in downward creep

The angel placed soft, loving kiss
Upon empty head, thoughts all expired
Drifting peaceful now, into the deep

Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


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I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.

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“rain” – The Open Mic Series

This series features pieces of my poetry, read by my friends. The first post has more information about it. Check that out, here: none

Here’s the second piece, read by my friend, Dawn Leith-Dougherty. 

This one is called “rain“ and it’s appropriate, because it’s drizzling here, today.

rain_Kevin_Trent_Boswell.mp3

If you would like to read along (or just see the text, for yourself), here’s where this poem was originally posted:

rain


Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


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The Open Mic Series – “none”

Here’s a really neat project that I’m pretty excited about!

I asked some of my friends to make recordings of themselves reading my poems. Quite a few thought it was a great idea and were more than happy to contribute.

The link here is the .mp3 of the first one I’ve chosen to present to you. You can click on it and just listen or right-click and save, if you want to keep it. It’s free!


Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell


By the way, if you want to help out and support more cool stuff like this, see my Patreon page, Magus72.


I’ll be posting them here, one at a time. I’ve had a lot of fun putting this together and I hope you enjoy listening to them.

The main thing I wanted to achieve here is get a variety of people, reading the pieces… in the way that they hear them.

None of the readers were given any prompts about how to read. A few people preferred to have something assigned to them and so I picked for them. But in most cases, they chose their own pieces to read.

This first poem is called “none” and it’s from my book in the current.

in the current, by  Kevin Trent Boswell

Our guest reader is Xander and he did a great job with it. 


Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell


I’m posting the text, as well. That way, you can follow along or read it first, then listen or just listen and find out where it takes you… your choice. Enjoy.

none

mandala being nightmare…

nothing being curse…

still we strive for 

something!

she cries 

in her 

elliptical 

orbit

cycle of nothingness 

somethingness

separation 

dance

eros 

chance

death, 

arousal and 

denial

correct, 

of course

the role being 

after all 

seductress

how could one say 

that she was wrong?

how could one argue 

that anything

was ever

wrong?

polarities

cry of response 

no avail

she is 

in heat

hears 

nothing 

of my 

dharma

portions of 

infinity 

etc.

no wrong

only difference

how must one 

proceed in 

seeking

to curse

the void?


Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell 

from the book, in the current


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2020

Death’s message heralded on dragonfly wings

Silent trumpet sounding, the whole day long

Loss, now the winner of so many things,

Lords over the grieving, threatening the strong

Copyright 2020

Kevin Trent Boswell


Now available, on Amazon:

Liber ex Liberi The Book of Children

Liber ex Liberi; The Book of Children

Support the work at my Patreon page: https://www.patreon.com/magus72

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after the crying

It is truly strange, our choices

In the certain light of death

Each of us inclined to 

A different manner  

Of dispensing or dealing with 

The final breath

One will merely smile 

And go for a long walk 

Another gathers the family 

And prepares a meal,

Over which they might talk

Some will scream silently, 

Slumping down and over slow, 

Into nothingness 

While a newly widowed spouse, 

Enflamed, seeks out a final fling 

with some sexy piece of dress

The bitter recite litanies of pain and 

Assign all manner of important blame

The fighters assault random strangers

Beat them into the ground

And assign them terrible names


Priests herd sheep into house of prayer 

To deliver the last rites 

Of final sleep

Lovers kiss and promise;

This living briefly with the awareness 

of impending loss

causes them to cling and to 

relentlessly weep

Children huddle, whimper and 

Meekly question 

What thing comes next… 

After the crying…

The bony, white lady 

Walks the streets of night, 

She sweeps up the losses

And calls it dying


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

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juggernaut

far on down, the road twists and turns

lightning strikes and hellfire burns

through thick smoke in that darkened place

obscuring the troubled lines of your face

amidst the fear and fading of the light

shells of the dead rise in the night

ruled by Saturn, with poison mind

the blind falling in, behind other blind

war is the way and the order of things

Mars and all those bloody gifts he brings

stumble but once, never to rise

sour wings of death cover your eyes

too great a thing, too great a foe

at the end of your hubris, hell and woe

abundance of darkness, absence of light

swallowed and chewed in eternal night


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Magus72 on Patreon

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Idol

One may, at any slapdash time

With little more than wink and nod

With no sense, reason, structure, rhyme

Of any chosen thing, make a god


Copyright 2020

Kevin Trent Boswell


The new book is out now, on Amazon:

Chaos Comes Apart


Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

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Conjure Work


I AM; SHE AM; WE AM

I am Love

And the power of the Sword

I am the softly spoken Word

She, receiver of the fruit

Speaks of Nothing, yet all,

Has she heard


I am the Way,

          the Truth and 

          the bringer of Light

I am not the Lamb

I am, instead, 

The stillness of Night 

I am the lover 

I bear the yoke of Strength

My children shall draw in, behind

I am of Her,

At any length

She shall be strong in her mind

I shall guide when I may,

Gently to say,

Draw towards the paths of 

Light, Truth

I will embrace her,

She, the secret practitioner,

Falling in the spiral

Of joyous youth

She is Love  

And the power of Earth


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

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Conjure Work

untitled

One may never truly know

Into what deep and secret part

A simple kindness, how it grows

Seed taking root in the heart

The depth of its vast potential

That seeming, but not, small event

How vital, immense and essential

When it sprouts, or where it went


Author’s Note:

I read a post on Facebook about a man who, as a child, was regularly, severely beaten by his mother.

He said that watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood showed him that he didn’t deserve that cruelty and he said “Mr. Rogers saved my life”. I couldn’t seem to locate the post again but it inspired this piece.

Be kind to each other. When people will not allow you to be kind, then at least be BIG and just walk away.

There’s a huge difference between choosing to avoid arguments/fights and being a coward. People need to understand the difference.

Some people think that every minor confrontation is a threat to their wellbeing or even just their ego. They think that if they walk away, it equals weakness.

The real weakness is lacking the self-confidence to simplify go around it and ignore it. If backed into a corner or loved ones are threatened, then fight; to the death, if necessary.

But if someone is just mouthing off, you can choose to just ignore it. Rather than it saying that you’re too afraid to deal with it, it says that you’re too BIG to deal with it.

And you never know… your complete refusal to be rattled or fearful or angry or to be drawn into a fight, it might just have a profound effect on the person who is challenging you.

They may change, they may not, doesn’t matter. What matters is that YOU will change.


Copyright 2020

Kevin Trent Boswell

(Magus)


The new book is out now, on Amazon: 

Chaos Comes Apart

Support the work at my Patreon page: https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, on my Patreon.

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Chaos Comes To Town

If perhaps you’re craving some escape, some vitamins of inspiration, to get you through the dull roar of viruses and technological hangups and fearful, dull talk of elections and recessions and limitless to do lists and the hundred things you want to step aside from, for just a few, delicious minutes…

You might enjoy dipping into the eccentric, electric pool of weirdly words that I now release. Images that speak through your eyes and feelings that peer into your ears, reassuring you that, no matter how strange today seems, it’s likely to only get stranger, my dears.

Doesn’t sound like reassurance to you? Then look further, deeper into the expanding woo of kaleidoscope and know, that something bitterly beautiful and magnificent always comes out of every bizarre, however far, at first, it went.

The only thing you can count on for certain is that everything changes and everything… including troubles… settles back into comfortable routine, given enough time for the cooking bubbles.

This is true, whether you struggle against the changes with every ounce of strength or relax, let current carry you, drifting along, entire length.

It all stirs up and then, peacefully settles… back… down… again… even if you do absolutely nothing about it. Try it, breathe it, if you care to doubt it.

So do the things you need to do,
To take care of your own and for care of you
But turn an ear and an eye for moments, few
For a little something to help you through

After all, how can a mind possibly deal with all the chaos, real, of the modern world, if not properly armed, to defend itself? Protect the gray in your skull against the beast, with the malleable mania of poetry priest, and fend off some of the stupid doldrums that are pounding, drooling, at the door.

All good secret agents know, that if facing torture interrogation, they should distract themselves from pain with elation, singing and making up silly stories in their head. This keeps the mind from snapping, a thing that’s certainly worse than dead.

A bit of poetry and music, all that Orpheus ever used and he traversed the depths of hell, emerging unscathed, unbruised. Put some of that magick dust into your pocket and go, it’s only left to trust and know, that everything else is silly, when set beside.

The big bad world is known to cower and lay right down as if dead, when once you threaten it proper, with an unpredictable pipe bomb of poetry, cocked and painted onto its cocky head.

My new book, Chaos Comes Apart, on Amazon:

https://smile.amazon.com/gp/r.html?C=2EIU1YSKTC6SW&K=WFT0JB3LJN3D&M=urn:rtn:msg:2020031021204095b1740d54b345db8aaec4cdad50p0na&R=1OIWENZKO66E0&T=C&U=https%3A%2F%2Fsmile.amazon.com%2Fdp%2FB085RN5WYV%3Fref_%3Dpe_3052080_397514860&H=WMGC3ZTDWE5L1ZBAOSWBAP3UGHEA&ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

107 pages, all original works. Most of these, probably 70% of them have never been published anywhere before.

They were written over just a handful of days, in a maelstrom of creative inspiration, given by the Goddess Venus, to whom the book is dedicated.

The themes are varied, mostly centering around the way our worlds expand and contract, sometimes pleasantly, other times frighteningly, sometimes with plenty of heads up and often, with our pants down.

Writing it helped me cope with some of my own, more challenging changes. I sincerely hope that reading it helps you adjust to yours.

Use the link here to find it, it is still settling in to Amazon’s search system, not quite coming up there, just yet. But this link takes you straight to the banks of the strange river, where your world might just be stretched out of and back into shape.

Enjoy.


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

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conjunct neptune

The new book, Chaos Comes Apart is finished!

I’m exceedingly pleased with it and very proud to say that soon, a few days, it will be available for purchase on Amazon.

If you become a supporter of my Patreon page, with the next week, you’ll get a free .pdf copy of the book, regardless of which support tier you choose.

Chaos Comes Apart is a brand new work, most of which has NOT already been presented here. There are a couple of pieces that are already here but not many.

However, I did end up needing to expand it a little, from its original length of 75 pages, up to over a hundred. It was something about the guidelines for the spine size, for printing. Mercury retro hangups, as I see it. But that just means that you get even more for your money.

So, I also included in the final version, several older pieces, most of which had never been published, a few that had. So, it keeps with the theme of establishing patterns… and breaking them.

I’m also quite happy to announce that I have stumbled into the inspiration for the next book, as well!

The newest book is called “one pass by” and the theme is the interactions of the Moon, with each of the other Planets, as She cycles through the zodiac, each month.

You don’t need to know anything about astrology in order to enjoy the pieces, they’re standalone works of poetry. 

Each one spurs mental images , feelings and thoughts, without needing any training or understanding of the Planets, whatsoever.

That being said, if you do happen to know the basics of what the Planets represent to us, human type critters, you’ll be in on some of the jokes and insights, in the deeper layers of the pieces. It’s win/win, either way.

I present you now, one of the first pieces from the new series and I chose this one because I think, perhaps, you’ll find it amusing. It’s called “conjunct neptune”.

To whet your appetite for it, will explain that the Moon rules over feelings, emotions, the unconscious mind and how we go about resting, healing and nurturing, both ourselves and others.

Neptune is the God of the deep sea and rules everything to do with oceans. But He also rules illusions, delusions, intoxication, dreams and sleep. Knowing that, what you read next should make perfect sense.

Enjoy!


conjunct neptune

i think i’ve gotten

a little bit

of a nip

of a part, too thinky 

i need to boughten

some lit

of a tiny, or large, sip

of the drinky 

i think with a wink

to take the day off, is an excellent notion

and it’s severals of the excitings 

it will be to play about, lay

and noddedly to blink,

filling a trough, slipping into the potion

that’s more than enough writings 

for any, or one, or this, done, day


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

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Morning Flies Far

Confounding the stupefied senses, the

syllabus, schedules of uninformed winner

you’ve reliably opened a festering wound,

spending lunch money upon trinkets of dinner

Empty the cup that was never quite full,

all the seats cold and audience, waiting 

there’s no more rind or gristle to eat

and no one left, to hear the debating

Slink down now into entertaining covers

and call it all finally done, for a life

wasted and somehow full of wonder,

no loud report, but fish round for a knife 

And instantly recall, in blissful drudgery,

some things can’t be cut by the cannon gun

whether eight more lines or only a million

some faces watch, from which you don’t run

Quiet cannibals, eating your sorrows

angels who lift any plagues from your land

mouths that sit, ready for morsels

morsels that come from only your hand

Sing now, with wretched rooster of morning

sing loud of his majesty and curse his name

take small solace in dimwitted knowledge…

no one is salvation and no one’s to blame


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

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the witch returns

For Carrie, on her birthday

white witch of of the primordial oceans

a sphere of Fire swims 

through vast expanses of deep, 

trudging, Gulf Stream, without end

the wake of each wave is a play space 

for Olokun’s children, bobbing up 

and over the water

delighting in their own weightlessness

waning lunar light glimmers

on the surface of an exoskeleton, 

a creature bearing a barb, 

sharp, it is a needle 

dipped in fiery nighttime 

whiplash smile, able to cut,

deep into the heart of urgent issues

or to hobble an enemy 

with vials of poison, 

whatever job need be done, 

that day

winged heels take to flight  

upon waves of air,

transmission of electronic signals, 

through waves of sightless ether,

collecting data and drops of dew

ideas float on currents, across 

all space and time

sharing a spot with the 

silver tongued trickster 

is a red man of war, atop a war horse, 

bedecked with invisible armor, 

as hard as a hundred mountains 

but light as a hummingbird’s breath

his sword drawn 

and leveled at the temples

of his foes, to skewer the craniums 

of intellectual fools, 

here in his compound of Air, 

he draws on his vast chalkboard, 

designing inventive new ways of war

the warrior’s consort is 

floating neither in Air, 

nor is she hold up in some rich, 

resplendent palace of Earth, 

neither does she take a dip 

in the immense pool of fish pairs

instead, she is bathed in Fire, 

full of wrath and vigor 

and the conquest of all things

she carves her name 

into the trunk of time

and carves the throat out of fear

the ancient architect 

hath built up for himself 

a strange structure, not his typical castle 

and not quite a chariot, 

with predictable, rolling wheels 

nay, his world walks, tank-like, upon on 

an assortment of odd, spindly stalks,

grabbing at the ground, 

drawing their meals

in with Mesozoic pinchers, 

pulling each meal into a small mouth, 

where the Lord of Time 

consumes his peculiar fish

all these dance and sway and spiral,

without end

all chuckle, change and challenge,

wrapped in a weird package, labeled friend


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

Fat Gold Mystery

Plums in the pot, bubbling, bubbling

Custard in the pan, cooling, cooling

Logs in the fire, crumbling, crumbling

Infant on the rug, drooling, drooling

Rooftop primed with snow,

Sprinkled brown leaves, like

Shavings of chocolate, on vanilla ice cream

The world is new, and remade 

Every day

Fashioned; 

Threshed out, by the tools 

Of possibilities


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Magus72 on Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

untitled

dark spectators

file in from the corridor,

to witness death

scepter of violence

shines a smile

electric murder pictures

steal their breath


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Magus72 on Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

untitled

Universe Collapsing

Constant Arousal

Continual Unravelling

If you are Quiet…

You will Hear

If you Look…

You will See…

Nothing


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

waste

my love is dancing

in your sleep

and you, here now…

all a waste,

in your flight,

an empty, 

downward embrace 

return we, 

to one,

when you, pointed,

lick the 

ground

touch the girl’s insides

but realize…

empty   s pa  c  e

is what 

comes

not-one, 

for timidity’s sake 

the eyes cast lots 

of salty war

upon his gorgeous shelter

they still marvel 

at your lame,

dead hero 

a shady vision of candy dilemma 

bump the mouthful of riches

stick precise flesh 

between 

fast, clever eyes

us, to hollow leaves,

we went

and to ash

and for this, 

but a tangle 

of whispers, 

am i


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

bell

just as

a lover does

god

wishes to be

wooed

cried out for,

desired

hunted

I have called…

now,

for a

great

time

and

I am

weary

my eyes,

heavy

from the

looking out

my voice, tired

I am become

as a

sounding

bell

a chiming

in the darkness

an echo of

an echo

of a long

ago

heard only by

the ear

that sits close

to the mouth

who uttered

the sound

in the beginning

sound…

the genesis

of all things

beginning is

answered

only by

ending

god

not

somewhere

in the circuit

between

mouth

and

ear

instead,

there is only

mouth,

the ear

words,

the space

silence

between

yearning,

not knowing,

finding

remembering

and forgetting

loneliness

crying out

in the wilderness

for the return

home


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

Art Matters

I wrote a post, over at ConjureWork.com that I feel is important. It pertains to art, poetry, music and accurate thinking and how we all need it more than we may realize.

Rather than recreate it here, I’m just linking it: Art Matters.

somewhere in wilmington

somewhere in wilmington

waiting and wilting

baiting and quilting

an intricate weave

an alluring network of delicacies

through hell bent phosphorescent mind

of elder kinsmen magician sort

what to say

of lovers and wise men,

scoundrels and boys in the sticks

and creative stories:

hey, is that true?

no. it’s made up and so

we believe it

because it’s a wonderful rose

that grows

incandescent strobe light wonderful

god, i love that word:

wonderful

it’s not quite said enough

yet, says enough

and yet, not 

and therefore…

much more, you see?

it’s simple

and silly, yes.

after all,

isn’t everything?

it is in wilmington

things often stated

rather matter-of-fact-ly 

like ideas that 

hit you in the lung,

real wonderful like;

something like joy

like knowing it will all be o.k.

even though you 

really don’t know that

it will all be o.k.;

like finding out that 

your brain will 

chase its own tail, if you let it

and not making that mistake again

and not hiring woe

to spend all your money

woe?

oh, no.

i apologize.

the subject was joy.

or was it wonderfulness? (;)

or was it wilmington? (;)

or was it silliness? (;)

i believe it may have been 

willingness;

willingness to accept certain things;

to accept the fact that

you is you 

and you

is the only you

you get, you.

they do forget you.

one way or another, brother,

they forget you

wake up

and you realize 

that this is the 

karmic scheme of things

and many dreams it brings,

in the wee small hours,

that seem like days

because you’ve been dreaming 

for years

that you were 

really here

but you were really

just asleep 

and dreaming 

that you were

awake

and

baked

somewhere

in 

wilmington

quiet

an original poem

floating in a soup

of strange sounds.

listen to the track,

watch the video.

but do it quietly.

Here is an mp3 of the song,

free to download.

quiet_magus72_the_plastic_infinity.mp3

share liberally,

it’s better that way.

Copyright 2020, Kevin Trent Boswell (Magus)

a glass of yesterdays

at nineteen

I was smitten with a girl

who loved gin and tonic

she was a preacher’s daughter

in South Carolina

I discovered that 

all of what people say

about preacher’s daughters

is blissfully true

I introduced her to

the bubbly summer fizz

and she introduced me to…

well, let’s just say… 

I learned to mix 

a mean 

gin and tonic

as she lay beside me,

naked and asleep 

on that motel bed,

I took tequila shots 

and reveled in the majesty of 

Austin City Limits

the television and I,

both sloppy drunk 

with the sounds 

of John Hammond

slurring curses through 

a mouth harp,

the tube on his finger 

causing that steel guitar 

to scream bloody murder

and holler for its momma

I sat stupefied 

on the edge 

of a cheap mattress,

covered in awe 

and still coated 

with her

Delta Blues cut 

jagged holes

into my memory, 

with its muddy banks

flesh, sights, screams,

wailing demons

and wobbling fingers

only a cheap television screen

and a cigarette ash,

backlighting 

the carnal event

she, now quiet on the bed

Hammond on the screen,

now brutally howling 

as if in some type of 

infernal pain

a blistering welt 

from the bite of a hell hound,

now sulking somewhere 

in the mosquito-infested 

darkness

“Oh!!! Say, 

my momma don’t allow me…

to stay out 

aaaaall night long!”

I, now 

consumed completely 

by cactus juices 

and cascades 

of flaming guitar notes,

flying out of the 

Devil’s fingertips

I straighten my back 

and draw in closer 

to breathe in her hair

then, toward the television screen 

and I fall sleepily beneath 

the heavy spell 

of it all

now, 

standing in a friend’s kitchen,

I think back

on all of it

I spy a bottle of gin

with a little less than 

a shot left in it

I open the fridge

lo and behold,

a fresh bottle of 

tonic water

I mix the two

and raise 

a toast

to the various potions 

of summer’s forgetfulness…

to the southern gene pool, 

with its extraordinary ability

to produce the most 

exquisite specimens 

of the female form…

to the Delta blues

its vinyl static,

scratched into my soul…

to John Hammond,

masterful and 

merciless…

to the claw marks 

on my back…

to the fear 

of Jesus


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

filter

when I was a child, my aunt told me

that if rain fell while the sun was shining,

it meant the Devil was beating his wife

I never had the slightest clue

what it meant 

but today, 

it may just be true…

for the sky drips purple wax 

on slippery horizon

flickers bright with 

wick dipped in fire,

angels of sun, 

showering out plumes 

of fractal light

something vast, immense 

holds space between sparse clouds

a light spray of water 

cascades over my vehicle 

and busy spirits of air 

float and move about,

vying for better positions

I move intentionally, 

purposefully through the scene,

hurried to escape a day

that will not be missed

hurdling over a variety of nonsense

machine churns over road…

not as fast as I imagine it should 

not enough ground 

falls between myself and 

all that I seek 

to leave behind

I am allowed to briefly glimpse 

a pristine, white mare 

eating peacefully in the pasture 

by the side of the highway

she is without blemish 

and without any earthly substance

she is something etheric, 

angelic and full of joy

(or so I imagine her to be)

she never sees me

she has no idea 

who I am 

and so… I am 

utterly and completely 

jealous of her

I have not been filtered 

through the windows of her eyes

I have not polluted the peaceful

realm of her mind

with all of my chaos

there is, for her, 

only eating and walking 

and other things 

of equal pleasure

she has no idea who I am…

and neither do I

still, I drive by 

and for something 

not exactly a second 

and not quite a lifetime,

I live vicariously through her

perhaps the breadth of a heartbeat

in looking on her, 

tasting the carefree grass of her world,

I am for one, solitary moment, 

free from Samsara

I have no hurt, no rage,

only a sky full of purple wax 

and preoccupied angels,

angels who watch 

over the quiet beasts 

that are the mare 

and myself

angels who possess 

wider eyes

eyes 

that screen out the dross,

placing a clearer lens over it all

I breathe in my quick look 

at what serenity is dancing 

just beneath the veneer

and for a frozen moment, 

the mare and I 

are both

full


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work


I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

The Kitchen Floor

From my book, in the current,

available at ConjureWork.com

The Kitchen Floor

the orange octagon pattern

on the linoleum

looks to me

like a mandala

it reminds me

that there is

symmetry

in everything;

in the trees,

in your smile

some think the

idea of a

high divinity,

attributed to

inanimate objects,

is foolish and

childlike,

a quirk of immature intellect,

comical ideas

about cycles

and karma

under various names

and guises

but the physicists tell me

that all the atoms

of my body

(and yours, too)

came from stars,

in distant galaxies,

so many years ago

that it cannot even be imagined…

that we are,

literally,

star dust

every time you breathe,

you inhale

molecules of air

that were once

the same breaths

of air

taken in by kings, queens,

murderers, trees,

you name it.

we are all parts of each other.

The people around you

really do

rub off on you.

perhaps my kitchen floor

now holds a molecule

that was once

part of a hair

on Mozart’s head

or, maybe a fingernail

of Christ’s

or, a piece of

the Buddha’s skin

I’ve heard it said that

if you sit in one place,

long enough,

the whole world will

pass by

but I need not wait

my orange,

octagonal mandala

already contains

the whole

of the universe

Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

oh to weep

oh to weep

to feel the tears, gliding
the joy that is a chasm
of painful knowledge,
the dark heart of
recognition

to gaze into the
eyes of suffering
and see its immense love for you
to peer into ecstasy,
become… fully…
cognizant…
of its ambivalence

to gasp and choke
on crumbs of empty space
to burn with hunger
at the brimful table of eternity;
the hall is so large,
the table so long, that
the head chair sits far,
outside the kingdom…
the queen is, by definition,
in permanent exile

her hound sounds
a trumpet of returning,
to the entrance,
where all exits
meet in a hollow nexus

its howling pierces stars
and summons perception
a doleful remembering
of cheer, unborn
a triumphant, vigorous celebration
on stages of victory,
a victory that needed
to do nothing but roll out of bed
and put on pants…
the rest was a seamless
unfolding of breath and
muscle memory

thick troubles,
shaped from
thin dust
and triumph,
collected in buckets;
it falls nightly…
no requisite asking,
pleading with fate,
to set aside its sickle
but for an hour

no prayers ascend
all prayers ascend

trouble no more for joys,
imagined leprosies that they are

sing no more praises of defeats
leaden, decrepit bullion

all these… fancies
dancing echoes

there are but few
frail glimpses
and each,
its own
meaningless
useless
miracle

 

Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

https://antiverse.webs.com

https://trentboswell.blogspot.com/

https://conjurework.com

https://www.patreon.com/magus72