Tag: thought

Imminent

“Omnes una manet nox.”
The same night awaits us all
Loud or soft, when death, it knocks
Each, alone, must heed the call

On papyrus, the old Roman bard
Horace scrawled with ink and quill
All of us end, either soft or hard
Old or young, for good or ill

That night crawls to us, or races quick
The usurper puts another in place
Details wrapped in fog too thick
Erased by time, our name and face

Omnes une manet nox.

—Horace, Roman poet

The Latin approximately translates as, “The same night awaits us all.”

Coming September 30th, 2022

Area 25 – a new album of twelve original songs from Trent Boswell

Area 25 - music by Trent Boswell - coming September 30th — Area 25 by Trent Boswell – coming September 30th

The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell.jpg — The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

Most

Most stories don’t have happy endings
The brutal truth is that most do not
For each hero who makes it home,
In unknown ditches, a hundred more rot

For every song about some brave champion,
There are endless graves without any bones
For there was no body which they could bury
Only lost names engraved on stones

We must admit if we’re honest about it,
Eventually, Death claims them all
Those who we celebrate after a battle
And those who on the battlefield fall

Those who seem to be safe back at home
Are also short candles in a night so late
None escape the long-armed grasp,
Of those pitiless stranglers, time and fate

New Music Album on June 8th

Something in the Air – an album of 10 original songs from Trent Boswell, available on June 8th, 2022 at most major music streaming services like Amazon Music, Spotify, iTunes, etc.

Published Works

The poetry and music of Kevin Trent Boswell

Support This Work on Patreon

Hopium Blues

Hopium – an irrational, unfounded belief that a situation is going to improve, despite all evidence to the contrary.

New music from Trent Boswell

Here’s a new song. This one is a blues rock piece.

People usually say, “The vocal part isn’t loud enough,” so I made it nice and loud in this one. To my ears, I think it’s a little too loud. You can let me know in the comments what you think.

Either way, hit the thumbs up 👍 and share ⬆️ with your friends if you like it.

Subscribe ✅ ring the bell 🔔 and click “All.”

Lyrics are in the comments section of the video.

New album available on Saturday, June 8th

Something in the Air, new music from Trent Boswell

Bonus Material

Get exclusive material and help support the creation of more madness from Trent Boswell

All Around

“All Around” – music by Trent Boswell

I can’t find it I don’t see it
Though I’ve looked nowhere over
I was certain I’d have found it
By now

Thought I had it once
In my hand like a clover
But it flew away
Somehow

I’ve rubbed out my eyes
Squinting through the dark
But my eyes are too full
Of dreams

Want nothing so much
Thoughts of self not a spark
And I still do not know
What it means

Collecting each one
Not mine in a moment
All tomorrow’s
Forgotten yesterday

Yourself saw you with them
You know of the torment
A sideways hello
Didn’t say

Slippery little thing
So many to climb
Fall so fast and without
A sound

Never had your gift
Of yours all this time
Wrapped tight and spilling
On the ground

All time gone by
Flirting with the dawn
Seeking for a higher
High score

Those things which remain
To this day are long gone
These things are all things
No more

Don’t know why I bother
I bother not to know
It’s never too much
Not to say

A slight tinge of joy
In each thing to show
Everything never came
This way

The secret only shared
Never told never kept
All the smiles that cannot
Be got

Always not moving
Ever happy it wept
In the open it hides
Where it’s not

Close the window my friend
Despite how it looks
It is going to be
A fine day

For it has the good sense
In verbose old books
All words refraining
To say

A slight tiny sting
Four missing leaves of clover
Ending all applause
Curtain bow

Can’t find it don’t see it
Having looked all over
Was certain I’d have lost it
By now

Lyrics available in print:

Time for Nothing - Poetry, Prose, and Song Lyrics, by Kevin Trent Boswell — Time for Nothing – Poetry, Prose, and Song Lyrics, by Kevin Trent Boswell

Support This Work on Patreon

Inside Job

Author’s Note: This one is a little more fun if you read it in Tony Soprano’s voice.

I always defended my inner child
Even when change, he’d slow or shunt
I spoke to him softly, sweet and kind
Never too harsh, rude, or blunt

But his juvenile ways sabotage me
Constantly force me to fall back and punt
It’s time for him to grow the hell up
My progress, the crybaby tries to stunt

If I’m ever gonna get ahead in this world
Any luck in life, the brutal hunt
I can’t afford to have this kid in my way
His juvenile tantrums, I gotta confront

All this baby does is worry, complain
He fights reality, finds truth an affront
His childish attitudes are holding me back
I say, fuck that bratty, squawkin’ cunt

I know a guy; he paints houses, wetwork
A reliable button man to bear the brunt
He knows how to handle these things
A backdoor man; alibi and solid front

I’m sick of his shit, bellyachin’, moanin’
I gotta do it; I’m putting out a hit on the runt
I’ll murder this punk and bury his body
In a shallow grave by the waterfront

Magus72 - the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell — Magus72 on Patreon –
the music, poetry, and madness
of Kevin Trent Boswell

my friends

good morning, all you beautiful people
you lovely, angelic folks i call friend
i want you to know that i’m thinking of you
though fiery days, together, do blend

whirling quick, down the drain of time
not seeing your faces, hearing your voices
distance and schedules demand this of us
circumstance offering no other choices

i want to take this brief opportunity
to say that you still mean a great deal to me
i’d rather that we were conversing, laughing
than where and how we happen to be

more often now, do i have these thoughts
since all appears to be coming apart
the wretched state of things all around us…
i think of you, how i miss your heart

each moment is truly a blessing, unique
neither taken for granted nor guaranteed
i’d pray for you to have happiness, joy
if i thought it helpful to request or plead

but alas, our time on the big, blue marble
ephemeral, flickering, fleeting, concise
disappears quickly, precious little warning
like a glass of sunsets, smiles and ice

tumbler, carelessly knocked from our hands
by a stupid stranger, passing by in a roar
an ignorant ogre with a love of wealth
a disdain of beauty and a love for war

beastly creatures, not one, but many
loving too much, to climb and to fall
punching holes in our collective boat
though surely it sinks and dooms us all

the cup of this world, spills over with promise
wonders of nature, so much opportunity
carelessly ruined by the madness of kings
who with stolen gold, kill with impunity

we, being lovers of kindness and good
seeing their greed, the destruction it brings
it hurts our hearts, we sigh and conclude
“i guess that we just can’t have nice things”

as we watch them ripping it all into pieces
everything beautiful, too soon to die
i want you to know how much i love you
i’d hate if the chance were to slip idly by

i want to tell you that you’re all in my heart
and in my thoughts, your memories glow
i’d not forgive myself if i wasted
the opportunity to let each of you know

just over the horizon, a banshee wails
as we near the welkin, do smile, once more
i’ll be thinking of you, as we take that step
through the long, strange and endless door

Photo by Mo

The poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell — Eight poetry titles, available on Amazon

Pariah

I’ve always been
Outside the norm

I never quite fit in
Never fit neatly enough
Into any of the boxes

Despite being a straight, white male
Somehow, I always still manage
To be the different one
In every crowd

I believe in science
But I’m also an occultist

I’m entirely too rational and skeptical
For a great many in the occult community

I hold disdain for those who think that
White light is the solution for every problem,
That all things are possible through magick
And that crystals, sage and essential oils
Will cure absolutely anything and everything

I’m what is known as a gray magician,
Equally comfortable with
Angels and demons
Blessings and curses

But I’ve always been
A little too “light and goodness” for some
And a little too “dark and scary” for others

My acceptance of atheists,
As well as agnostics and Satanists
Gets me odd looks from the
Holier-than-thou clubs

And my complete lack of
Any bitter hatred of Christianity
Makes the Left Hand Path people
Somewhat suspicious of me

But the fact that I believe
Spells can cause change
And that it’s possible to
Communicate with unseen entities

This gets me automatically pigeonholed
By anyone in the scientific community
As either a lunatic or a charlatan
Or both

I’m too Ceremonial for the Witchcraft crowd,
Too witchy for the Hoodoo crowd,
Too Hoodoo for the Ceremonial crowd
And so on and so forth, ad-infinitum, ad-nauseam

I have kinks that get me labeled
As a pervert, by many

But I usually found that
I was something of a disappointment
To a lot of the kinky people I met
Because I wasn’t a submissive male
Or because I wasn’t bisexual
Or because I wasn’t whatever else
They were hoping that I would have been

Of course, they’re always happy that I am
Open and accepting and loving
Of all orientations, gender-identification, etc
But I’m still a straight, white male
Which is, to many of them,
Still sort of boring, sort of a letdown
And I get that, I really do
It’s OK, I’m not offended by it

I play chess and I listen to classical music
I both listen to and play jazz
So, I’m a bit too “uppity”
For many rock-and-rollers

But I’m only a decent chess player
And a mediocre jazz guitarist
So, I don’t get to sit with the really cool kids
At any of those tables

I also listen to punk, speed metal,
Gangster rap, blues, rock, pop
As well as dozens of other genres
And somehow, it’s still a surprise
When someone else likes the same bands as me
I’ve never really figured that part out,
Seems like there’d be more commonality
But there you have it

I write poetry and hell…
Everyone hates that

But even among the poets,
I don’t stick with any one, single genre
So, none of them really gets me, either

When I branch out into things like horror poetry,
That freaks a lot of people way the hell out

“What the fuck is wrong with that guy?!”

Sure, they love Stephen King
They don’t bat an eye at The Walking Dead
Or movies like Hellraiser or Saw
But I write one little, horror poem
About cannibalism and suddenly
I’m weird

OK, so it was more than just one

I play guitar, sing and write songs
But my style is all over the map
So it’s just too this or that for
Almost everyone

I was even told as much, by a friend,
A guy who had helped a pop artist,
A one-hit-wonder, to get a gold record
Yeah, I was close friends with a record producer

It didn’t help me one bit

He said “You’re a very good singer
And you’re a good guitarist but…”

“People want catchy songs”

“And they want to know
Exactly what they’re going to hear
When they come to a show.
You are all over the place.
I had no idea what you’d play next.
Pick one style and stick with it.”

“You can be a genius, later.”

That wasn’t good enough for me
I always wanted to do all of it

I wanted to do all of it, now

I’d play rock, blues, folk, funk, metal,
Country, pop, weird, avant-garde stuff
And psychedelia

However, most people seem to be more
Chocolate or vanilla or strawberry
But not all of the above

So, somewhere along the way,
I’d lose the crowd because I played a song
That was just too… something
For their tastes

I don’t play or follow sports
So, there went any conversation
With three-fourths of the
Male population, right there

I’m accepting of all religions
But I don’t belong to any
So, I don’t have any of the neat, lapel buttons
To get me into those meetings

I hate bullies
So, I never get invited to the hate crimes
Instead, I’m the idiot who will
Stand with the guy who is outnumbered,
Just because he’s outnumbered

But I think everyone is fair game
When it comes to rude jokes
Especially me
Because, if you can’t laugh at me
Then, who the hell can you laugh at?

But I sort of suck at political correctness
So, I piss off most of the woke crowd

It’s OK, the feeling is mutual

I don’t get into cosplay or anime
I’m not a Star Trek guy, though I like the show
I don’t collect or read comics or manga
I don’t keep up with most television

I advocate healthy eating but I’m not vegan

I can dance but don’t really like to
I can cook but don’t really like to
I can small talk but don’t really like to

I only comment on politics
When it looks like my country
Is about to shift into fascism;
I’ve talked way too much about politics
In the last four years

I’m no fan of hatred
So, I don’t get to sit with any of
Those guys in the white sheets
Or the black boots, bald heads and suspenders

But I’m a little too strange of a white guy
For most minorities to feel
Totally at ease around me

It’s probably safer to have
“Normal” white friends
And I actually get that;
I don’t take any offense to it

I’m not fluent in any other languages,
Despite having taken both French and Spanish
So, I don’t get to play interpreter for anyone

I think the climate crisis is way more severe
Than nine out of ten people do
Want to clear out a room fast?
Bring that up and watch them all scurry

I’m not a cat person
So, that rules out about three-fourths
Of the female population, right there

But I can always talk about dogs
With other dog lovers
And there’s a saving grace, for certain

I’m into martial arts and that’s too violent
For many people
But I’m not a black belt in anything I studied
So, I’m not important enough to listen to
In those groups
And even the style I’m most into,
Jeet Kune Do, is controversial,
Because it’s extremely eclectic
And it thumbs its nose at any type of
Tradition, purely for the sake of tradition
So, that pisses off a lot of people
Who practice traditional styles

I’m not a Right-Wing nut job but I support
The second amendment and I own guns
So, I just ostracized myself from
Both the Right and the Left,
Right there

I don’t surf or skate or snow ski
I’m not a connoisseur of fine wines
Or fine cuisine
I don’t read anything on best-seller book lists

I’ve always been either
Lower class or lower, middle class
So, I can’t get into any of the swank affairs

But I’m a bit too odd to get invited to
Most of the cool kids’ parties

It doesn’t really help that
I don’t smoke weed and I don’t usually drink
The lack of these habits raises many eyebrows

I don’t fit hand-in-hand with most, other people

Even my closet friends,
Dear, dear, beloved friends
Would readily admit:

“Yes, he’s an odd one.
Oh, we love him.
We just don’t claim to really
Understand him.

We think it’s probably quite enough
To just love him
And let it go at that.”

And with that statement, I’d completely agree

I’m perfectly content to be
The black sheep, the odd man out
The different one

But all this lack of fitting in
Has helped me, in one, very clear way

It has compelled me to develop
A desperately needed survival skill
And that is

Good listening

Because I learned early on
That if I was going to last
More than ten minutes
In any conversation,
In any room,
Anywhere

I did much better if I
Kept my rather strange opinions,
Beliefs and attitudes
To myself

But I did even better, still

When I could repeat back the opinions,
Beliefs and attitudes that someone else
Had just expressed to me

Everyone appreciates being
Truly heard

Not everyone needs to be agreed with
It isn’t even everyone who
Needs to be appreciated

But everyone
Likes to know that you were
Actually listening

And if they say anything at all
About music, martial arts, chess, poetry
Or anything else I’m interested in
Well, I might have just bought myself
Ten more minutes of friendly conversation

And when all else fails,
When I’m talking to someone and I can’t find
Any common ground… at all

I can always punt
I default to the saving grace of
Dogs

But if it becomes clear
That they don’t like dogs…

Well, then it’s clearly just time to leave

Photo by Arianna Jadé

The Next Ones

I find myself weeping
But I’m not weeping for me
Not for anything I might have missed
Or anything that I had hoped to be

It’s not because of some thing I desired
But did not manage to attain
It’s not something I had that I didn’t want
Nor any of my own physical pain

It’s not for me, I had room to move
I rolled the dice and they fell as they did
But I took my chances, I took my shots
I went for it all and from life, never hid

Sure, things could have turned out better
I could have had an easier time
But I know not everyone gets to win
To the top, only a handful climb

Still, all-in-all, at the end of things,
I did OK and better than many
I had sorrows and joys, resources and gifts
I got to spend my talents, every last penny

Yet, generations are coming behind me
Emerging from the dark of the womb
Into a darker world, for which we’ve not
Prepared them, nor should we assume

That somehow, they’ll just be alright
That they’ll manage some way, to sort the mess
That some miracle solution will present itself
Or that God or good luck will bless

Nor should we think it likely the case
That hard work will see them through it all
Nor in hubris, think what stands today
Will not, tomorrow, surely fall

Least of all, we should not dare
To turn blind eyes to their plight
Out of sight is out of mind
But by no means makes it right

Having turned over each, useless stone
After turning my wheels, digging in deep
With no useful advice or answers, for them
I bury my face in my hands and weep

Main photo by Alex Green

From the black book of horrifying, awful, terrible and frightening things that will keep you up late at night and drive you to drink too much and too often, Out On The Killing Floor

Out On The Killing Floor, Kevin Trent Boswell, poetry books — **Available on Amazon**

WARNING!!! Take only as prescribed. Keep out of reach from children, pets, pregnant women and anyone who still has any hope for the future. May cause sleeplessness, fatigue, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts or visions of impending doom. Some readers may experience weight… not weight gain, just the heavy weight of existential dread. User assumes all risk and releases the author from any and all legal liability. This book is not approved by the FDA or anyone else who enjoys being happy. May be illegal in your area.

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Blood In The Glass

“Blood In The Glass” – An original song by Trent Boswell. All guitar, bass and vocal parts, plus the recording and mixing of the song are by Trent Boswell. This is from the album Something in the Air.

Blood in the Glass from the album Something in the Air

Lyrics

You’d only call it a disaster
If you were trying extra hard to be nice
But all the niceties were crushed up for the mix drinks
Because the party was all out of ice

Hush, little baby.. don’t you bitch, now
We’ve laid waste to all your pesky fears
Just listen to the soft voice of certain death
How it whispers such sweet things in your ears

I woke this morning to the sweet sounds
Of everything falling apart
I can’t find the glue, anywhere I look
And I know better than to look in my heart

Doom arrived late night at the soirée
As I passed by, I kicked it in the clutch
I wasn’t mad at all about what it planned to do
Only that a few, it wouldn’t touch

Gentleman and ladies all line up now
To stab the eyes, each one has a go
Don’t waste your breath, explaining to them how
They only blind themselves… they already know

Don’t stop the show, it’s all too much fun
Admission price is all the useful parts
We sold it all off, dirt cheap, no reservations
And long ago, we emptied out our hearts

I remember sunny days and bird songs
But all these things are swiftly brushed aside
For the sounds of ourselves, the images of others
Both from which, we vainly seek to hide

I found a thousand beautiful reasons
Then, was told I needed one thousand and one
Things like joy, a heart full of kindness,
A chameleon face and a gun

Blood in the glass, broken glass on the ground
Broken glass and blood on the blade
Note the irony with a wry, little smile
It’s the finest contribution that I’ve made
Watch the smoke rising, a sigh of contentment
The finest contribution that I’ve made

It’s getting much harder to keep it all down
Throwing it away might be smart
When all of it is burned, black, full of poison
Most especially in the heart

I woke this morning to the sweet sounds
Of everything falling apart
I can’t find the glue, anywhere I look
And I know better than to look in the heart

We all know there’s nothing
There to find, in our hearts

Something in the Air by Trent Boswell ©2022 Kevin Trent Boswell — Something in the Air – Music by Trent Boswell

Album available at:

It’s also available on Napster and many other music streaming services

Trent Boswell YouTube channel:

White Elephant from the album Something in the Air

Support this work on Patreon. Click the picture below to check out the benefit tiers.

Thanks

Special thanks to the following people for contributions of video and photos:

As well as Timur Weber, Ron Lach and Esmanur Ekşi

Childhood’s End

Here’s a Pink Floyd cover I did. This is the song “Childhood’s End” and it’s from their album, Obscured By Clouds.

Trent Boswell – vocals, guitar, bass

Lyrics:

You shout in your sleep
Perhaps the price was just too steep
Is your conscience at rest
If once put to the test?
You awake with a start
To just the beating of your heart
Just one man beneath the sky
Just two ears, just two eyes

You set sail across the sea
Of long past thoughts and memories
Childhood’s end, your fantasies
Merge with harsh realities
And then as the sail is hoist
You find your eyes are growing moist
All the fears never voiced
Say you have to make the final choice

Who are you and who am I
To say we know the reason why?
Some are born; some men die
Beneath one infinite sky
There’ll be war, there’ll be peace
But everything one day will cease
All the iron turned to rust
All the proud men turned to dust
And so all things, time will mend
So the song will end

Words and original music written by Pink Floyd. I’m covering the song but I’m not charging anything for it, because seriously… who can afford Pink Floyd royalties?!

But you can support the creation of more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell, at:

https://Patreon.com/Magus72

Many thanks to the following, for the images in the video. You may or may not like the music but if you like the video, the credit for that is all theirs.

Aaron Burden

INNORECORDS PhotoVideos

And He Wept

Jesus wept
And I know why
Impossible, the weight
Of this world, to deny

Jesus wept
And I understand it
When so few give love
And so many demand it

Jesus wept
More than he bled
Meaning of the words,
Right over the head

Jesus wept
With heavy heart, breaking
So little effort, to give
All lost, in the taking

Jesus wept
In solemn recognition
Of hatred, beating love
Into submission

Jesus wept
And I do, too
This could’ve been heaven
For me and for you

Jesus wept
Cried harder than I
He knew the potential
We possess and deny

Main Photo by @seb

Latest Book Release

remission

Other Titles Available

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72

More Information

YouTube music channel

Instagram

Tumblr

Magus Music Facebook page

Looking For A Way

Music video for “Looking For A Way”, a song from the album Flagship by Trent Boswell.

Lyrics:

Looking For A Way

I climbed like a monkey, up in a tree
Trying to find a piece of me
Way up in the branches so high
I found that I cannot fly… as of yet

But I’m looking for a way

I’m at fault for inciting the madness
And sometimes I can’t stop the sadness
But I’m learning to ride waves of joy
Toward manhood moves a boy

Looking for a way

I got dizzy and fell like a lion
Into the dust of Orion
Those stars; the ones up in the sky;
The one he made up in his mind,
The one that’s still looking

Looking for a way
And I haven’t quit yet

The album, Flagship, is available at:

Flagship, by Trent Boswell - original avant-garde rock music

iTunes

Amazon

Spotify

Or get your own, signed copy of Flagship over at Conjure Work.

Trent Boswell – lyrics, all guitar parts, vocals, album producer

Ed Kopp – bass guitar

Brett Waress – drums and hand percussion

Tommy Brothers – audio engineering

Show Your Support

You can help by hitting the thumbs up 👍 button, directly on the YouTube page.

Subscribe ✅ to get more of this kind of madness. Be sure to ring the little notifications bell 🔔 and select “all”.

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72

Special Thanks To

For all of the really cool footage, photography and visual special effects, special thanks goes to the following people:

Tima Miroshnichenko

Lucas Pezeta

Wendy Wei

KoolShooters

Wellcome Library

Also, Michael Burrows, Li Sun, Ron Lach, Samson Katt, Pressmaster and PhotoMIX Company.

Latest Book Release

remission

Other Titles Available

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

More Information

YouTube music channel

Instagram

Tumblr

Magus Music Facebook page

Perception

You may think you’ve seen this one but you ain’t. The new, improved and at least 333% stranger version of “Perception” from the album Flagship by Trent Boswell.

Lyrics:

Perception

What’s a man supposed to do?
It’s hard today just not to lose
So, when I’m down and beaten blue
I look around and think of you

Sink into my contemplation
Answers come with concentration

And strong opinions, well I have mine
And you may find me blind
But I don’t mind because it’s true;
I’ve never needed to see you

Walking ‘cross the field,
I realize that nothing’s real
No pain or joy

Out on the lawn the past is gone
I simply can’t be wrong anymore

Was paid a visit, a strange man
He said that Jesus could lend a hand
Now many a man can’t see the road
Or make a stand on his own

If God is Love, then Love is God
And you agree without a nod

The album, Flagship, is available at:

iTunes

Amazon

Spotify

Or get your own, signed copy of Flagship over at Conjure Work.

Trent Boswell – lyrics, all guitar parts, vocals

Ed Kopp – bass guitar

Brett Waress – drums

Show Your Support

You can help by hitting the thumbs up 👍 button, directly on the YouTube page.

Subscribe ✅ to get more of this kind of madness. Be sure to ring the little notifications bell 🔔 and select “all”.

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72

Special Thanks To

For all of the really cool footage, photography and visual special effects, special thanks goes to the following people:

cottonbro

Johannes Plenio

Stef

Mikhail Nilov

KoolShooters

Mikke House

Frank Cone

Anni Roenkae

Fiona Art

Tima Miroshnichenko

Axel Vandenhirtz

As well as Pressmaster and Erin Li.

More cool, weird, poetic, philosophical, musical and sometimes disturbingly odd stuff at:

https://KevinTrentBoswell.com

https://ThePlasticInfinity.com

No More

Author’s Note: This piece is brand new. This piece is ancient. It speaks of things which happen daily. It shares memories of the long, long ago. It is deeply rooted in yesterday. It is severed from everything except tomorrow.

No More

No more crawling, borrowed knees
To beg or steal a parched penance
Privilege of chewing
Tiny, tinfoil excuses

Receipts, all signed
Cuneiform zero
There, in the register
Where it speaks of the balance
Which is long overdue
A large and loud emptiness

The slaying of pragmatism
And the prodigal son
The wisest of investments
Healthy, constant dividends
Since there are no returns

Assets freely traded
On the scales in the marketplace
Sacrifices, invisible, smoking
On strange altars of doubt

Multiplication of manna eaten in secret
Loaves baked, foreign recipes
Nets tossed into distant waters
Plucking up fishes, filling the nets
Pouring floods out of the wide mouth
Fleeing the estate, belly of greater fish
Absconding from duty
Tariffs of masticating consummation

Cutting off the heads of what was,
Peeling away, shedding foul-smelling skin,
Pulling off all those silvery flakes of armor
Toss carcasses in frying pan,
Serve with herbs grown in new earth
Feast, fructifying small kingdom
And a table for one

No more buried talents
All now upon display
A day of rest is earned
In the refusing of yesterday’s complacency
Tossing out its tired labors

Cutting down the vines
Which brought decades of wine
Wine that choked those throats which drank
In the seeking of blindness
Attempting to drown out
All hearing of familiar, droning complaints

A fatted calf not missed,
From the cool, shaded hammock
That swings peacefully in a calm, quiet
Where the only shadow cast
Is that of the grand, old oak tree
Whose face is always welcome
Who speaks only and ever
Kindly of its kin
Or not at all

Wait now, at the oasis,
For the promised bride’s coming
Who brings the cool water from the well,
For a desert weary camel

All is soon to be right,
For the steadfast resistance
Against worldly temptations

Sovereignty steps out
Dropping the broken, black irons
Of miserable bondage
Lead, flowing through the river veins
Of miserly brothers
Cruel rage of bad blood

New, mazel tov celebrations
Of kaphar, divine grace
Selah and hallelujah
In a day of jubilee

The god of forgetfulness,
Is ever gracious and joyful
Drunk on the charms
Of plentiful, good company

Regaled today, by delightful tales,
Told by they who arrive on the morrow
During a banquet, yet to bloom
Banking on its promise
Of them and their warm presence

A toast is drunk daily
To what is seen
Which is nothing
For what is
In the eyes
Most of which
Is good

A steward, in secret
Stealing everything that was sacred
Receives all, in due course
New master’s blessings
Of themselves, a fine reward

And spared a death, daily
The stoning of harsh, marble law
Seven generations
Removed from the sight
And all senses

Tools of old bone
Hand me down worries
Covet, instead, that wild courage
Which rails against the unknown

Naked, cast out
No starved, gulag wages
Demanding the whole
The lion’s share of nary
A single thing

Punished sin of necromancy
Crime of insisting upon the rubric
Of a heritage of heresy
Brooding there, in the long lines
Where impatient fools bicker and stew
Wrestling with the dogs over scraps

A hindsight, an insight
A bird advances, eagerly
Plopping itself into the hand

The exiling of perdition
Raises up its secret children
High above the floods
Where the true blessings of heaven
May kiss them upon their heads
Sealing in immunity against sorrow

That these should never dwell
In that place of woeful wandering
Stone gardens of Golgotha
Where is never and nothingness
Only long, dusky shades
Commiserating with the dead

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge

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More Information

Strange Leaf

You might have heard the audio track but the video is an entirely different kind of experience.

“Strange Leaf” by Kevin Trent Boswell.

This world has been encoded for your protection. The original poem, “Strange Leaf” is published in the book title, remission, available on Amazon and at Conjure Work.

The audio track for “Strange Leaf” is available as a free download at the Patreon page, Magus72.

While you’re there, look over the benefits and perks that patrons get, exclusive content and lots of other bonuses.

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Perception

A new music video for the song “Perception” from the full-length, studio album, Flagship by Trent Boswell.

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More Cool Junk

Beat

That is not dead which can eternal lie
and with strange æons, Death itself may die.

–H.P. Lovecraft

If you found yourself in Cthulhu’s shopping mall, probably in the swim wear section, you might well hear this, playing over the speaker system.

Zero times hydra, to the power of existence, cubed, over the square root of straight jacket. Solve for Y.

This is “Beat” from my horror collection, Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity.

Beat – from Dark Matter, Poems of Horror and Depravity

It’s been set to a beat, so that your strange æons might be somehow just a touch more symmetrical in nature.

The .mp3 file is attached, feel free to download it and share with anyone you like. Just click the DOWNLOAD button below, to play the track. Or hold the button down and select your SAVE option.

Beat Download

See it on YouTube:

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Beat

Nameless, black
Void and choice-less
Surrendered to night,
Full of dark
Wanting nothing,
Now all is empty
Free to take up any chain
Any desire that one might wish for
No desire, no restriction
No thirst for servitude
There is only the vexing slumber
Hunger for the fat of a new kill
Is somehow become as a stranger
Wandering, wanton hex
A nubile delving into psionic prisms
Load the chamber
With hollow shells of the dead
Projected visions of delirium
Angelic chasms
Frightful clamoring in the cranium
Call back the dogs
And let them sleep
For the dawn will soon enough
Overtake their prey
That tender light, shredding matter
Rending garment and flesh
Quite succinctly
No need of drummers
To time the pulse of this tune
The rhythm of it,
A vacillating pendulum
Lo, it is even without the ability
To stray from its precision
The striker upon the cylinder
Is the pointing, bony finger of
The hand of Death, Herself
The hammer that clangs the bell
Is the Mother of Night, incarnate
The femurs of a thousand heroes
Beating against the tanned hides
Of the children of the same
Her crooked digit,
A culminating of perpetual cycle…
Stick meets skin, head warps and
Sound emanates through eternity
Stick meets skin, head warps and
Sound emanates through eternity
Stick meets skin, head warps and
Sound emanates through eternity
A beat all too well pounded into the
Collective memory
Burned into a hive mind
Fallen into cerebral pits of
“Never before”
We have at last, found the true past
It is even more horrid and shameful
Than we feared
It is full of monsters
It is full of us

If you dig this particular brand of madness, you’ll want to support the creation of it and get lots of bonuses that aren’t available here or anywhere else, over on Patreon:

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Dangerous

Only one beast in all of creation
Only one which is anywhere known
Finds pleasure, perverse, even vocation
Unnecessarily harming its own

Of nature’s many carnivorous creatures
A vast array of poisons appear
Murder is common among their features
Motives of territory, status and fear

Death was here from the earliest days
Primal defense and sexual stuff
Animals kill in a whole slew of ways
But only one just can’t get enough

Horrific numbers and manners of killing
In the “most-evolved” is hate diagnosed
Not hungry or scared, finds it all thrilling
Only one, to true evil, the host

Complex schemes arise in one beast
Thrives on misery, whenever it can
Though many kill, to say the least
The most murderous critter is man

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Ere Wu Yin (A Fable)

There was once an army,
A most efficient killing machine
Forces twice as large as their own,
They readily crushed under boot

Conquering the mightiest strongholds
And everything that lay in between
Naturally, the other half of the realm,
They decided to rip apart and loot

Launching upon this new,
Shrewd campaign of extended war
They marched upon a city by the river,
A city known as Ere Wu Yin

A simple place, the home of farmers,
Craftsmen and miners of ore
As a military target, it was easy enough
And seemed nothing too difficult to win

General Tsu implored:
Let us, instead, forego this place.
We should pass it by, as it surely holds
Nothing for us that’s of too much worth.

But General Xi said emphatically:
No. Behold that wall, so high that no trace
Of anything is seen, on the other side;
Of most excellent construction and girth.

It is entirely probable that
These meager farms, outside
Are nothing more than guile,
Concealing armaments, with a crafty ruse.

Inside the fortress, there’s likely
A whole brigade, well-supplied.
They may be highly trained, well-armed.
Should they flank us, we would lose.

Furthermore, I would assert, brother
If there are no troops there, to surprise,
No arrows or cannons or spear attacks
To be, upon our heads, set loose,

Then we’ll occupy this circular fortress.
It will be a link in our chain of supplies,
Storage of food and munitions.
For this, for us, it will have great use.

General Tsu nodded and agreed
But with a somber caution, said: True…
But there could be a whole division, inside
For the circumference of that wall is vast.

If we send in multiple waves of attack,
One by one, as we usually do,
We could be slowly cut into ribbons
Reduced in number, we’d not long last.

They put their heads together in thought
And strategized about the matter
Then decided that the whole of their army
Would launch in unison; one, great assault

They’d breach the mighty wall
If necessary, by rope and ladder
And until the last of their troops was slain,
They would not slow the charge, nor halt

Two generals lined up all their brave men
Readied the weapons and on, they rode
With ferocity, straight at the city gate
Full speed and with a deafening roar

The simple farmers put down their tools
And signs of surrender, they showed
But a few of the men ran to the wall,
To lower the bridge and open the door

The generals assumed this to be proof
Indeed there was an army of Ere Wu Yin
Who were inside the wall and soon, they’ll
Rush to defend home against plundering

But no army appeared, no cannons fired
And no arrows flew out, from within
Saw nothing inside and the only sound,
Hooves of their own horses thundering

The generals, being experienced warriors
Knew it best to press on with the charge
For it could be that the soldiers hid
Waiting for them, right behind the wall

Conversely, if there were none present,
Victory would be swift and large
But they dare not assume it was the case
That the city would so easily fall

So, they cheered and they roared
And went ahead with the original plan
Generals demanded the men be vigilant,
Ready for the defenders that lay in wait

The whole of the army stormed right on in,
Every last, mounted cavalry man
But they met no resistance at Ere Wu Yin,
Not on either side of that towering gate

The whole of two divisions, now inside,
Those of General Xi and General Tsu
Coming to stillness, they puzzled fearful,
Suddenly realizing, they were all alone

There was absolutely nothing, whatsoever
There was no one inside, no fighting to do
Nothing but empty land and themselves
Encompassed by a thick wall of stone

Their minds raced back and forth,
Grasping at any and every straw
Had they won? Was it over? Would an
Army soon pour in, slay them and gloat?

The cavalry of Generals Tsu and Xi
Saw that here, there was none to outdraw
The front gate slammed shut and locked
Drawbridge pulled away from the moat

A peculiar sound, like a crack of lightning
The sound of a myriad of unlatching rows
Thousands of doors, opening all at once
Mounted in the very top of the wall

And out from these doors, sprang up fast Thousands of men, with rifles and bows
Evenly, shoulder to shoulder, all around
Looking quite dire; not very nice, at all

They set sights on the cavalrymen,
Who’d stumbled into a clever, death trap
So many, they could kill them all twice
And possibly, several times more

Keenly aware that they would soon die,
Generals straightened coat and cap
Sat up straight in his saddle, ready to die
This genius gambit, they could not ignore

Tsu spoke loudly, with a steady voice:
It’s an honor to die in battle. Much more so,
At the hand of the superior general,
One who is so skilled in the art of war.

It was custom to fight to the death
If a meager chance at victory did show
But one should lay down his arms, humbly
If defeat was certain, if hope was no more

And so, the generals ordered their men
To show honor, even in this awful defeat,
Surrender and to be put to death
Soon, they’d all be with their departed kin

Two, proud generals dismounted, kneeled
Laid treasured weapons down at their feet
Bowed their heads low in surrender
Dutifully but with a sadness, chagrin

Each of the soldiers then followed suit
Left their saddles, laying down arms
Silently kneeled, prepared themselves
To render the price that they must pay

Humbled in the dust, thought of the wives,
The children and all the world’s charms
All the things that they were about to lose
Because of the trap Ere Wu Yin did lay

After prayers to ancestors and gods,
The vexed soldiers were not at all harmed
Cautiously lifting heads, were astonished
To find their captors had all disappeared

The rear door of the stone fortress wall
Open, unguarded; the farmers, unarmed
The back drawbridge was lowered down
And the way out was thoroughly cleared

Bemused generals ordered the troops
To gather weapons and mount up again
And slowly, tepidly, they rode on out
The side opposite the way they’d come in

They rode slowly past the farmers, who
Tended their crops; only if or when
Soldiers came close by, would they stop
Offering a friendly wave and gracious grin

As the army rode out, General Xi fumed
He felt shamed, disgraced and humiliated
He suggested they return again, later
This time with more men and a plan

He proposed to come more prepared
Ere Wu Yin’s tricks now anticipated
Laying siege to the city, starve them out
And then to kill every last, living man

Tsu fed his horse a carrot and said:
I think it best to forget about returning.
Let us go home now, thank our ancestors
With every breath and each horse’s trot.

These people possess a strange secret.
A sublime wisdom, within them, is burning
Ere Wu Yin’s people terrify me, brother.
They know something… that we do not.

Author’s Note: this is an original story, not based on any historical persons, places or battles. The names and events are pure fictional.

Latest Book Release

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remission, by Kevin Trent Boswell

the music album, Flagship

Kevin Trent Boswell on Patreon

untitled

the dark nighttime

has many visions,

lost illusions, all seeking

to guide you

into foul madness,

struggling beneath

too-short

and coarse covers

trust your gut,

sweet child

for nothing but light

is inside you

the same

may not always

be said

of the others

look both ways

before you cross over

the unknown

threshold

there is the light

which is in you

true

and bold

and then there’s

all of the everything

else

that’s out there

some lights

which have gone out

but haven’t yet

been told

devils may take the

appearance of angels,

so always

take care

these would

warm themselves

by the fires of

your favors

but themselves,

cannot

return

the good deed

gratitude absent,

and all the

usual,

good flavors

are not nearly so much

in them,

not so much as

they need

caring, something

they’re sometimes

quite good

at feigning

but they would

not do so much

at all,

were they able

to give you

assistance

they assist

by restraining

so that you make

in their making

up the food

on the table

in those dark places,

your rules don’t

make up

for the senses

your eyes

often fail

and your hearing

goes dumb

you‘re a good child,

a smart one

keeps up

strong defenses

against the weaving

of webs that would

have you

succumb

listen not

to easy tales

of leisure

or love

be generous

to the grateful,

giving too much,

one discovers

there’s humanity

in your heart

and it fits you,

like a glove

but the same

may not always

be said

of the others

listen closely

when the light

whispers its

soft warning

go not lightly

where it would

sternly

guide you away

lean gentle

upon your genteel

manners

of good morning

shield carefully,

your beacon

shining,

that it may

ward off those

hungry things,

slinking

in the twilight

committing

many crimes

to justify

sadness

your large heart

feeds them

but the briefest

time’s highlight

your manners

won’t bring them

single moment’s

gladness

baleful hunger

returns ever,

without

pause

more hot and fierce,

and much

stronger

than before

opening you

slowly,

hiding

their cause

growing more

and more bold,

once you open

the door

in knowing

what warm,

nice feelings

spill out of you

upon your noble,

good faith,

they come

again to dine

a stitch of

incredulous

will keep away

death’s hue

after all

is said and done,

it almost always

saves nine

trim the wick

of your candle,

its bright light,

inspire

keep your

powder all dry

and your lamp

tinder lit

the pushers

of darkness,

small steps lead

to the dire

be careful

and wise

and don’t

fall for it

strange misgivings

will have you

to shirk,

with sudden attitude

even the

friendliest

of those come

hither smiles

the first thing

to go,

once they get in,

is your mood

lasting longer

than it should,

means you’re taken

by the wiles

hold your memory

tight

and never let them

touch

trust, when the way down

is nagging

and the good feeling

lacks

harken which hands

reach for you,

too awful

much

a bother in your belly,

stops you

dead in your

tracks

your energy

will fail,

long before

their thirst

that visceral fear,

in your warm,

tenderhearted

guts

if you take

the hooked bait,

you’ll soon see

their worst

suspicious,

uncertain

and thinking that

you’re nuts

those uneasy

twinges

that drive you back,

second guessing

from the most

obvious act

of a seeming

benevolence

they’re there

to warn you

of something

bad, pressing

despite daddy’s

words good can

sometimes draw

a malevolence

some feed on grace,

manners

and mother’s charm school

propriety

it’s less commentary

on your love

on more so,

on their bleakness

in spite

of polite

good intentions,

all sobriety

resides in your

maintenance

against your own

weakness

glowing with life,

you are

and so, must remain

in your poises

stay out of the

shadows

and out

of the foolish

they, and it, wane

into dark dins

of the most

horrible noises

which lead

away from light

and down into

the ghoulish

when your social

sensibilities

are suddenly

eviscerated

and it happens

without logical

reasons,

not one

something upon surface

seems

rather

uncomplicated

do not question it,

dear child,

instead…

turn and run

abdominal doubt

scorning the

solid

handshaking

is hidden

inside of

your knotted-up,

inward self

signal of a threat,

through

inexplicable

quaking

though they look

the good deal,

put them back

on the shelf

never wander

too closely

to the edges

of the dark

shadows have

been known,

on occasion,

to jump through

to leap out and swallow

flickering,

pretty things

that spark

those that reside

inside of

pretty things

such as you

keep close

to the guard dogs

who growl

behind fierce eyes

when strange

temptations

come close,

offering favors

do not lean in,

or listen

too well

to their lies

the keepers

of darkness

and light

are close neighbors

and sometimes

those shaded

boundaries

do fall wide open

for some

always go there,

eager to steal

keys

this may shock

or confuse,

sensibilities,

all broken

disappearance

in the night happens,

with the greatest

of ease

not all are so nice

as you, child and know

that some are the weight

of a great, heavy stone

not everyone

and everything

would have you

to live

some would

consume all,

even marrow

of your bone

every precious,

last drop of

all the blood

you could give

some of the

monsters feed

quietly

on your brain

not keeping you

in such good

but a good many

shapes

most monsters fall out

from the ordinary

and there,

they remain

until you break

their spells

and your spirit

escapes

creepers

all slithering

down low,

out of light

shielding from

the bright, good

and sensible

day

well-hidden

under coverings,

many put up

no fight

but will linger

and drain you

until you rise up

and slay

some appear tricky,

as a lamp

or a torch

often does

but are only

cloaks of

drowning

in the cool shade

storms,

wearing rainbows

where color,

never was

any light

splintering through,

artificially

made

devils with dowries

invite you to

lie on razor sharp

pillows

with sweet, sugar

poisons,

sharp in the throat,

catch

because some wicks

take to light

easily,

like dried-up, old willows

candle burns through

the night,

on first strike of

one match

some things

look a lot like a candle,

a flame or

a spark

but they

will never burn,

no matter how hard

you try

use up all

your matches

and still,

in the dark

some will

always break things

and take things

and lie

about other things

like innocence

and light

and hope

lovely or kind

at first glance,

they may

look

but with a lot

of hard scrubbing

and a fair

amount of soap

you’ll discover

the ruse

and note all

they took

I’m sorry to

have to say, child

not all is

as it seems

in fact, most

things aren’t,

at deep heart

of the matter

in this world,

there are things

far worse

than bad dreams

and the daylight

does not cause

them all

just to scatter

some things

are stubborn

in slow dying,

sowing trouble

and you’ll never

get back

those things

which were taken

guard against the losses

and in time,

pop your own

bubble

childhood

dies a bit easier

with your confidence,

unshaken

but die,

it must do,

since it’s nothing

but a blindness

the warm blanket

of sheltering,

by fathers

and mothers

the love you

possess, child

rewards kindness

with kindness

the same

may not be said,

always

of the others

Latest Book Release

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Conjure Work YouTube Channel

Listen to and/or download Strange Leaf.mp3 HERE

BlogSpot

Instagram – KevinTrent Boswell

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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

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.

Patreon

Flagship, by Trent Boswell

YouTube

Sound Cloud

Other poetry titles available:

Liber Ex Liberi

Next

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

Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity

https://www.patreon.com/magus72

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

Support the work at my Patreon page:

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

rain_Kevin_Trent_Boswell.mp3

“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.

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

rain

Support the work at my Patreon page:

https://www.patreon.com/magus72

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

Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell

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!

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.

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?

from the book, in the current

Support the work at my Patreon page:

https://www.patreon.com/magus72

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

stun

cigarette ash
burning long,
conical
the way it happens
when you draw
hard and fast

nothing else
moves

arm lifts
to mouth
lips purse
an exhale of smoke
arm drops

eyes still
fixed
on reflections
dancing on
automobile glass

the news
is still news

frozen
words
moving…
streaming
nonstop
through the mind
on auto play
over and over

eventually
the message,
heavy,
will settle
into place

Kevin Trent Boswell

Now available, on Amazon:

in the current

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

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

untitled

I chased a martyr

through all hell’s heat

with intention to

ask him why

he’d run so long

he was tired and beat

in fact, he could

all but cry

I’d yearned for the moment

when at last we’d meet

and an answer from him

I would pry

and though he was worn,

we raced and he beat

and so I collapsed

with a sigh

Author’s Note: this is a very old piece, not sure of the date but it was in one of my first few poetry notebooks.

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

The new book is out now, on Amazon:

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.

Enthusiasm

The Divine Healer works through their hands
Those hands wrapped in latex,
Connecting and disconnecting tubes,
Wires, IVs, pushing gurneys, handing out tools,
Pulling charts close to see through the tears
Holding up those who are no longer able
To stand for themselves
Holding the hands of the terrified mothers,
Fathers, brothers, sisters, wives and husbands
As they check the vitals
Wiping away the sweat from patient’s brows
Giving their colleagues a thumbs up
When they manage to wrestle one back,
However briefly,
From the infinite void
Wringing those hands into fists
As the frustration and fear and
Righteous anger hit the boiling point
Stroking the cheeks of those who are
In the very throes of death

Through those nauseated nostrils,
God endures the stench of bleach, blood,
Latex, alcohol and unidentifiable cleaners
Pushing through that palpable sense of fear,
Usually noted only by dogs
Now an ever present part of
The olfactory landscape
The scent of patients who have
Shit themselves or pissed themselves
The nervous farts in close quarters
That somehow make their way past the masks
The strange, surreal scent of fresh flowers
Coming from out of nowhere,
As the Angel of Death slips quietly,
Unseen into room 318
Those noses that itch but cannot be scratched
That need desperately to wipe away the snot
But cannot be wiped

God moves through their legs,
Running them down the halls
For the fifteenth time, just this morning,
To answer the incessant, mad calls of
Code after code after code after code after…
Lifting patients from gurney to bed
Then from bed to stretcher, go the dead
Those muscles holding them up,
Refusing to quiver and wilt
Under the weight of an
Obvious abandonment
Refusing to crumple up into a ball
And cry themselves to sleep
Because supplies are needed on the next floor
And someone must take them and
There is no one else to do it
Walking on eggshells at home,
Careful not to touch anything
That their loved ones might touch
Resting those weary limbs on
Uncomfortable cots and pullout couches,
Instead of resting in between those soft,
Cotton sheets on memory foam mattresses,
For the dread fear of infecting their families

God speaks through those mouths,
Slipping into their cars to go home,
After impossibly long shifts
After inscrutable regimens of scrubbing,
Decontaminating, full of the mortal terror
That some spot might be missed…
Out, out! The invisible blood,
Staining the hands, full of imagined guilt
Which is not truly theirs, to bear
Screaming in those parking lots,
Inside otherwise normal cars,
Station wagons and sedans
Minivans and trucks,
Bloodcurdling moans of sadness
A helpless sense of futility,
Beginning as words but crumbling
At last, into spirals of gibberish
A chasm of meaningless mumbles
And heartbroken sobs
God speaks through those mouths,
Calmly reassuring those who have come,
Reluctantly into the belly of the beast itself
Knowing the dread shock of lying side by side
With those who are almost certainly doomed
Speaking softly in friendly tones,
Half for the benefit of the patient and
Half to convince themselves that
“Everything is going to be ok.
We just have to put this tube in,
So you can breathe”
God makes stupid jokes
Through those mouths,
Little, ridiculous comments,
In an attempt to keep everyone’s
Spirits up and to keep them focused
To keep them from completely collapsing
The Angels prophesy through those tongues
Whispering discreetly to one another
In those sullen hallways
“This one won’t last much longer.
We need to discuss who gets that machine next”
The Spirit of love talks through those mouths,
Insisting to themselves that after only a few,
Restless hours of tortured sleep,
Full of sweat and nightmares,
That they MUST roll out of bed and
Force something into their bellies,
To strengthen them for the fight
Assuring themselves that yes,
It is the right thing to do,
To walk back into the mouth of the whale,
To surrender themselves
To its insatiable hunger for more bodies
Those hungry mouths, that cannot eat
Until the end of a 12 or 16 hour shift
Those mouths, full of the
Acid of a gut that produces inordinate
Amounts of stress
Those mouths, dry and thirsty,
Unable to stop at the water fountain
Because they cannot touch their mask
The tongues of insane healers, willing
To dwell in Death’s living room,
For complete strangers
Informing dosages, calling out instructions,
Calling for tools and esoteric medicines,
Strange cyphers, in languages
That only the minds of Angels
Could ever comprehend
God whispers,
One Holy mouth to another Divine ear
“I know.
You did your best.
There was nothing more you could have done”
The Holy Spirit delivers
Those impossibly awful messages
To the bereaved
Speaking the
Unspeakable news to the families,
Telling them how truly sorry they are
For their loss and how
They so desperately wish they
Could have done
More

God sits behind the eyes of them…
Those bloodshot, horror-stricken eyes
Watching, through the tears
Through the sweat that cannot be wiped away
Filling up the goggles that shield them
Against everything except the misery
Those itchy, swollen eyes
That gaze upon the convulsions
Of those who are drowning
Inside their own lungs
God looks with infinite empathy
Upon those who stare the
Thousand yard stare of
A battle-scarred soldier,
One who has been too long in the shit
And has lost too many friends
Who has witnessed entirely too much
Death
And suffering
God looks into the panicked eyes
Of each person on each bed
And knows full well
Of their very real and very reasonable fear
God cries through those eyes
And yet, upon losing so many children
Looks not backward to the dead
But ahead to those
Who might still be saved

The God who is beyond All Names
Shines total love on you,
All ye sacred brothers and sisters
Of the caduceus, the Divine Staff
Which heals those struck by the
Serpent of Death
In the lost and lonely desert

You, who are possessed by God’s essence
Are illumined in the LVX of the All…
The God who is benevolence itself,
Far more loving than even
Those most generous, kind and
Merciful ones,
Those whose Names we all know well
The God who is is beyond
The idea of God
Is touching us,
Through you

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

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.

Battle Against the Public

I think what this pandemic was lacking is a song, a tune that the people can hum. Therefore, to fill the current need, I have adapted an old favorite, with new (improved) lyrics.

I present to you, “Battle Against The Public”.

[sung to the tune of the famous song, Battle Hymn of the Republic]

Mine ears have heard the glory of the

Omniscient, Orange Lord

He is trampling on the facts

About the PPE we’ve stored

He hath loosed the fateful virus

By the terrible signs, ignored

His untruth is marching on!

(Chorus)

Story, story, tell it to ya!

It ain’t no worse than the flu… duh!

Praise him or he’ll remove ya!

Our Nonsense marching on!

I have seen His message echoed in the

Online, Right-Wing camps,

They have builded Him an altar

Where truth‘s secured with iron clamps;

See through His dimwit message

By the light of Logic’s lamps

His toupée is marching on!

(Chorus)

Friends, who you thought really knew ya!

Tell you it’s a hoax, come to screw ya!

Sit and wait at home, like Buddha!

His Orange is marching on!

I have read a fiery gospel, writ

In CAPS of angry steel:

“Those who deal with My opponents,

Get respirators that might heal”

Let the Orange Nero, play the fiddle

Let Americans all kneel

Trump is God and nothing’s wrong!

(Chorus)

Derogatory, press is unfair to ya!

Common sense has got the blues-a!

From Miami and NY to Chattanooga!

The virus marches on!

He has sounded forth the trumpet

By Easter, we will have it beat;

Well, never mind… but admit,

That the idea was pretty neat!

Doctors say… he’s a mo-ron!

(Chorus)

Gory, the doctors all conclude-a!

Fateful end, you’ll come to-a!

On breath machine, you’ll turn blue-a!

The buck He’s passing on!

In reports that came from China,

South Korea, Italy

The Donald was duly warned

Of illness, born across the sea,

With mighty golf club in his hand,

He said “Let’s wait and see”

As He lied to make men wealthy,

Let us try to make men see,

While the President blathers on!

(Chorus)

Glory, brave souls who blew the!

Whistle, sorry no supplies get to ya!

Your on your own, He never knew ya!

Our health care, shat upon!

Kevin Trent Boswell

The new book is out now, on Amazon:

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.

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

Kevin Trent Boswell

The new book is out now, on Amazon:

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.

zipper head

zipper head,

open your tender teeth

reveal yourself

in all

of all

that

you are

clench

the mail

betwixt your steel jaws

deliver the cypher

into waiting hands

so many crude

assumptions

of what you might

or maybe

may be

you can come into the arms of

safe haven,

you are the arms of safe haven

you are anything but

safe

haven

let the carpet unroll

before your feet

of marbled steel

kicking rusty sparks of lightning

from the concrete

bouncing light

and quarters

into heaven’s gutters

zipper head,

stay where the rumbles occur

keep your head high and

out of the trenches

your worn, dusty boots,

dug deep into the stirrups

of a bipolar bull,

thrashing one…

torpid another

through the shiftiest gears,

our protagonist prevails

walk those high wire nights

of cappuccino hallelujah

scratch the blackboard dust

swing at that other head,

climbed into a chasm of dark

make every new

adoption of nomenclature

the donning of your sacred title

a wreathe of laurel highlights

lay upon your cornflower brow

a teeming of light in your sepia,

seal eyes

pontificate of sarsaparilla calculus

you observer of courses

determiner of courses

forgetter of courses

let all courses be

subject to your power

and sway

a kingdom which stretches past

all imagination or illumination

let them conduct themselves rightly,

for knowledge of your presence

they query quick but quiet,

twirling stick in coffee and

mad scraps of leaky pen napkin notes

and the subtle escapes of breath

from your pulpit

convert them, each

and all

to your church

of the considerate virgin

let your christ gnosis

hail the multitudes

of bovine slitherers

each now armed

with impressive equations of

equanimity, poise

because your scepter

hath provisioned the unwashed

with its manna

lay your miracle on the

blister of impatience

and lameness walks now,

with living memorial of

lazarus sensibilities

oh but could we only attain

unto thee,

hail, most mighty

of the cousins

and czar of all the wanderers of

the minotaur’s labyrinth

we invite you to sit with us

for tea and do tarry

tell us the tales of

your turns

we are swollen now,

swallowed and all

fallen into silence,

as we wait upon our excitable smiles

for your symposium

of next-ness

zipper head,

fair friend of the white and gray…

let it begin

we are ready

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.

The Balance

Relentless and vile, that wicked thing…

Evil, ever striving against the light,

Seeking its demise and then, from it,

Escape, a twisting, eluding, evasion

Good then, must plant its wrathful sting

In return, even double, triple, to spite

And each, standing, must overcome it…

Rising to that dutiful, somber occasion

In this deep spiral of ethical confusion,

Cometh the horns of the beast, with its stinger

Stickier, dicier, bits of the question…

Who sits in righteous judgement of the wrong?

Which of us is upright, free from all illusion?

Who may, in fairness, be the bringer

Of justice, penalties, implications, suggestion

Who’s sees truth and, if ever, how long?

Kevin Trent Boswell

(Magus)

The new book is out now, on Amazon:

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.

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.

Kevin Trent Boswell

(Magus)

The new book is out now, on Amazon:

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.

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

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:

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.

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.