New album previews

 The new Trent Boswell album Something in the Air is coming out on June 8th, 2022. 

You can get it on most major music streaming services like Amazon Music, iTunes, Spotify, iHeart Radio, and many others. 

Here are a few video previews:

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Special Offer

I’m offering a special package deal. Below, you’ll find a list of all my poetry titles, as well as my album Flagship. For just $72, I’ll send you a copy of one of each of the poetry booksAND a copy of the Flagship CD. 

That’s $39.21 off the cover price. Better still, this flat price includes FREE S&H. 

The free shipping offer applies only as long as it’s in the continental U.S. If you want international shipping, you can contact me privately so that I can calculate a specific S&H price for you.

all nine of my poetry books, plus a copy of the music CD Flagship, for one flat price and FREE shipping!

Time for Nothing $8.88

Chaos Comes Apart $7.77

on the page – poems for artists, writers, and other hooligans $12.50

Liber ex Liberi – the Book of Children $7.77

in the current $8.44

Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity $9.99

remission $12.72

Next $15.72

Out on the Killing Floor $18.42

Flagship CD $9.00

Total: $111.21

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How To Take Advantage of the Deal

To get this deal, send $72 to 

this PayPal link

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Please make sure your shipping address is up to date in your PayPal account. 

If you would like any of them signed, let me know in the notes with your purchase.

The poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell 

The newest poetry title, Time for Nothing- Poetry, Prose, and Song Lyrics

All Around

 “All Around” – music by Trent Boswell

Lyrics 

I can’t find it I don’t see it
Though I’ve looked nowhere over
I was certain I’d have found it
By now

Thought I had it once
In my hand like a clover
But it flew away
Somehow

I’ve rubbed out my eyes
Squinting through the dark
But my eyes are too full
Of dreams

Want nothing so much
Thoughts of self not a spark
And I still do not know
What it means

Collecting each one
Not mine in a moment
All tomorrow’s
Forgotten yesterday

Yourself saw you with them
You know of the torment
A sideways hello
Didn’t say

Slippery little thing
So many to climb
Fall so fast and without
A sound

Never had your gift
Of yours all this time
Wrapped tight and spilling
On the ground

All time gone by
Flirting with the dawn
Seeking for a higher
High score

Those things which remain
To this day are long gone
These things are all things
No more

Don’t know why I bother
I bother not to know
It’s never too much
Not to say

A slight tinge of joy
In each thing to show
Everything never came
This way

The secret only shared
Never told never kept
All the smiles that cannot
Be got

Always not moving
Ever happy it wept
In the open it hides
Where it’s not

Close the window my friend
Despite how it looks
It is going to be
A fine day

For it has the good sense
In verbose old books
All words refraining
To say

A slight tiny sting
Four missing leaves of clover
Ending all applause
Curtain bow

Can’t find it don’t see it
Having looked all over
Was certain I’d have lost it
By now

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©2022 Kevin Trent Boswell

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Lyrics available in print:

Time for Nothing – Poetry, Prose, and Song Lyrics, by Kevin Trent Boswell

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Support This Work on Patreon 

Magus72 on Patreon – the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell 

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Dirt

Dirt

“Dirt” – prose from Out on the Killing Floor by Kevin Trent Boswell 

©2022 Kevin Trent Boswell

This piece of prose is from a book of horror poetry. What is horror poetry? Imagine that Stephen King wrote poetry and prose instead of novels and short stories.

This particular piece is about the climate crisis. It’s an imaginary interview with an American farmer in the not so distant future, a dystopian vision of the runaway effects of climate change.

The book is available here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09NV6FGRF?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

Support on Patreon:

War On Venus

War on Venus - Original music by Magus

I posted this song before, but I have entirely remixed it, and it sounds far superior to the original mix. I  also shortened the title from “Tales of War On Venus” to “War on Venus.”

Something that I didn’t think to mention the first time I posted it: The guitar solo was first-take. I didn’t think I would keep it; I was only trying to get a check on the recording input level. But it just flowed out, and upon listening to it, I decided it was perfect just as it was. 

Lyrics:

We sit, swapping war stories 

We’ve barred all the windows and doors 

Each of us covered in blood 

Half of it mine, half of it yours 

Two chairs, sitting face to face 

The room is bare, otherwise 

Suspiciously watching each other for 

Sudden movements, any shift in the eyes

There’s a word for why we’re here

The trap, it fits us like a glove

Explains all the mess and the misery 

And that four-letter word is love 

Pause long enough to take a shot 

From the big bottle of poison 

We’re not much but we’re all that we’ve got 

We sweat bullets and swear “You’re the one. 

You’re the only one for me.”

Weapons at the ready, there in our laps

Fingers never far from the trigger 

No one smiles, no one eats or sleeps 

Shots of whiskey and resentment get bigger 

It’s no mystery how or where 

We both know who’s to blame, we insist 

Each of us swearing that the other struck first 

It was a case of love at first fist

There’s a word for why we’re here

This trap, it fits us like a glove

Explains all the mess and misery 

And that four-letter word is love 

©️2022 Kevin Trent Boswell 

https://Patreon.com/Magus72 

https://KevinTrentBoswell.com

Video clips by:

cottonbro, MART PRODUCTION, KoolShooters, RODNAE Productions, Eugene Vasilevich, Alex Green, Timur Weber, Diva Plavalaguna, and Gustavo Fring

God Willin’

God Willin’

Music from Magus 

Devil jump on ya

When you least expect it

With blood lust in his eyes

But you’ll pull through

Like you always do…

God willin’ and the creek don’t rise

Tax man poundin’ hard on your door

Taking everything your money implies

Without turning to crime,

You’ll survive on a dime…

God willin’ and the creek don’t rise

Shacked up for love, but it didn’t work out

Ain’t it painful when the love all dies?

But you’ll get off the street

And find someone sweet…

God willin’ and the creek don’t rise

Until the Lord himself

Knocks you off your feet

You keep on swingin’

And you can’t be beat

God willin’

Screaming Boss Man Jack, 

‘bout to break your back

All your time out the window flies

You just smile and pick up his slack

Because one day you’ll get him back…

God willin’ and the creek don’t rise

The rivers can flood

And the levies break

But you know you gonna do

Whatever it takes

God willin’

To pay your bills, you need a little scratch

So you borrow from Frankie

But there’s just one catch: 

Frankie is one of them connected type guys

The juice is steep but you better not renege

Less’n you want ol’ Frank to break your leg

But you just know you’ll pay it off…

God willin’ and the creek don’t rise

Drowning sorrows, feelin’ bereft

You done lost a friend 

And didn’t have but one left

And now that joker’s runnin’ around town,

Spreading rumors and lies

Such a double crossin’ can’t happen twice

Because after all, most folks is nice; 

At least that is…

God willin’ and the creek don’t rise

Show ‘em a whole army

Can’t ring your bell

The devils, cheats and liars

They can all go to hell

God willin’

——

Music and lyrics 

©2022 Kevin Trent Boswell 

Vocals, bass, and all guitar parts by Magus 

https://Patreon.com/Magus72 

https://KevinTrentBoswell.com

https://youtube.com/BNhnxnCZB5U

Straw That Broke the Monkey’s Back

Straw That Broke the Monkey’s Back

 “Straw That Broke the Monkey’s Back” from the electronic music album, Crossing the Rubicon, by Kevin Trent Boswell. 

Straw That Broke the Monkey’s Back

Copyright 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell 

The song is available as an .mp3 audio file download on Patreon at Magus72. Patrons get plenty of insider benefits. Receive exclusive perks, extra content and the satisfaction of knowing that you’re supporting the arts. 

The original rock album is Flagship, a surreal blend of influences such as Hendrix, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Jane’s Addiction and Jethro Tull but with the stamp of a quite different voice and guitar sound. 

Album tracks for streaming or purchase on iTunes or get a signed copy of the CD (or purchase the album or get individual tracks) from Conjure Work.

Poetry books, available on Amazon:

on the page

Liber Ex Liberi

Chaos Comes Apart

in the current

Next

Amazon Author’s Page

and at ConjureWork.

Don’t Forget

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More Information

KevinTrentBoswell.com

Magus72 on Patreon

YouTube

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

the music album, Flagship

Music Streaming, Amazon 

Music Streaming, Apple Music 

Music Streaming, Spotify

SoundCloud

Join the Magus72 music mailing list, here:

http://eepurl.com/dicsa9

Strange Leaf

 You might have heard the audio track for this but trust me, the video is an entirely different kind of experience.

This world has been encoded for your protection. The original poem, “Strange Leaf” is published in the book title, remission, available on Amazon 

and at Conjure Work.

The audio track for “Strange Leaf” is available as a free download at the Patreon page, Magus72.

While you’re there, look over the benefits and perks that patrons get, exclusive content and lots of other bonuses.

If you enjoyed this video, don’t forget to:

Give it a thumbs up 👍 on YouTube 
Subscribe ✅
Ring the notifications bell 🔔

© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell

Furyu

In the land of Furyu, we don’t have us no states
No countries or borders, not a single, county line
Everybody lives just up the road, from everyone else
And the way we see it, that works out, mighty fine

Words like security and safety just ain’t never used
Since crime is a thing that ain’t nobody invented
Birds sing and people do their own, chosen tasks
For the pure satisfaction of a job, well-dented

Wanting for nothing and always happy
Folks here tend to spend a lot of time outside
We talk and dance, because the music is always playing
And we laugh when the children go down the slide

There’s a church in town, where we pray to Love
And in turn, Love takes care of every little thing
Suffering is something that we don’t quite understand
But goodness is guaranteed, each day, to bring

Rains fall from the sky and folks around here
Call it Heaven, nursing all the crops
It makes the food grow and that food feeds the people
Who eat well and often and gratitude never stops

Folks share craftsmanship, art and new skills
And all manner of things, each a labor of love
You see, in the land of Furyu, everything is easy
And if it ain’t now, it will be, soon enough, push come to shove

In this place, each person’s got a special use
And there just ain’t no reason for nobody to be left out
You belong and that’s because you’re family
And shucks, we figure that’s what it’s all about

Everybody knows because, ain’t none of us simple
That a neighbor is just a brother, a step or two away
Or a sister or cousin or something along those lines
But kin is kin, is what we’re trying to say

It’s a confounded shame, but folks over yonder
Done gone and forgot how to get back over here
It’s a strange thing to all of us, since well…
We ain’t exactly gone nowhere

But we’re all up at the house, and like I mentioned
It’s right up the road, just about a mile or two
We’ll set out an extra plate and we’ll wait up a spell
And you’re always welcome, in the land of Furyu


Copyright 2020
Kevin Trent Boswell

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Now available, on Amazon:

Liber ex Liberi, The Book of Children

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.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

sweeping

Author’s Note: this piece is NOT a forecast of doom, not in any way. 

That is incredibly important to note. Instead, it’s two things.

First, it’s a snapshot of things which have already happened, as well as my disappointment and anger about how the situation has been handled, thus far. It is one artist, responding to real world situations, through the medium of art. That should be easy enough to grasp.

Second, it is a warning NOT to behave as if nothing is wrong or different and NOT to behave as if the world is ending. Neither extreme view is correct. Something real and dangerous is here but need not be catastrophic. 

I write poetry for a variety of reasons, one of which is what I refer to as a personal “exorcism“. It’s one of the ways that I personally get my thoughts together, for what needs to be done. 

In writing out worst case scenarios, I get poisonous thoughts out of my head and onto paper, where they might be properly dealt with, in an adult manner.

That being said, the following is not at all a pretty picture. Fear is a constructive tool, when properly guided toward preparedness and prudence. 

So, I encourage you to allow yourself just a few moments to wallow in the fear, as well. Then get busily back to the business of a productive life.

Happy Friday the 13th! 

sweeping

uninformed leaves rustle a bit

and roll over the usual yard

nothing yet, appears to sit 

in a space entirely too soft, nor hard

while standing in the cues 

of what sounds already are, 

in the distance, hear the clues

of misery, sweeping wide and far

an invisible, mushroom leverage

lays its breaking boot of 

concrete and leaden sole

atop the teeter totter

leans down, shifting its tonnage

with devastation under its 

unforgiving weight

bar graphs fly off their easels 

ticker tapes spin out and fizzle

time cards shred themselves with panic

and punch clocks fall off walls 

to dive bomb the rows of empty desks,

which explode into kindling 

all around 

file cabinets are set ablaze and 

the rodents are overworked,

spinning all those little, 

interlocking wheels 

of the intercom system 

it’s entirely too loud 

in the staff room 

and the commandant

can get no sleep 

despite his bedtime story 

being piped through 

the loudspeaker

outside is the warm normal, 

a blue sky, serene balm of certainty 

a textbook spring, 

assurance nestled 

in the obvious dream 

but some strange worm

has crept into the ear of the dreamer

and wiggles its way 

down to the lungs

where it cripples 

the casual breath

combat is hand to hand,

through negotiations 

sterilization weaponization 

settling old scores,

between complete strangers

the best assassin is always

one the target 

already knows well

taking dinosaurs 

right out, at the knees

pyramids and castles 

close their doors

refusing to check the coats

of the newly and arriving guests,

the overloaded sled of dead,

pulled by black, wheezing horses

turned away at the door,

on account of their 

inconsiderate lack 

of a reservation 

or at least the common decency 

to drag along a chest of gold 

with which to bribe the bellhop,

he who rings that iron bell

that sullen, tolls, 

reverberating and shaking 

the whole of the kingdom

wide and through 

a brown bag sandwich lunch

sits near the front door and goes stale

there are no baby cubs to suckle

at the teet of intelligence 

since, all the babies‘ eyes 

have been pulled out 

and stapled to screens,

screen doors and screened mouths 

and boxes of screens of varying sizes

each drawing buckets 

of unhealthy surprises 

from the freshly dug, 

poisoned well

trees, a currency, vital commodity 

their crushed skins all disappeared,

the traders find none of their 

hides in the markets 

now more prized than gold, 

is a simple mop 

to wipe away the mess

circles form and fall apart

sticks fly at one or the other 

or both at once 

funny how the numbers

play their cruel tricks

allocating the meals of the masses

to boards of a few dozen 

or six

as digits of ones become thousands,

billions divide into segregated pockets 

of six, five, four or less 

eventually,

someone 

or something 

must come along

and mop up 

the mess

kings decry and verily decree

a restless tribe 

casts lots, 

to question the gods

whether to dig in or to flee

but the answers are yes,

to each and every question,

so sayeth the oracles,

in throwing up their hands,

choosing instead,

to call in for a sick day

no parades pound the streets

one must turn the earth to gather eats

wall off the oceans, sink all the fleets

dim the lights, freeze the meats

a foul wind wails over the dizzy heads

and through the nervous heart

scout upon the watchtower and wait

as machine belches and cranks to start

a breeze blows in 

unhappy news from the east 

a mad king crumples up the paper, 

stoning the raven messenger, dead

as if it mattered, not in the least

soon ancestors say their prayers

closing their eyes, just for practice 

all the ice rafts are full

and shoving off, with final waves

their lanterns go dark 

over a feverish horizon 

quell, if you, will the wild rumor beasts

it stops not the hunger,

nor the need for the priests,

for divine protection and 

rites of passage 

into the never

of night and time

emptied halls and banquets broken

plays where nary a word is spoken 

cold feet frozen, 

chapel coughs up people 

stockpiles of goods and caskets

confusion, gratis, in gift baskets 

and praying hands, pried from steeple

minds blinking, frozen, in their tracks

the wood chipper roars 

for more easy snacks

like lining up dominoes 

or graham crackers

the wounded’s IV unit,

given to campaign backers

since some lonesome despot, 

wrapped in mist

must sit the wake with what remains,

rule with the iron fist, 

over the land of the dead but free

the endless hordes of weeping 

hungry, Dickensian urchins are we

hand me down frowns

and mouth to mouth, creeping 

beat and fan the furnace flames

ideas, flailing and failing

burn all those treasured sames

arson greedily replaces sailing

as the new sport of official Rome

gather wood and gather tinders

slaughter the calf 

and smoke over cinders 

and nail down the doors,

seal off the hearth of home

leap now, two whole seasons far

and spy with that digital, electric glass

what evil now, cometh nigh

and just how twisted 

is that monstrous thing?

the Heavens hold an angry star

Titans conduct a foul, black mass

Distracted by pointing fingers at why

a wretched agenda for the blacklisted 

who bear worst, the brunt of the sting

when mansions, missions, 

shacks and shelters 

close all their fearful shutters tight

to ward off invaders 

riding on gargantuan wings, 

hydra heads 

hunting through the choking day

consuming through the ravenous night

the monument must,

by necessity, be 

simple and we imagine that it might say

there once was, here, 

long ago, that is, ‘til today

a clueless band of marauders

who conspired to steal the fires

of eternal life

now they vanish

more each day,

leaving a legacy 

of fledgling understanding

and a salty, palpable, 

useless strife 

nothing 

is ever anyone’s 

to steal

or to 

own the right

at most, 

all things

we briefly borrow,

to quickly stroke 

and hold 

what hubris, it is

placing strings 

on a temporal,

flickering light

one so easily 

blown out 

by a simple, new

draught of cold

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Copyright 2020

Kevin Trent Boswell

(Magus)

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The new book is out now, on Amazon: 

Chaos Comes Apart

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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.

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Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse