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
Copyright 2020
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.
I am Love
And the power of the Sword
I am the softly spoken Word
She, receiver of the fruit
Speaks of Nothing, yet all,
Has she heard
I am the Way,
the Truth and
the bringer of Light
I am not the Lamb
I am, instead,
The stillness of Night
I am the lover
I bear the yoke of Strength
My children shall draw in, behind
I am of Her,
At any length
She shall be strong in her mind
I shall guide when I may,
Gently to say,
Draw towards the paths of
Light, Truth
I will embrace her,
She, the secret practitioner,
Falling in the spiral
Of joyous youth
She is Love
And the power of Earth
Copyright 2020
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.
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
Copyright 2020
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.
i can feel the rain coming,
in my spirit
like the old man
in the rocking chair
on his front porch,
i feel it in every bone,
every trick limb and
aching joint
a sweeping sense of despair,
as my head passes through a
deluge
something similar to
a drive through car wash,
only… less convenient
a team of pressurized fire hoses
and huge, comic pom poms,
thwacking me
right in my
frontal cortex
as the weather makes its approach,
a sweeping sense of despair,
as the weather makes its
slow, arrogant approach
i know its imminent arrival,
often hours beforehand…
before the first cloud
rears its muddy black,
disapproving face
my bones crack and my hopes
sag
nothing fazes
the stupor,
a dark, somnolent plague
of inefficient sleep,
brought on by
a simple change of
barometric pressure…
a slight swing of
humidity;
a little water.
a little water can
drown
my
w
o
r
l
d
never approaching
the front page,
ranking only
section c in the newspaper
the c section
opens my skull
and dumps that precious
baby brain on the
cold, tile floor
kicking it into the corner,
near the waste can
those morons at the paper
ought to recognize
that murder is more of a
front page deal
they view it as
a little spill on the carpet,
it’s only water…
don’t cry…
i won’t cry.
but i will sleep;
i am drugged
and stuffed into a canvas bag
by this natural sedative;
carted off to the ocean
of inactivity
and dumped in,
left for dead
with a note,
pinned to my scalp:
“you will submit to my dominance.
you will curl up
in a soggy, little ball
and wait
for me to pass”
i have survived, seemingly
intolerable fires of the spirit,
unquenchable flames of the heart
earth scorching plumes of fire,
setting daily life alight
i’ve dealt with dozens of
major catastrophes,
not to mention hundreds of
tiny conflagrations,
the little fires that need putting out
only to be doused
and completely
extinguished
by a little water
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72
I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.
Straps
Saddles
Leather
Salty breath
Rough riders
Ride rough rides
To frontier deaths
This, to be a man
Quest
For fire
Freedom
The good fight
Women and whiskey
Powder and ball
Barrels alight
Law of the land
Brutal
Western blacksmith
Forge a boy
Into a man
We are the riders
Of the weary
What shall we say
Of women and whiskey?
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72
I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.
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?
Copyright 2020
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.
Kevin Trent Boswell 