Kevin Trent Boswell

Smothered Mate

The Queen nestles up snuggly, next to the King
Behind her, the Rook shuts the door
The Knight seizes upon his opportunity
To seal the King’s fate, evermore

Through the open window, the Knight, he spies
The King, cornered and exposed in his room
Bending his bow, the Knight looses a bolt
Thereby making the King’s chamber a tomb

A King now lay naked as the day he was born
Except for that single arrow, through his heart
The Queen in cahoots and the Knight’s fine aim
The King was quite clearly doomed from the start

Author’s Note: “Smothered mate” is a chess tactic, whereby checkmate is achieved through a Queen sacrifice. The Queen moves in between the Rook and the King (in the case in the picture above, this happens on the G8 square; although this can also occur on the other side of the board, as well).

Since the King is in the corner, behind a row of pawns, there’s no legal move except to capture the Queen, with the Rook.

The King cannot capture her, because there is a Knight in place, making it an illegal square for the King to move into. After the Queen is captured, the Knight moves again and it’s checkmate; the King has been “smothered”, unable to move because he is trapped on all sides, by his own pieces.

This makes for a clear parallel with an old school assassination plot, as might occur in Game Of Thrones… and did occur in a great many places, throughout history.

This piece will be in the new book of dark poetry, Out On The Killing Floor, coming soon.

The image is the property of Chess.com

The Duel

A glove left its hand and loudly it met
Another gentleman’s shocked, available cheek ⠀
Gauntlet thrown down, it was then announced ⠀
That tomorrow would host a duel to the death⠀

The news spread fast and the gamblers all bet
On whichever man they thought less weak ⠀
One way or another, one would be trounced
Just after sunrise, would take his last breath

Each man chose a second, a solid friend
An assistant to ready his charge for the fight
To tend to the details and help steady his mind
To see to it that his pistol is clean and powder, dry

Even to dress him; for when a man meets his end ⠀
He wants to look sharp, in the new morning’s light Only one is to conquer and victory, to find
The other, in a pool of his own blood, would lie

After a night of sweaty and troubled sleep
They adorned themselves in the fine, regal trend ⠀
And adjourned on field of battle, according to plan Rules were explained and readiness, discerned

Rude remarks were exchanged, cutting deep Enraged, ready to deliver an untimely end
Each with his back to the other, once counting began,
With grave face, took his ten paces and turned

Here at last, was the decisive moment
The climax, a champion would soon overcome ⠀
Besting his adversary and winning the rights
To brag upon himself, of how he was more skilled

A contest, it was, as the gentry would later lament
When the smoke had all cleared, the crowd was numb
Each superb marksman had the other in his sights,
Two bullseye shots and both men were killed⠀ ⠀

From the black book of unimaginably horrible, terrifying things, Out On The Killing Floor

Out On The Killing Floor, by Kevin Trent Boswell — Available on Amazon

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

Seven Spanish Angels

My cover of Willie Nelson’s “Seven Spanish Angels”, a wonderful song that he got Ray Charles to do a duet with him on. I don’t care for modern country music but I love Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn… to me, that’s real country music.

The great jazz saxophonist, Charlie Patker would go into a bar and load up the jukebox with country songs, which puzzled his jazz cat friends. When they asked why, he’d say “It’s in the stories, man. Listen to the stories.” Nobody can tell a story like Willie Nelson. How much more true is that, when Ray Charles is helping him tell it?

I’m doing the vocal, playing all the guitar parts and the bass. I’ve never been much of a slide guitarist, so it’s not exactly amazing slide work but it came out just well enough that I didn’t ditch it entirely. Since I didn’t have Ry Cooder’s number, it will have to do.

You can support this work and download the song for free at:

https://Patreon.com/Magus72

Seven Spanish Angels

He looked down into her brown eyes
And said “Say a prayer for me”
She threw her arms around him
Whispered “God will keep us free”
They could hear the riders comin’
He said “This is my last fight
If they take me back to Texas
They won’t take me back alive”

There were seven Spanish Angels
At the Altar of the Sun
They were prayin’ for the lovers
In the Valley of the Gun
When the battle stopped and the smoke cleared
There was thunder from the throne
And seven Spanish Angels
Took another angel home

She reached down and picked the gun up
That lay smokin’ in his hand
She said, “Father please forgive me
I can’t make it without my man”
And she knew the gun was empty
And she knew she couldn’t win
But her final prayer was answered
When the rifles fired again

Words and music by Willie Nelson

Special Thanks

Special thanks to the following people for their video and photo contributions:

and Jeff Ross

That One Time

Happy first day of Halloween. I put something dark and sweet into your pumpkin for you.

That One Time

Your belongings will not likely be stolen
In the times you watched them like a hawk
But rather, they up and run away
The one time that you forget about the lock

Your blessings will surely not come to an end
In those times in which you’re praying a lot
No, your blessing well will only run dry
Because of the one time you did not

You’re unlikely to be brutally murdered,
Your corpse buried beneath someone’s floor
On most days, that is…
Unless, of course, you forget to latch the door

Photo by Faruk Tokluoğlu

From the black book of unimaginably horrible things, Out On The Killing Floor

Support

Even In The Littlest Things

“Even In The Littlest Things”, from my book Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity

Even In The Littlest Things – from Dark Matter

With Samhain/Halloween/All Hallow’s Eve and Day of the Dead fast approaching, I’m doing readings from my book of horror poetry, called Dark Matter. Most of them will have some type of music and/or sound effects that accompany them, to lend to the experience.

However, for most of these, I won’t be doing anything fancy with the visual aspects. There will be some that have interesting video or photos to look at but this will be more of an auditory experience than a visual one.

This particular piece is different from most of the book, as it’s not really horror. I included it because it’s quite dark, indeed. I wrote it because it was a personal demon that I had to exorcise, get the poison out of my system. I personally find myself both fascinated and revolted by this poem, even though I’m the one who penned it.

This is because it deals with a heavy, human problem… that of deception and who can we trust? We’ve all found out the hard way that someone we cared deeply for was deceiving us about something. If that person meant enough to you, then you most likely considered it not just inconvenient or frustrating but literally horrible.

Lies can be even more efficient weapons than guns or knives, given the right circumstances and for this reason, Even In The Littlest Things rightfully earns its place in the book and into this series of recordings.

Even In The Littlest Things

Even in the littlest things, you lie
Promises of civil courtesies so small,
To fulfill them, one barely need try
Even in the littlest things, you lie

So many pieces to your hate
Some are hidden, some stand tall
None create joy, only weight
So many pieces to your hate

Your darkness is beyond blinding
Wondering if there’s any light at all
Mislabeling what I was finding
Your darkness is beyond blinding

A forgery, nearly perfect, passing
Mask chipped, the disguise did fall
Recidivist, apology count surpassing
A forgery, nearly perfect, passing

But hey, at least you got to try it
Labeled thing, you renamed it all
No one ever insisted you buy it
But hey, at least you got to try it

And now, we all feel less than good
Endless, useless, talking, small
Nothing gained, nothing goes as it should,
And now, we all feel less than good

Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity

Available on Amazon

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