marbles and magnets

daddy magnet fire bomb
chaser, a Molotov cocktail
excellent man angler fish
knows how to ride the rail

a suspicious looking package
electronically delivered
a string of neural signals
warning one, it shivered

doesn’t matter it’s nonsensical
for sense, it does not matter
the sound of marbles rolling around
a set of teeth that chatter

a spike of dopamine in the brain
nothing else exists at all
adrenaline rush of pure chaos
and total lack of protocol


©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell

grown ass sovereign

tiny tyrant, vindictive and petty
useful in the most useless of ways
omniscient, omnipotent, powerless, dumb
toy compass points toward hateful malaise

closed off from everyone, open to all of it
help is the hunger to acquire, to accrue
never learned to do the dance of anything
all those skills are for someone else to do

cocked, sawed-off, double-barrel rage
all of us failed to know what was hidden
couldn’t guess the number of jelly beans
a boobytrapped jar labeled “forbidden”

you should’ve known, even though i don’t
get out of my head, give me some space
i’m so lonely, why don’t you love me?
but i always take time to put you in place

trapped in the mirror, the empty reflection
ripples don’t break the Narcissus spell
no wrinkles in the alarm clock’s sleep
a ladder of bones to a personal hell

an army of me, but none of those copies
are this good, although all are the same
and i know how you love my hurdles when
you say how much you hate this game

one pill or the other; it’s hardly the issue
this one is poison, no name on the jar
many will partake, thinking it medicine
but all will collapse, and none will get far


©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell


Strange Leaf

“Strange Leaf” is a piece of poetry about multiple subjects. The largest topics addressed are the intelligence community and the various three-letter agencies, such as the CIA, FBI, NSA, DOD, CSS, DNI, and DHS.

“Strange Leaf” by Kevin Trent Boswell

All of the terminology used in this piece comes directly from historical examples of real-life spies and intelligence officers from US agencies, as well as the Brits, Germans, and French.

If you search any of the terms you hear in this poem and add the words “spy terms,” you’ll gain a much deeper insight into what I was getting at in the piece.

I wrote this poem sometime during 2020, leading up to the election. Not long after that, I recorded it as spoken word and set it to background music.

After January 6th, 2021, and the assault on the Capitol Building, I compiled a montage of photographs of events from the history of the United States that depict the famous and infamous acts of our three-letter organizations, alongside pictures of world conflicts and the recent madness inflicted upon America by the cult of MAGA.

I had shared the video here once before. However, it didn’t receive as many views as I had hoped for, and today, “Strange Leaf” is more relevant than ever.

One of the (much smaller) minor themes in this work is tobacco’s role in American culture, hence the title, “Strange Leaf.”

My family farmed tobacco and other crops for decades before they eventually moved away from farming. In the 1990s, I assisted my father in tearing down three tobacco-drying barns he had helped his father build as a young man.

America’s history is based on crops like tobacco, which were raised and harvested by slaves and indentured white servants. Some of my ancestors were indentured servants.

In spy circles, sharing a cigarette or a pipe was a regular method of “developing an asset.” The daily routine of “stepping out back for a smoke” offered the perfect opportunity to have a private conversation with someone and find out about them, learn their true allegiances, and ascertain their weaknesses for potential exploitation.

Today, intelligence officers’ methods have changed, both in the field and in the analyst round-rooms at Langley. The terms they use for keeping secrecy have evolved to keep pace with changing times and environments.

However, the basic principles of spy work, known as tradecraft, are the same. The basic premise is that there are always governments ruling over citizens.

Every government on Earth has an intelligence agency comprising many data collectors, data analysts, and field agents.

The size of the nation in question is of little concern. For example, Israeli intelligence is Mossad, and that is one of the most elaborate, effective, and widespread groups on the planet.

We see how Israel is currently acting with impunity against Palestine. Their success is directly attributable to Mossad’s efficiency.

We now live in a post-Patriot Act world where everything is monitored, recorded, and tightly controlled. Understanding the history of our intelligence community and how it operates today has never been more critical.

For anyone who is interested in the print version of this poem, I published it in my book remission, available on Amazon.

Hay Day

I tasted your harvest
Held you in the fall
I heard the strange changes
Saw no one at all

The tea leaves aren’t telling
The wax drips no words
The chords are atonal;
They’re not stacked in thirds

Hey, hey, hey
Play in the hay day
Swallow the bruises
The pain goes away

Hey, hey, hey
Today is a school day;
Just as tomorrow,
And every other day, too

Wheels will slow down,
And hammers go fall
The chains all fall off
There’s no reason to call

A mouth slams shut
For lack of a solver
Birdcage flies open
A willful revolver

Hey, hey, hey
Make rain on a sun day
All the swallows got bruises
A rose fades away

Hey, hey, hey
Today is a school day;
Just as tomorrow,
And every other day, too

I screamed at the empty
You clawed at the door
We kindled a fire
And burned out the floor

Pleading with empty
We gnawed a bit more
We ate the inferno
Lost sight of the score

There’s always more learning
What was already known
Lessons learned again
Are again to be shown


©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell

Little Despot

Empty-headed blood scepter
Rails on about rights and privileges

But the angel-faced baboon
Will have none of it

Garrison bone hides
Rancid jowls in its ivory jar

Circus clown juggler
Tilts at the mills of wind,
Falls of water, and the
Endless static screen

Burn all that useless crap
In the trash barrel
Out back

Reach in the candy dish
And pull out a fresh squid

This tiny line of chalk
Guides the anchor to its resting place

Cranial trauma
This, too, shall never pass

But the not-subsiding
Should subside
Within a few thousand years or so

Your head only hurts because
We’ve removed it;
Imminent domain

The lumpy piece of flesh
That used to be inside of it
Is now an air freshener
Hanging from the rear view mirror
In the Devil’s Cadillac

He says it reminds him of home

One last thing,

Please sign here:

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©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell