free form – Kevin Trent Boswell

a tragic soap opera

stage is dark

sad violin music
minor key

a single spotlight falls on a

circus clown
with baggy clothes
and floppy shoes

throws his hands up in the air
and wails, forlorn

all those poor,
lonely scribbled
numbers

all crumpled up
on the page

crying themselves
to sleep at night

he looks to the sky,
shouting in an over-the-top,
melodramatic caterwaul

why, oh why,
did I even bother
to buy that box
of pens?!

drops to his knees
in front of a telephone
that sits atop a small table
and sobs quietly
into his hands

curtain closes

the end.

the next day,
a critic writes,

this was the most
pathetic piece of
maudlin garbage
that I’ve seen since
grade school.

the only thing
that might have
improved this pulp…
slightly…

is if the clown
committed seppuku
and then the theater
burned down.

round up the author
of this mawkish nightmare
and have him shot.

A Collage of Chimeras and Phantasms

by Kevin Trent Boswell available on Amazon

Now available on Amazon

Now Available

A Collage of Chimeras and Phantasms, the 12th publication by Kevin Trent Boswell

A Collage of Chimeras and Phantasms is a
general collection of poems. The material veers wildly in several directions at once. You’ll find stream-of-consciousness pieces, romantic poems, works of heartbreak, dark scalpel slices that reside in the penumbra of horror, and avant-garde bits of absurdism. So, there’s no need to trouble yourself attempting to understand the methodology here—there is none.

216 pages

©️2025 Kevin Trent Boswell

A Collage of Chimeras and Phantasms by Kevin Trent Boswell — A Collage of Chimeras and Phantasms
by Kevin Trent Boswell

like a house of

like a game of
Jenga, or Operation

like the careful restructuring
of a house of cards

how to
delicately slide
the desired shape

out of its current position
and into the one
I choose?

it’s absolutely essential
to have a steady hand,
to avoid upsetting the harmony

must not startle,
or cause alarm

she is nestled ⠀
comfortably
into her little nook, ⠀
her home

if it is indeed possible that
she might be moved by me…

then I must proceed
ever so gently, deftly,
with the greatest
of charm and tact

otherwise, the whole structure
could come tumbling

down

one must be debonair,
unhurried, poised, skilled,
perhaps even a bit
devil-may-care

for a handler of cards,
the appeal of the card
is what strength she brings to his hand

does she make for a
weak pair of twos?

or does she complete his straight flush?

does she make him look and feel
like the winner of the game?

but the card herself,
she is far more impressed
by the manner in which
an adroit dealer is able to
adeptly and confidently ⠀
handle her

expertly positioning her
without her necessarily
noticing

she wants to feel
safely controlled,
lovingly held,
as a crowning
symbol of
fulfillment
and fruition

but if the Queen of Hearts
is yielding…

if she offers some assistance,
some small help
in wiggling her out
of that lonely position
between the Three of Clubs
and the Four of Spades,
then there’s hope

and I will keep that card
always

up under my sleeve,
right next to my skin

do not

no flailing
hopelessly
against the
locked door

no hurling of self
at the feet of the
unappreciative,
useless,
would-be
royal

no pleading
with a fickle child,
changing-with-the-wind,
always insistent,
and never gracious

there shall only be
the championing
of the devout
worshipper

the one who basks
in the joy of being
in the presence

who abundantly,
persistently,
and clearly
sings the praises

this,

this is the only head
that shall be
crowned
and kissed
and covered
by praise and protection,
by the gift of honor,
and the giving
and receiving
of service

service
rendered
in endless
and selfless
bliss

dead, bloated cow

and that sickly, ugly war
raged through the streets,
unhinged and unhappy,
all too costly and unaware
of the damage it deals

it blisters the skin and boils the blood,
ripping down foundations,
blasting apart buildings,
making vehicles cease to exist,
filling the air with a foul stench
of fear and anger

its reward? only carnage
and arrogant blustering,
nothing of validity or consequence;
nothing positive or loving or logical

only the bellowing roar of endless warring

a hotdog cart burning in the road,
and fat, half-dead cow by the river,
making horrible noises of pain,
as it hopelessly calls out for attention

and to think, how everything
could have been peaceful, happy, and quiet

but some will always find it absolutely
unacceptable to have anything other than
their way

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