writing – Page 10 – Kevin Trent Boswell

Snake

Thin, diamond-eyed weaver
Of rhythmic, pulsating speech
Spells spill from forked, cunning tongue

Whispering secrets that never fade
Of things that are only just out of reach,
Union, knowledge unknown to the young

Ruddy red splatter on the worn blade
Spirit piercing flesh and taking root
Dew sits lightly on the petals of a flower

Serpentine speaker, knower, deceiver,
Thief in waiting to purloin the loot
Beneath the cover of the witching hour

Author’s Note: Yesterday, I learned that someone passed away in my apartment building (presumably within a day or so of when I heard about it). I had never met them and they hadn’t been living here long at all. Their death was apparently not unexpected; I was told that they were in poor health before they ever arrived here.

The weird thing is, they lived in the apartment right below mine. But stranger still, I had occupied that apartment myself, up until just a few months ago. When my current unit became available, I took the opportunity to move because it’s quieter on the top floor. While I don’t think I ever met the tenant, it was a brisk reminder that death is never far away.

Death is right under your feet
But try to put it out of your mind
There are chores to do and
Demands to meet
So, try putting it out of your mind

Death is coming up behind you
It is wise to not make a stink of it
Since you cannot stop it, and
There’s nothing you can do,
It’s best to try and not think of it

There beside you, Death hovers
I suggest you pretend not to notice
It will pounce on nervousness,
Any weakness it discovers,
So, just casually appear not to notice

It may approach you from any angle
You are bold, but Death is much bolder
You can tell it’s there by the cold, stale air
That envelopes your throat to strangle
Death patiently perches on your shoulder

thrust

make whatever you like of this,
but know that it may, likewise,
make whatever it likes of you.

thrust and struggle and burn
loudly feign, but ever so quietly,
an attempt, in the corner,
through muted silence, to enunciate

struggle with the reason
why is it that one does so yearn
to take the difficult lesson
one cannot be brought to hate

twist and then don’t,
because of the can’t
and moreover, he will not,
exactly as they were never told

a question, wide-eyed, receives
the penalty of the question’s answer
and it stings, being cold and hot,
enough to make one shriek and pant

a perjured testimony, it will recant
a tortured, and elated dancer
flailing there, on the dance floor,
it joyously thanks and aching, grieves

the hatches all battened down
and lashed to withstand the wind;
the wind begs contritely for more
claims not to know instruction

the end result, ruby red and sore
scoreboard racked and tucked away
nothing else to buck, or smartly say
all done for the night, playing the clown

make it into anything whatsoever,
anything that you want it to be,
for it won’t be made into something
that it isn’t supposed to be already

it has always known what it is, steady
to be whatever he chooses to shape
to make it speak and twist and sing
if only it is able and willing to see

A Name and Little Else

A catalyst, dipped in fire, a belch
Memories serve as a match
Begging forgiveness, promising again;
The disease is certain to catch

On further reflection, please do not
Pretty please, say that you can’t
The idea of slightest, greatest, or middle
Causes a rage and a rant

It’s simply too much, and too little, by far
And none of it’s worth all the troub…
I can’t even begin, much less finish,
With an every-time-wrong-way rub

Let someone else have it; I do mean all
If it’s like that, the price is too steep
The smart is too short, the stink too wide,
And the stupid is just too deep

It thinks too little, too much, of itself
A fickle, passing wind, a decree
It tilts on stilts, and then, suddenly wilts
At nothing and all that you see

Throttle the speed, and down the shifter,
Or the shafter, or the hole, or whatever
Turn it away, and all that it offers,
Which is little and even less clever

For days are short hours; hours, too long
Months wasted on the beginning
But cutting it short and calling it quits,
One is afforded more winning

Then, years all stretch comfortably out,
All the tired heads nod to agree
The minutes are sweeter; decades, too
And everything is as it should be

locus

weighted dice spilling from broken jaws

tainted allegories and
flawless renderings of the invisible

dry beans pour out of sacks
onto tables of diamond and ivory

an abacus of emeralds,
strung on strands of horsehair

a tiny pewter coin sits
atop a scale of solid silver
resting on a column of solid gold

pristine smudges of chocolate
on acrylic peanut butter tapestries

buckets full of comets kicked over
and showers of sparks
falling on the floor

it’s enough to fill
the silos of the universe
top to bottom

but is it enough?

each individual grain of sand
grates against another;
all are dutifully counted

the hourglass is emptied
of all its inexorable empires

excuses are forged from breath,
and hammered into the sacred elixir
of nothingness

there is no motion
in this river’s torrent

the asphalt streets stole it all,
sold it to capricious eels
who swim in desperate candlelight

germinating helixes
bristling thorn vines

funneling promising poisons
into the infant mouths
of ageless behemoths
who rule small places

culmination is the beginning
of the termination of endings
and the siphoning off
of all the intermittent middle bits,
the ones that,
as an afterthought,
we tacked onto the ends
in carefully coordinated haste

the endeavor,
doomed from the outset

thank goodness
we never embarked upon the journey
and that we saw it through
all the way to the end

we can scarcely contain ourselves
from raving about
what raucous ecstatic bliss
it was, from the pistol start
to the razored end

steal the serpent’s fangs

replace its venom
with politesse
and useless smalltalk

watch giddily
as it pathetically
gnaws and gums
unproductively at its prey

we dare not speak
of our elusive mysteries,
not to the droll, sour, uninitiated brood,
lest they discover our secret formula
of beginning in the middle
and ending at the front part
of the second third half
of each hind quarter,
but only on Thursdays,
except on leap years of an august May

the excitement would surely
be too much for their frail constitutions,
and over dead, they would drop down,
into new incarnations
of ceaseless wonder

and when, if so,
would any of it
ever cease?

take care,
that none of this ever occurs,
except for those precious few times
that it unavoidably does not

dial back
the wilting clock
and try not to
try again

The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell.jpg

I See You

To my friends
Who strive to be
Better than you were
Yesterday

I want you to know that
I see you

And I appreciate you

At times, I have been wrong;
Many, many, many times,
I have been
Wrong

On a few occasions, I have been the bad guy

Out of fear, I did things I wasn’t proud of;
Things I’m deeply ashamed of,
Things I hold myself accountable for,
So I don’t do them again

Sometimes, out of frustration,
I was lazy, apathetic, etc.

But I haven’t allowed myself to stay stuck,
Mired in those states indefinitely

I have not been a troll,
Picking fights for the sake of fighting

I ask myself, “Which part of my beliefs
“Are based on shoddy thinking?”

I ask myself, “In what ways have I been
“Less than kind, greedy, or negative?”

And many of you
Have been the inspirations
For my wanting to be
Better than I was

Even when I failed,
Your examples still served
As valuable anchor points
For me to get up and
Try again

I have kept a mental list
Of my friends and acquaintances
Who strive to be
Simultaneously
Excellent and kind

I want you to know that
I see you

And I appreciate you

I know you do your best
To hear both sides
Of important discussions

I know you read books and articles

I know you seek information that is
Outside of your usual echo chambers
To help you be well-informed and
As unbiased as possible

I know you become discouraged,
The same way I do,
When you see the stupid things
That people post, say, and defend

Things so easy to disprove
It’s ridiculous,
And yet, they stick to their beliefs
Like glue

I know you, too,
Throw up in your mouth a little
When people display
An unshakeable belief of,
“My feelings are just as valid as your facts.”

Feelings are a thing
They have many of,
And most of them are
Completely out of proportion
With the reality of the various situations

And facts are things that
They only have a scant few of

I know that many of you have
A vast education under your belts

Some of you are writers or educators
Some of you are scientists or musicians
Some of you are entrepreneurs
Some of you are esotericists
Or mathematicians
Or you are in mental health

Or you work in any of
Dozens of other areas that all require
Brains, determination, and a
Delicate balance of empathy and
Fearlessness

Whatever you do, I take note of how
You have an excellent understanding
Regarding your particular fields of study

Some of you have a Bachelor’s degree;
Others have a Master’s or Doctorate;
Some only have an Associate’s;
Some of you barely finished high school,
Or you got a GED,
Or you dropped out

But even those who dropped out
Have more of a
School of Hard Knocks education
Than some who have Master’s degrees

What you all have in common is that
You don’t hide behind
Your credentials

You mention them only when
It’s essential to do so

You didn’t stop learning

At no point did you decide that
You had “arrived,” or that you
Could no longer learn something
From someone half your age

At no time did you conclude that you are
Wiser, more intelligent, or more righteous
Than anyone else

Because
You aren’t competing
With anyone else;
Only with yourself

I see that quality in you

And I humbly bow
To that aspect
Of your nature

I see most people barking at each other
From places of fear, bitter hatred,
Ignorance that refuses to be corrected,
And from places of privilege;
People who cannot or will not
Show compassion for those
Who did not have the same advantages

And then, I see YOU

And the difference between
You and them is like
Night and day

You quietly go about your lives
Being friendly, but
Standing up for yourselves
And for others

More importantly,
You do it without any pretentiousness,
No “holier than thou” attitude

And I gotta say,

You fuckin’ rock.

I see you apologize
When you were rude,
Without habitually
Repeating the offense

I see you admitting when
You didn’t know something,
And graciously thanking someone for
Politely educating you about it

I also quietly assign you cool points
When some vulgar troll tries to
Rudely school you
Or assassinate your character
And you smack them down,
Put them in their place,
Without stooping
To their level

Some of you do this by
Sticking to the facts,
Some of you just block them,
And some of you utilize your
Wicked, rapier wit to
Eviscerate them

And I smile

And yes, there are many things that
I’m incorrect about,
And many of you are
Much more knowledgeable
In these areas than I am

And there are a few things
That I know more about
Than you do

But we
Give each other
Respect

Because
We both know in our hearts that
Each of us

Is sincerely trying
Much harder to

BE RIGHT

Than to merely

Appear right

I appreciate the times when you
Are patient with my stupidities,
Of which I have many

I appreciate the times
When you could have
Decimated me in an argument
Because I didn’t know
What the hell I was talking about

But you didn’t ridicule me,
You just pulled me aside and
Politely shared some
Of your wisdom with me

I see the “average” people
Who are genuinely well below
What average used to be

And they want to be rewarded
For their mediocrity

Then, I see YOU

Sharing your excellence,
Your experience, your humor,
Your charm, your skill, and your kindness

And you ask nothing
In return

I see you

And you

Keep me

Going

Tag: writing