A new music video for the song “Perception” from the full-length, studio album, Flagship by Trent Boswell.
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More Cool Junk
That is not dead which can eternal lie
and with strange æons, Death itself may die.
–H.P. Lovecraft
If you found yourself in Cthulhu’s shopping mall, probably in the swim wear section, you might well hear this, playing over the speaker system.
Zero times hydra, to the power of existence, cubed, over the square root of straight jacket. Solve for Y.
This is “Beat” from my horror collection, Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity.
It’s been set to a beat, so that your strange æons might be somehow just a touch more symmetrical in nature.
The .mp3 file is attached, feel free to download it and share with anyone you like. Just click the DOWNLOAD button below, to play the track. Or hold the button down and select your SAVE option.
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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 heroes
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
Copyright 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell
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Only one beast in all of creation
Only one which is anywhere known
Finds pleasure, perverse, even vocation
Unnecessarily harming its own
Of nature’s many carnivorous creatures
A vast array of poisons appear
Murder is common among their features
Motives of territory, status and fear
Death was here from the earliest days
Primal defense and sexual stuff
Animals kill in a whole slew of ways
But only one just can’t get enough
Horrific numbers and manners of killing
In the “most-evolved” is hate diagnosed
Not hungry or scared, finds it all thrilling
Only one, to true evil, the host
Complex schemes arise in one beast
Thrives on misery, whenever it can
Though many kill, to say the least
The most murderous critter is man
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
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If you like bands like Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimi Hendrix or The Mars Volta, then you’ll probably dig this.
This is a brand new recording of the song that I wrote many years ago but never had a chance to record it until now. I’ve played it live with my band quite a few times but unfortunately, we never caught it on tape.
I’m playing the bass and guitar parts and singing. Everything that you hear on this track is me, except for the drums. That’s because I don’t have access to a live drummer right now. Besides, feeding and caring for a wild animal like that is expensive.
Here’s the full video on YouTube. Don’t forget to hit the thumbs up 👍 subscribe ✅ and the notifications bell 🔔
The song is called blind in the sun and the lyrics are below. Originally, it was a poem and I set it to music (hence the Roman numerals in the lyrics).
The .mp3 file is attached to my Patreon page, so you can go there, download it (for free) and play it whenever you want.
I forget sometimes that people don’t always follow my rather eccentric, artistic choices, so I will explain something about this track. I purposefully chose not to clean up the sloppier guitar licks on this track, because it’s the feel that I was going for… teetering on the edge of the abyss.
Going back and punching in smoother, cleaner guitar parts is easy enough. I just didn’t want ’em, not for this. I’ll mention two songs that inspired my playing on this. One is “God”, by Tori Amos. Her guitar player is way better than he sounds on that track. It’s dirty, gritty and foul, for a reason. The song is about existential angst and the loss of faith, so it’s gotta be grimy.
The other is “Come On (Let The Good Times Roll)” by The Jimi Hendrix Experience. On that song, he does what jazz musicians refer to as “going outside”, meaning that he lets his solos wander just a little bit out of time and out of key, on purpose. Of course, he brings it back in or it wouldn’t be interesting. I chose to step outside on this track but hopefully not too much.
Feel free to share the link to this page or the Patreon page, or the YouTube link on your social media, that’s the best form of advertising there is for underground artists. I thank you in advance. Enjoy!
Just click that big, unwieldy link, below, to listen to the track. Or go to the Patreon page. You can download the song from the Patreon page and have it for your very own. Just don’t forget to water it every few days and never feed it after midnight.
Blind In The Sun
I.
Blind in the Sun⠀
Can you cringe beneath
The shadow of a fly?
You’d better try
Running ‘cross the sand
Fire in the hearts of your band
In the joy of being alive
Stripped of delusion
And so forwardly stride
Lost in the garden
with canonized illusions
There are the keepers
Of the tower
But I am not a member
Of the dark December
The light of the sun refracts
In my eye
II.
Everything is water
Electric fluid matter
In a paper cup
Called Time
III.
Somewhere in the North
There are real vampires
I know you go to visit
From time to time
To roll in the stench
The decadence of
Thirst for blood
To dine with a pack
Of wild gods
I have no intent
Of adopting your bent;
Partying down with the devil
On your shoulder
I have no intent
Of going where you went
Beating on a skull
In a hellish midnight circle
But who am I to say?
That you are not ok?
I will simply stay
Behind
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
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This piece is new and is part of a book that I’m working on, called one pass by. The theme is one trip of the Moon through the lunar cycle.
The Moon is the protagonist of each poem, speaking directly to the reader or just thinking out loud. These are musings about the moods and experiences that come up each month, as Luna aspects the other planetary bodies in our solar system.
Our moon travels around the entire ecliptic (faster than any of the other, traditional planets) in roughly 29 days. That means She regularly conjoins (meets) all the other Planets, as well as forming what astrology calls aspects with them, such as sextile, square, trine and opposition.
Each of these angles prompts a different type of energy. Making sense of how these aspects affects us is a big part of what serious astrologers do.
In astrology, the word planet comes from the Greek, meaning “wanderer”. So yes, the Sun (Sol) and the Moon (Luna) are each a proper Planet (capitalized P for respect), even though they are not planets, in the astronomical sense.
In mythology, each of the Planets are ascribed as being the same energy or archetype of a particular God or Goddess. Our versions are named after the Roman Deities and correspond quite closely to their Greek counterparts.
In essence, these poems are the Goddess Luna, on her usual, monthly travels around Earth and Sol, the Sun. She’s talking about Her experiences with each of them, telling us the story of what can usually be expected, when She bumps into the other Gods in some way.
Each piece is written in lowercase, including the proper names, such as Saturn and Jupiter. This is a stylistic choice and nothing else. I probably read too much e.e. cummings and I’m just plain weird like that.
People who understand basic astrology will probably get a deeper meaning of each piece but they written simply enough that people with no astrological background can still get the gist of what’s happening and follow the stories.
The Moon is representative of many things and the easiest of these to grasp right away is emotions. Where the Moon is and how She is interacting with the other bodies out there determines a huge amount of what wee feel, collectively and individually.
This piece is about when Luna occupies the same bit of space as the Planet Saturn, who is the Lord of Time, restriction, boundaries, limitations, duty, architecture, crops (to some degree), geology, slavery and prisons. He also rules over contracts and institutions, especially in their more complex, bureaucratic and byzantine forms.
If you enjoy this and you want to see more of these produced, ha a look over the tier benefits on my Patreon page and become a patron, to support this work.
And now, I give you…
one of my least favorite bits
and each of us admits
jaws clench and grind
dutifully, as we try
to respect the old man;
but it crumbles, our plan
when near him, you find
you want to curl up in a ball and cry
i try hard to explain
in a language, most plain
my thoughts and feelings
and my needs, most dear
from his bed, every time,
of gravel, dirt and lime,
grumbles that these dealings
he just doesn’t care to hear
the only thing that i can say
of our meetings that’s okay
is that beside him, i discover
i seem to have the uncanny knack
for putting self into order,
defining clearly the border
between this, that and the other;
and it helps me to pick up the slack
but it’s tiresome work
for he’s a bit of a jerk
to be honest, he’s no fun
and no one really likes him
but as guardian, it’s clear
he inspires much fear,
so much so, that no one
ever dare strike him
into whatever room
floats our cloud of gloom,
they sit up straight and quick
and all take a somber notice
the vibe becomes serious
no drunk smiles, delirious
like jesus hitting you with a stick
or buddha, with a lead-filled lotus
folks get down and back to working
time for labor, not lurking
and he’s carefully checking
everyone’s to-do, check lists
if they’ve missed a thing or two,
as we all often do,
their rear ends, he’s wrecking;
his motivation-boot, it assists
my heavy heart hurts
at each weight he asserts;
the sad details he shows me
of the most dreary, depressing issues
though i attempt to retreat,
our little dates aren’t complete
until he calls me a baby and throws me
a box of camel-hair tissues
copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
Latest book release:
Other Titles Available:
clobber with slobber
the foaming beast
tumble over rover
not bothered in the least
a bull and a pig
shopped for china one day
and a minefield dig
for archeological play
toppling the workloads,
tumbling down card towers
a brief symposium
of how energy is released
drenched in sweat
and love and tea
a most brutal pet
killing all boredom, sending it away
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
the dark nighttime
has many visions,
lost illusions, all seeking
to guide you
into foul madness,
struggling beneath
too-short
and coarse covers
trust your gut,
sweet child
for nothing but light
is inside you
the same
may not always
be said
of the others
look both ways
before you cross over
the unknown
threshold
there is the light
which is in you
true
and bold
and then there’s
all of the everything
else
that’s out there
some lights
which have gone out
but haven’t yet
been told
devils may take the
appearance of angels,
so always
take care
these would
warm themselves
by the fires of
your favors
but themselves,
cannot
return
the good deed
gratitude absent,
and all the
usual,
good flavors
are not nearly so much
in them,
not so much as
they need
caring, something
they’re sometimes
quite good
at feigning
but they would
not do so much
at all,
were they able
to give you
assistance
they assist
by restraining
so that you make
in their making
up the food
on the table
in those dark places,
your rules don’t
make up
for the senses
your eyes
often fail
and your hearing
goes dumb
you‘re a good child,
a smart one
keeps up
strong defenses
against the weaving
of webs that would
have you
succumb
listen not
to easy tales
of leisure
or love
be generous
to the grateful,
giving too much,
one discovers
there’s humanity
in your heart
and it fits you,
like a glove
but the same
may not always
be said
of the others
listen closely
when the light
whispers its
soft warning
go not lightly
where it would
sternly
guide you away
lean gentle
upon your genteel
manners
of good morning
shield carefully,
your beacon
shining,
that it may
ward off those
hungry things,
slinking
in the twilight
committing
many crimes
to justify
sadness
your large heart
feeds them
but the briefest
time’s highlight
your manners
won’t bring them
single moment’s
gladness
baleful hunger
returns ever,
without
pause
more hot and fierce,
and much
stronger
than before
opening you
slowly,
hiding
their cause
growing more
and more bold,
once you open
the door
in knowing
what warm,
nice feelings
spill out of you
upon your noble,
good faith,
they come
again to dine
a stitch of
incredulous
will keep away
death’s hue
after all
is said and done,
it almost always
saves nine
trim the wick
of your candle,
its bright light,
inspire
keep your
powder all dry
and your lamp
tinder lit
the pushers
of darkness,
small steps lead
to the dire
be careful
and wise
and don’t
fall for it
strange misgivings
will have you
to shirk,
with sudden attitude
even the
friendliest
of those come
hither smiles
the first thing
to go,
once they get in,
is your mood
lasting longer
than it should,
means you’re taken
by the wiles
hold your memory
tight
and never let them
touch
trust, when the way down
is nagging
and the good feeling
lacks
harken which hands
reach for you,
too awful
much
a bother in your belly,
stops you
dead in your
tracks
your energy
will fail,
long before
their thirst
that visceral fear,
in your warm,
tenderhearted
guts
if you take
the hooked bait,
you’ll soon see
their worst
suspicious,
uncertain
and thinking that
you’re nuts
those uneasy
twinges
that drive you back,
second guessing
from the most
obvious act
of a seeming
benevolence
they’re there
to warn you
of something
bad, pressing
despite daddy’s
words good can
sometimes draw
a malevolence
some feed on grace,
manners
and mother’s charm school
propriety
it’s less commentary
on your love
on more so,
on their bleakness
in spite
of polite
good intentions,
all sobriety
resides in your
maintenance
against your own
weakness
glowing with life,
you are
and so, must remain
in your poises
stay out of the
shadows
and out
of the foolish
they, and it, wane
into dark dins
of the most
horrible noises
which lead
away from light
and down into
the ghoulish
when your social
sensibilities
are suddenly
eviscerated
and it happens
without logical
reasons,
not one
something upon surface
seems
rather
uncomplicated
do not question it,
dear child,
instead…
turn and run
abdominal doubt
scorning the
solid
handshaking
is hidden
inside of
your knotted-up,
inward self
signal of a threat,
through
inexplicable
quaking
though they look
the good deal,
put them back
on the shelf
never wander
too closely
to the edges
of the dark
shadows have
been known,
on occasion,
to jump through
to leap out and swallow
flickering,
pretty things
that spark
those that reside
inside of
pretty things
such as you
keep close
to the guard dogs
who growl
behind fierce eyes
when strange
temptations
come close,
offering favors
do not lean in,
or listen
too well
to their lies
the keepers
of darkness
and light
are close neighbors
and sometimes
those shaded
boundaries
do fall wide open
for some
always go there,
eager to steal
keys
this may shock
or confuse,
sensibilities,
all broken
disappearance
in the night happens,
with the greatest
of ease
not all are so nice
as you, child and know
that some are the weight
of a great, heavy stone
not everyone
and everything
would have you
to live
some would
consume all,
even marrow
of your bone
every precious,
last drop of
all the blood
you could give
some of the
monsters feed
quietly
on your brain
not keeping you
in such good
but a good many
shapes
most monsters fall out
from the ordinary
and there,
they remain
until you break
their spells
and your spirit
escapes
creepers
all slithering
down low,
out of light
shielding from
the bright, good
and sensible
day
well-hidden
under coverings,
many put up
no fight
but will linger
and drain you
until you rise up
and slay
some appear tricky,
as a lamp
or a torch
often does
but are only
cloaks of
drowning
in the cool shade
storms,
wearing rainbows
where color,
never was
any light
splintering through,
artificially
made
devils with dowries
invite you to
lie on razor sharp
pillows
with sweet, sugar
poisons,
sharp in the throat,
catch
because some wicks
take to light
easily,
like dried-up, old willows
candle burns through
the night,
on first strike of
one match
some things
look a lot like a candle,
a flame or
a spark
but they
will never burn,
no matter how hard
you try
use up all
your matches
and still,
in the dark
some will
always break things
and take things
and lie
about other things
like innocence
and light
and hope
lovely or kind
at first glance,
they may
look
but with a lot
of hard scrubbing
and a fair
amount of soap
you’ll discover
the ruse
and note all
they took
I’m sorry to
have to say, child
not all is
as it seems
in fact, most
things aren’t,
at deep heart
of the matter
in this world,
there are things
far worse
than bad dreams
and the daylight
does not cause
them all
just to scatter
some things
are stubborn
in slow dying,
sowing trouble
and you’ll never
get back
those things
which were taken
guard against the losses
and in time,
pop your own
bubble
childhood
dies a bit easier
with your confidence,
unshaken
but die,
it must do,
since it’s nothing
but a blindness
the warm blanket
of sheltering,
by fathers
and mothers
the love you
possess, child
rewards kindness
with kindness
the same
may not be said,
always
of the others
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
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Author’s Note: This piece is dedicated to anyone who is still awake and should not be, to anyone who is worried about what things are waiting, up ahead.
Nighttime
Trouble, in the nighttime, fell
Upon too wakeful brow,
Which ought to sleep
Coins cast in tainted well,
Uncertainty of where and how,
Enough to cause anyone to weep
Pitching gold piece of its own,
Came an angel of repose and rest
With curious question, whispered, quiet
“A myriad things, all unknown…
How is it you’re certain… to fail the test?
Without shred of doubt, that may deny it?”
Of course, no good answer was there, for this
And searching, mind grew sore and tired
Eyes heavy, in downward creep
The angel placed soft, loving kiss
Upon empty head, thoughts all expired
Drifting peaceful now, into the deep
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
Support the work at my Patreon page:
https://www.patreon.com/magus72
I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.
This series features pieces of my poetry, read by my friends. The first post has more information about it. Check that out, here: none
Here’s the second piece, read by my friend, Dawn Leith-Dougherty.
This one is called “rain“ and it’s appropriate, because it’s drizzling here, today.
If you would like to read along (or just see the text, for yourself), here’s where this poem was originally posted:
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
Support the work at my Patreon page:
https://www.patreon.com/magus72
I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.
Here’s a really neat project that I’m pretty excited about!
I asked some of my friends to make recordings of themselves reading my poems. Quite a few thought it was a great idea and were more than happy to contribute.
The link here is the .mp3 of the first one I’ve chosen to present to you. You can click on it and just listen or right-click and save, if you want to keep it. It’s free!
Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell
By the way, if you want to help out and support more cool stuff like this, see my Patreon page, Magus72.
I’ll be posting them here, one at a time. I’ve had a lot of fun putting this together and I hope you enjoy listening to them.
The main thing I wanted to achieve here is get a variety of people, reading the pieces… in the way that they hear them.
None of the readers were given any prompts about how to read. A few people preferred to have something assigned to them and so I picked for them. But in most cases, they chose their own pieces to read.
This first poem is called “none” and it’s from my book in the current.
Our guest reader is Xander and he did a great job with it.
Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell
I’m posting the text, as well. That way, you can follow along or read it first, then listen or just listen and find out where it takes you… your choice. Enjoy.
none
mandala being nightmare…
nothing being curse…
still we strive for
something!
she cries
in her
elliptical
orbit
cycle of nothingness
somethingness
separation
dance
eros
chance
death,
arousal and
denial
correct,
of course
the role being
after all
seductress
how could one say
that she was wrong?
how could one argue
that anything
was ever
wrong?
polarities
cry of response
no avail
she is
in heat
hears
nothing
of my
dharma
portions of
infinity
etc.
no wrong
only difference
how must one
proceed in
seeking
to curse
the void?
Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
from the book, in the current
Support the work at my Patreon page:
https://www.patreon.com/magus72
I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.
thundering jaws
of ten thousand locusts
precise darts of prejudice,
blood dragons, each
entering with passwords,
polite, unassuming…
a pair of waiting and frail,
glass, lidless eyes
a clamor of messages,
all tattered, forgotten
mentioned in the never
and not even one,
ever put to sweet rest
urgencies, oddly angled
in ambivalent anxiety
inked into the crumpled,
sticky papers that fell
behind tired yesterday,
underneath
that old
shoe
somehow this,
and less so, the twisting
of syllabic, golden emblems
who tumbled readily down,
out of that stiff mouth, stuffed full
with reproachful disgrace;
scrambling as it does,
against the mocking barb
of tinfoil and iron
and just a touch
of freshly picked parsley
a thing branded promise,
the pledge of a feather…
that soft and superfluous
(perhaps a touch prideful)
grace of a king
in evening’s repose,
enjoying the dessert
of golden balcony light
in the smooth, gilded sunset
and that trancelike, wild aura
that it sprinkles on the children,
who play in the courtyard
of royal toys,
down below
the come-hither awareness
of a flittering scent
which lingers on a fickle hint,
of watering breezes
in a dallying, broad summer,
now too late for the dance
soon these specters of brief visitation
become rusty, bent turnstiles,
small, awkward entry points
into the twisted wilderness,
swallowed by the clanging,
stormy, brown cupfuls
of dingy, soiled clouds,
spilling over, full
of their heart’s hateful sickness
and penance, kneeling quietly
at the headstone of dawn
these, and the falling of a
thousand yellow flakes
of crumbling memory
waiting there, as prude passers
of irascible judgements, harsh laws,
resting now more sternly
upon that shredded, old tongue;
the only one that remembers
how its meals were brought forward
on the silver and linen
and lovely, laced smile
determined, stayed flesh
all raked and peeling off,
at the tender, quick bone,
by white, stropped, dream blade
and its curled, new awakening
a thin, crisp snake
in its cool, keen infancy,
all smooth and glittery
and sly, to the touch
flying through the reels
of spring’s old, home movies
and bounding with gusto,
through autumn’s false reckonings
plunging into the downy,
limber, white gristle
that new, tinkling home
where all goes up with excitement
and is carried frenetically
into that ray of loud swiftness;
a focused, clear light
and tiny ringlets of dew,
a moistening of the jowls
of those murderous, howling,
mad beasts of oblivion
gathered early, for supper
at the table of long privilege
and tall, wealthy poise
where several chairs down
is still a praiseworthy elevator
shortened only by a skip
and a contract of devotion
and that signature handshake
which might allow one, if lucky,
to scramble into a hurried,
apathetic bliss
onto the next,
of those stained flights
of narrow steps,
hammered into place
with the gigantic, steel bones
of ruthless, porcelain dolls
archways of ascension
leading the feeble militia
into pathways of plenty
of sweat and spilt blood
and on, to the pined-for illusion
of the every bit
more
© 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell
Titles now available on Amazon
Liber ex Liberi – The Book of Children
Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity
during his therapy session,
while each were sharing,
respectively, what they felt
was their higher purpose in life…
Jerry spoke up
undeterred by his own rudeness
in cutting off a fellow confessor’s
heart-wrenching story
of loss and liquid lament,
mid-sentence
Jerry spouted out,
with a strangely calm resolve,
I think that I was meant to do a lot of cocaine.
it was peculiar that he raised his hand,
since he clearly wasn’t willing to wait even one more second;
he’d started speaking, before his arm had even reached
full extension
there was, after that…
a noticeably uncomfortable
five or so seconds of…
silence
numb jaws,
flushed faces
perplexed looks
Jerry continued
I believe in the perfect perfection of God’s Will.
Nothing has ever occurred
that was not originally
of God’s intent.
Furthermore,
and here, he smiled broadly,
clearly pleased with his own, peculiar, thought process
God is nothing at all
like people have assumed.
God is like a reliable toaster
and He always pops out perfectly toasted bread.
I do a lot of cocaine.
And so I conclude that
I was meant to do a lot of cocaine.
Because, if it wasn’t God’s will,
then God wouldn’t allow it.
God wants me to do a lot of coke.
It’s part of the divine plan.
quite a bit more…
silence
those in attendance checked in,
with the inside of themselves,
that yes, they were indeed awake
and not just dreaming
in their beds
the woman sitting beside Jerry
felt her tongue
growing heavy and thick
the usually quite reliable and familiar-feeling
muscle in her mouth
now plummeting down into new,
strange unfamiliarity,
functioning as little more than a
old, motel carpet with a bad, floral pattern;
lying in the way of her breathing,
collecting fuzz and dirt and hair
from the boots and flip-flops of loud, annoying vacationers
and conventioneers from Indiana, police conferences
one throat cleared…
this sound was a decidedly clear signal, as if the
all-clear flare had just been fired up into the newly interesting air,
signaling to the combat-weary troops that they could,
once again, raise their heads out of the tired trenches
a solitary cigarette ash fell onto a designer shoe knockoff
one, older man shifted angrily in his wobbly chair
and managed to slosh a bit of coffee
on his brand new, polo shirt
several others nervously sipped their own coffees and sodas
while others sat in amazement
and some in a giddy but hushed, chuckling amusement
Tom, the group’s bemused leader arched forward in his chair,
placed his elbows on his knees
with an unusual force,
trying to anchor his anger
and remain diplomatic, despite the outburst against order
and after releasing his clenched jaw,
he somehow allowed himself to say
Thank you for sharing, Jerry.
Anyone else have anything…
anything…
at all?
Copyright 2020
Kevin Trent Boswell
From the new book, Next
Now available, on Amazon
cigarette ash
burning long,
conical
the way it happens
when you draw
hard and fast
nothing else
moves
arm lifts
to mouth
lips purse
an exhale of smoke
arm drops
eyes still
fixed
on reflections
dancing on
automobile glass
the news
is still news
frozen
words
moving…
streaming
nonstop
through the mind
on auto play
over and over
eventually
the message,
heavy,
will settle
into place
Copyright 2020
Kevin Trent Boswell
Now available, 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, there.
I chased a martyr
through all hell’s heat
with intention to
ask him why
he’d run so long
he was tired and beat
in fact, he could
all but cry
I’d yearned for the moment
when at last we’d meet
and an answer from him
I would pry
and though he was worn,
we raced and he beat
and so I collapsed
with a sigh
Author’s Note: this is a very old piece, not sure of the date but it was in one of my first few poetry notebooks.
Copyright 2020
Magus
(Kevin Trent Boswell)
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.
I think what this pandemic was lacking is a song, a tune that the people can hum. Therefore, to fill the current need, I have adapted an old favorite, with new (improved) lyrics.
I present to you, “Battle Against The Public”.
[sung to the tune of the famous song, Battle Hymn of the Republic]
Mine ears have heard the glory of the
Omniscient, Orange Lord
He is trampling on the facts
About the PPE we’ve stored
He hath loosed the fateful virus
By the terrible signs, ignored
His untruth is marching on!
(Chorus)
Story, story, tell it to ya!
It ain’t no worse than the flu… duh!
Praise him or he’ll remove ya!
Our Nonsense marching on!
I have seen His message echoed in the
Online, Right-Wing camps,
They have builded Him an altar
Where truth‘s secured with iron clamps;
See through His dimwit message
By the light of Logic’s lamps
His toupée is marching on!
(Chorus)
Friends, who you thought really knew ya!
Tell you it’s a hoax, come to screw ya!
Sit and wait at home, like Buddha!
His Orange is marching on!
I have read a fiery gospel, writ
In CAPS of angry steel:
“Those who deal with My opponents,
Get respirators that might heal”
Let the Orange Nero, play the fiddle
Let Americans all kneel
Trump is God and nothing’s wrong!
(Chorus)
Derogatory, press is unfair to ya!
Common sense has got the blues-a!
From Miami and NY to Chattanooga!
The virus marches on!
He has sounded forth the trumpet
By Easter, we will have it beat;
Well, never mind… but admit,
That the idea was pretty neat!
Doctors say… he’s a mo-ron!
(Chorus)
Gory, the doctors all conclude-a!
Fateful end, you’ll come to-a!
On breath machine, you’ll turn blue-a!
The buck He’s passing on!
In reports that came from China,
South Korea, Italy
The Donald was duly warned
Of illness, born across the sea,
With mighty golf club in his hand,
He said “Let’s wait and see”
As He lied to make men wealthy,
Let us try to make men see,
While the President blathers on!
(Chorus)
Glory, brave souls who blew the!
Whistle, sorry no supplies get to ya!
Your on your own, He never knew ya!
Our health care, shat upon!
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.
One may never truly know
Into what deep and secret part
A simple kindness, how it grows
Seed taking root in the heart
The depth of its vast potential
That seeming, but not, small event
How vital, immense and essential
When it sprouts, or where it went
Author’s Note:
I read a post on Facebook about a man who, as a child, was regularly, severely beaten by his mother.
He said that watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood showed him that he didn’t deserve that cruelty and he said “Mr. Rogers saved my life”. I couldn’t seem to locate the post again but it inspired this piece.
Be kind to each other. When people will not allow you to be kind, then at least be BIG and just walk away.
There’s a huge difference between choosing to avoid arguments/fights and being a coward. People need to understand the difference.
Some people think that every minor confrontation is a threat to their wellbeing or even just their ego. They think that if they walk away, it equals weakness.
The real weakness is lacking the self-confidence to simplify go around it and ignore it. If backed into a corner or loved ones are threatened, then fight; to the death, if necessary.
But if someone is just mouthing off, you can choose to just ignore it. Rather than it saying that you’re too afraid to deal with it, it says that you’re too BIG to deal with it.
And you never know… your complete refusal to be rattled or fearful or angry or to be drawn into a fight, it might just have a profound effect on the person who is challenging you.
They may change, they may not, doesn’t matter. What matters is that YOU will change.
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.
