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Len Boswell's Writings

Short Story
Dec.17.2013
At first she had asked Jason about the naming of their children, but he “didn’t give a shit” about the naming of his brood, not when his own parents had saddled him with a name that forever begged the question, “Are you, like, an Argonaut?” So Violet had taken over the naming, giving each child a name that “just seemed to fit” their physical appearance and her...
Short Story
Jun.23.2010
 THE FOLLOWING SHORT STORY RECEIVED AN HONORABLE MENTION (SECOND PLACE) AWARD IN THE WRITER'S DIGEST POPULAR FICTION CONTEST 2011 The game began long ago, when I was a mere boy, and came about quite unexpectedly, my father exploding through the door one night and pouncing on me, his arms and legs tying me in knots, his body, more round than tall, crushing me, air...
Article
May.10.2010
At dawn, the yellow jackets emerged from unseen nests in the moist whorls of grass and flew toward Sophie’s garden; there the oxeye daisies stood, erect, waiting for the sun, the bees, the rituals of morning. “Uh-uh,” Jana said, peering over the author’s shoulder. “Too flowery.” “You think? I was going for mellifluous.”Jana snorted. “Mellifluous? Hell, that’s...
Poem
Feb.24.2010
I hate rain I do Cold, chilling In my shoes On the news Cascading down Marble steps Dressed in vests A parade of umbrellas Only one yellow The girl in the slicker Stepping along quicker Each step a splash Each move a dash A dance A prance A curtsied adieux   I love rain I do Warm, thrilling Flesh firm and willing Droplets spilling Over curves Igniting nerves...
Column
Feb.24.2010
Karen Cutter took another drag on her cigarette and scanned the drainage pond for anything new. She performed this ritual daily, curious to see what the drought-lowered pond would reveal next. She was on a break from her job at the Dobbin Blockbuster, where she had worked since graduating from Oakland Mills High School. The pond was at the back of the building,...
Column
Feb.18.2010
When she entered the diner, every head instinctively turned to look at her, not so much for her dazzling beauty, which was evident right from the start, but for the simple fact that she was still behind the wheel of a pink Cadillac convertible with nothing but momentum on its mind. The diner’s thin metallic skin had offered little resistance, peeling back with...
Poem
Dec.09.2009
Unpublished
Lying on my back On a hill you’ve never seen The cat-eyed city below me Out of sight    Like you now   I watch the clouds float by And try to remember my first visit here So many years ago In my amber youth   Before you were a thought   When a minute seemed like hours And hours days When a puddle or a bubble Would always amaze   But not...