i tug at
a thin, colorful strand
of recollection
struggling to pull
the memory of your image
back into my eye
all the while,
the taste of your mouth
lingers easily
in my own
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
Tag: free verse
oh to weep
oh to weep
to feel the tears, gliding
the joy that is a chasm
of painful knowledge,
the dark heart of
recognition
to gaze into the
eyes of suffering
and see its immense love for you
to peer into ecstasy,
become… fully…
cognizant…
of its ambivalence
to gasp and choke
on crumbs of empty space
to burn with hunger
at the brimful table of eternity;
the hall is so large,
the table so long, that
the head chair sits far,
outside the kingdom…
the queen is, by definition,
in permanent exile
her hound sounds
a trumpet of returning,
to the entrance,
where all exits
meet in a hollow nexus
its howling pierces stars
and summons perception
a doleful remembering
of cheer, unborn
a triumphant, vigorous celebration
on stages of victory,
a victory that needed
to do nothing but roll out of bed
and put on pants…
the rest was a seamless
unfolding of breath and
muscle memory
thick troubles,
shaped from
thin dust
and triumph,
collected in buckets;
it falls nightly…
no requisite asking,
pleading with fate,
to set aside its sickle
but for an hour
no prayers ascend
all prayers ascend
trouble no more for joys,
imagined leprosies that they are
sing no more praises of defeats
leaden, decrepit bullion
all these… fancies
dancing echoes
there are but few
frail glimpses
and each,
its own
meaningless
useless
miracle
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
Razor, Bramble, Thorn Child
Razor, Bramble, Thorn Child
You shall not slow me
to your 2/4 beat of destruction
I shall hurdle high over you,
Your highness, queen of disappointment
I shall prevail, in the
New dawn form of a creature,
who changes & morphs
into the red stream of power,
flowing through the mountains of
never-ness & nought
The river that flows upstream and
winds through the land of the impossible,
to where the globe of knowledge
floats in a glass of contentment
I shall prevail,
I will sail through the hate and
see the blessed sunrise
that you have sought to suppress
Copyright 2019
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
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 heros
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
© 2019 Kevin Trent Boswell, Magus
https://kevintrentboswell.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/magus72
birthday basket
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
paranoiaquatic
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
Kevin Trent Boswell 