The Music, Magick, Poetry and Madness of Magus
I’ve never loved one
Who would love me back
And I’ve never loved one
Who would care
When I reach out
In joy or in fright
There’s never anyone there
You may see what you want
And have what you don’t
And look, but don’t ever touch
And all is yours for the asking, my child
But love is a little too much
Copyright 2018 Magus
In my dedication to lifting you higher,
I am willing to hold you down,
Until you drop all the words of the liar
And your senses come back around
If you think, you will easily recall…
In fairness, I told you from day one
That of you, I would have all
Or else I would settle for none
In blindness I will take your beauty
In deafness, accept your word
When you give completely, as is your duty
Only then will it be seen and heard
Seeds have been planted in soil, indeed
Despite resistance, they will take root
I will wait for the pruning of the weed
The removal of what does not suit
Once the grapes spring from the vine
In the garden you will find me
Taking the sweet fruit that is mine
As it ever was supposed to be
Copyright 2018
On the riverbanks of India
The men wade among crocodiles
For fish
In the jungles of Indonesia
The men walk among tigers
For wood
In the backs of our western minds
Among the terror files
We wish
These monsters
Would disappear
For good
Oh, to be alive and in Indonesia
By Kevin Trent Boswell (Magus)
Copyright 2018
On my birthday, June 21, 2018
For all of you
—
glow bright,
torch flame ball
squeezes
through the cracks
in the wall
of the circled garden,
zapping flowers and faces
with light and warmth
illuminating orb climbs atop
the back of a crab carriage
and takes up its reigns
ten miles down the trail
then ten more and
a final ten days, still
of all the gifts
possible to call satisfying,
none is more so
than having a handful of faces
you know and welcome
into your eyes
arms about you,
a band of those who can be counted as your people
and you
as one of their own
in this, my mem-heh day,
I dig into my pockets
and find only useless
bits of nothing,
ridiculous things like gold
and documents of ownership,
certificates of overpriced
possessions,
keys to things,
things that are kept
locked away
for fear of their loss…
I instead grab for paper and pen and offer you instead,
something truly useful
a small scrap of peace
like the Christ split the
loaves and fishes,
I will break this bread of joy
with all of you,
we will divide it between us
until there is no more left
with each disappearing morsel,
may you, like Osiris,
be reconstructed,
made whole
enjoy your slice of cake
it was never mine, anyway;
nothing ever was
the things I called my own
were spells, illusions,
glamours and self-deceptions
the only thing real is that
which I give to you
may it sustain your hearts
through lonely periods
may it entertain you
during dullness
may it prevent you
from doing stupid things
when you are angry
or afraid
may it protect you
from the attacks of others,
may it protect you
from the awful attacks
that you launch
upon yourself
may it make you laugh
when you’re down
and seemingly out
may it be a cornerstone for you,
as you succeed
and build your new palaces
in the sun
take this and share
like a plant cutting,
spread it
like wildfire,
let it swallow the whole
branding genuine smiles
on the faces of all you people,
you children
of birth and growth,
decline and
the final surrender to sleep
let this stupid,
silly smile disease
infect you,
let the epidemic of laughter
sweep
over the land
taking you utterly
and joyfully
by surprise
Two or three enemies conspiring in unison,
However petty or untrue their cause
Can turn an army of friends against you,
As if it never was
A couple of soured enemies,
In coveting something you possessed
Banded together for your ruin
But never settled their own unrest
Child A, when refused a toy
That clearly belonged to Child B
Child A smashed it, in a rage, and turned
His eye to the toys of Child C
As many toys as he can jealously take
Each stolen, broken or thrown
Each proves only how sad he is
For never having toys of his own
—
Bait fish…
bait fish
quick, nervous movements
where to turn?
swim w/ the school,
swim by the rule
swim for yourself,
swim alone
catch 22
still the sponge lung,
pumps an essential fear
evolutionary prerequisites
there in the shallows
the predator swallows
“thanks to our selfless brothers
in the sacrificial, outer circle”
For more, see…
for music:
and for more poetry:
Antiverse and
oh, little dog of pity,
i have been of once as thee
cast aside, as tied to a tree
i frown on you not in spite,
nor in mercy, for to
set you free would be right
but i will not unbind you and you will not run,
even if i did, you are too dumb
you would but pant and froth and bounce
and for your master, trot patiently about
for she who scooped you up as a puppy,
only a tiny puff of cuteness fluffy
i know too well of your dilemma
i know of it, yes… am forced to remember
how it happened that once i was cute…
yet somehow, i no longer fit the suit
of childhood’s clothing and abandoned toys;
outgrew the mold of being a boy
as favored youth slips away from thee
you, no fault of your own, lose your novelty
i have been where you were, in her bed at night
i have been where you are now, seen as a plight
i have felt sweet caresses on christmas morn
i have slept in hunger amongst bristles and thorns
i too, was once fed by her hands
i too, lost my charm, upon becoming a man
a friend told me once, in a moment of truth,
that the larger things instinctively protect the youth
but small things grow up, as they always must
and fear compels them to crush them to dust
painfully, these things i have come to understand
it is not by criminality that i have become a man
but instead, it is my fortune and honor indeed
for now, of her milk, i have no need
but you, i will pity forever after
for you do not realize the cruelty of your master
and so, if i loosed you and set you free,
you would only wait for your master, beside the tree
you have grown in your body but not in your head;
you will not run away, though you will not be fed
or given water, or love, or be cared for again
as this is the way of grown dogs and men
By Magus
copyright 2018
* Author’s note: The poem is not an actual account of animal abuse but rather a metaphor about toxic relationships. The dog in the picture is Stacie and she’s spoiled rotten, so don’t feel bad for her 😉
