Author: 17numa

Poetry No. 6 – Scott Thomas Outlar

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My poem “Whimper” appeared recently at Digging Through The Fat…

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Whimper
by Scott Thomas Outlar

The apocalyptic storm started to run off at the mouth
with a firecracker blitzkrieg of gluttony
coming to the shoreline with a crashing black wave
frothing at the lips with poison foam
ready and willing to spit copper plated bullets
into the heart of a nuclear explosion
trashing the core of love with wicked intentions
thrashing around a gilded cage in vengeance
calling out the angels for a game of chicken
little do they know that peace is a cheat
lie, trick and steal to get what it needs
builds an avalanche of meltdown fever
molten magma crusade kept in back pocket
pull it like a knife and cut the crown
stabbed right in the eye to crush the beam
withered ancient vines suffocate upon atrophy’s touch
anti-Midas sentiments unto the grave
where jealousy dances atop the plot without remorse
cancer-coated candy carried in a bag…

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Blood Red

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Hard Sell
 
There was one woman,
I think,
who truly loved me…
and I left her.
 
I tried to come back
and she did not want me.
 
There was one job
that was better than I realized
at the time…
and I resigned
 
I tried to reapply
and they wouldn’t have me.
 
They say you live and learn,
but the only lesson here
is that I only get one shot.
 
I’ve never been loved again,
nor worked a job that mattered.
 
The only thing I do that means a damn
is write these words…
so if I ever quit
pouring out the ink
you might as well
leave the final lesson
on my tombstone.
 
 
Blood Red Blend
 
I haven’t had a drink
in five months
 
yet here I am
a bottle deep in red
 
with barely a buzz
flowing through the veins
 
I thought absence
made the heart grow fonder
 
but I guess this love
never really leaves my blood
Cheers to JD DeHart for the series of interviews he has been conducting of late at his site Profiles in Poetry. I was honored to take part in the fun recently…my running off at the mouth can be read here:
 
Interview at Profiles in Poetry
 
Thank you to Gessy Alvarez at Digging through the Fat for publishing my poem “Whimpers” at her site this week. This is my first appearance there and I’m very thankful to have been allowed to contribute.
 
Thank you, also, to Ada Fetters at The Commonline Journal for publishing “Cotton Candy Kiss of Cancer” a couple of days ago. This is the third time I’ve had a poem go up at her site. In fact, she was one of the first editors to use my poetry last year back when I had not much of an idea what I was doing in the art of submissions. I’ve figured a few things out since then, though the process, like all things in life, is one of constant growth.
 
There have been a handful of other acceptances and publications so far this week that I’ll mention in a post sometime in the next few days. I thought this damned bottle of wine would rile me up a bit so I could start swinging for the fences, going off at the hinges, and digging into the trenches…but then I start writing these formulaic posts about where my work has appeared recently, and, uh, like, it’s cool and all, but I promise there is more to me than that. Psych. Not so fast. The truth of the matter is this: everything I do revolves around poetry. I eat, breathe, sleep, shit, and fuck (not hardly) the written word. I’m not whining (maybe a little), I’m just saying…I should probably diversify a bit. Perhaps. Maybe. We’ll see. Never mind. Screw it. I just thought of an idea for a new poem…
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar
 
P.S.
 
Some of this is real. All of this is real. None of this is real.

Giving in to the Beast

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The lifeless machine sticks out its metal tongue –
forked and hissing with electrical lies
it darts toward me, pulsating with desire,
snapping into my frayed synapses,
and I am captured prey.
 
The visions are infinite and multitudinous –
anything my heart (or lust) desires
manifests in the blink of an eye
as fingers click and tap away
at plastic death appendages
made wireless now so the swamp
of electromagnetic interference
will never lose the unholy war it wages
against the pure organic consciousness
of the numbed collective mind.
 
The Beast grows stronger by the second,
sucking away the attention span
of a fledgling generation.
The children stand no chance
as the spiraling cascade toward zombification
intensifies in its rush to reach an exponential flashpoint
and bring about the zero-point singularity.
 
I should know better, should have more sense,
yet the intoxicating allure of data and information
draws me in like a fat worm on the hook.
I enter seeking knowledge and higher wisdom
yet somehow wind up staring dumbly
into the dark oblivion of dancing cats and idol gossip.
 
There is no hope, the screen seems to say,
as the pop-up ads methodically go about their dirty work,
hypnotically inducing me deeper into the trance.
You are part of the system now…resistance is futile…
just click the like button and share (spread) the damn file (virus) –
left, right, left, right, forward marching into the black hole.
 
– This poem originally appeared back in February at Record Webzine, and then again in March at Aphelion Webzine.
Cheers to JD DeHart for allowing me to contribute this week at one of his many poetry blogs with “What a Difference an Hour Makes” at Rocket Boy Poetry Page.
 
You can find some of his other sites here:
 
SpinRock Reader Lit
Rusted Rose Poetry Forum
Lunar Lit Poetry Page
 
Thank you to Samantha Rose at Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine for publishing “Sucking Vapors” in the newly released issue 8. There is also good work included from Heath Brougher, Vin J. Whitman, Geosi Gyasi, and what I thought to be the standout poem of the issue by Eric Robert Nolan.
 
Issue 8 is available at Lulu via this link in a printed version and/or as a free download.
 
Anyone who might be new to 17Numa, first off, thank you for stopping by, and secondly, please feel free to check out pages here at the site that have links to all my published poetry, fiction, and essays. The Links page is a resource I’ve compiled listing over 150 various journals, magazines, lit blogs, and zines. The Blogs page has links to the websites, blogs, archives, interviews, blood, sweat, and tears of many contemporary writers and artists. I encourage you to check some of it out if you are so inclined.
 
Support artists. It’s an imperative. It’s a vital crux of the future.
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar

Worshiped at the Sacrificial Altar

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Burnt Sacrifice
 
Thank God for the cold
Thank God for the ice pick
 
My heart has been a blister lately
it could use a dose of antifreeze
 
add a touch
of gasoline
 
Cast your spell on me
you Goddess Witch
 
I could use
a little taste
of burnt Hallelujah
 
 
Flood Patterns
 
Before I lose
what little there is left
of this heart
please let me use
the last ounce of love
to wash away
all this hatred
My poem “Give a Little, Take a Lot” was published recently at Piker Press. It was the fourth piece to have appeared in the past couple of months, with a fifth scheduled to go up in a few weeks. Cheers and thank you to Sand Pilarski for allowing me to contribute.
 
I was tempted to send something dark and foul and raw and brutal in the spirit of Halloween to Dissident Voice late last week for the Sunday Poetry Page, but the poem I was considering, written a couple of months ago, just didn’t quite fit the energy of the idea. Also, I’m not big on sending older work to DV…I prefer the material to be freshly written during the week. More often than not this winds up being what happens, though, as with most things in life, there are occasional exceptions…at times something from the past will scream out with a sense of urgent immediacy, demanding to have a new present moment on the scene.
 
I wound up writing “Ash to Ash” Saturday afternoon while sitting on the front porch in a solemn mood. I sent it off to Dissident Voice for the Sunday Page, and then I submitted the other poem I’d been seesawing back and forth on the night before to a different venue for consideration. Everything in its proper place, proper time, proper element, proper balance. Sounds good. I’ll run with it.
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar
 
P.S.
 
If you’d like to connect, please feel free to hit me up here at 17Numa, or to contact me on Facebook and/or Twitter.

A Matter of Perception…Whispers from the Woods…3,2,1, Let It Burn

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3
 
A moon that is always whole
can appear to be
half lit or half empty
depending upon
how many eyes
you choose
to see with
 
 
Tongues
 
Owls
talk to me from the woods
in a language
foreign at first
 
decoded abstracts/over time
in their hoots ‘n hollers
make crystal clear
the power of The Word
 
which is One…always
 
Perfect peace and love
are never lost
in translation
at the Source
Cheers to Stephen Jarrell Williams at Dead Snakes for using my poem “3,2,1…” at his site this week. A poem written in late January that originally appeared a few months back in Burningword Literary Journal. It’s one of my personal favorites written during the past year…and it is a helluva lotta fun to read aloud. With such in mind, there is a SoundCloud recording linked below the poem at Dead Snakes.
 
It’s also a piece that is included in my chapbook “Songs of A Dissident” which is scheduled to be released in January of 2016 through Transcendent Zero Press. I’m working right now to hopefully secure an incredible piece of art for the cover…I came across it a couple of days ago…it is stunningly sharp and would, I feel, capture the precise first look the book requires.
 
Thank you for stopping by. Health and a happy weekend to all.
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar

The Hour of Change

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Sometimes you can tell
what part of the day it is
because geese
fly overhead
 
Sometimes
you know it’s past the Midnight hour
because helicopters
fill the sky
There are plenty (too many) wicked people in this world sitting upon wretched thrones in lofty (glossy glassy sin) towers…and I readily admit that such a bitter truth sometimes sours my disposition in the form of anger upon my heart.
 
There are also plenty of fools (with psyches wounded beyond repair) in this world who walk with heads down while playing the go along to get along game…and I make no qualms about the fact that I have never, nor will I ever (never say never), suffer such sold-out souls lightly.
 
I do see very clearly (pinpoint precision) the lines that have been drawn (scribbled in blood, sweat and tears) in the sand (beached empire)…and I do keep a very neat and clean (poised and ready) scorecard in life.
 
All that being said, my main point (core matter) was meant to be (piercing inward) that such heavy (weighty) [toxic] concerns have had me a bit stagnant (numb) [poisoned] and on edge of late; but I did take an early (midnight is in a hurry) evening walk some hours ago (before the sky fell), and damn if there wasn’t a little dance in my step (grave song rhythms).
 
Feverish mojo is a five ace trump hand against the woes of this world…I surely play it every time it gets dealt in my direction…but I’ve found that the best way to hedge a bet is to double down with both hands in the soil and just plain damn get to work…
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar

Allowances Come Due

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Flowing and fluxing
with the ever changing currents
of the Tao River
while laughing at
and/or
weeping over
life’s existential nature –
 
I’ve written those words
hundreds of times
because they are true…
or as close to being true
as I know how to get
 
Life is never guaranteed
Life is never easy
Life is never free
 
there is a cost
for every breath
there is a tax
on every sunrise
 
Karma never plays favorites
but it does keep good friends
 
God never judges
but leaves such nonsense
to the hearts and minds
of all us fools
Thank you to Angie Tibbs for publishing my poem “Hot Breath of a Primal Yes” at the Dissident Voice Sunday Poetry Page to kick the current week off.
 
Thank you to Johnny Olson and poetry editor MH Clay at Mad Swirl for using my poem “Sacrificial Communion” earlier this week.
 
Thank you to JD DeHart for using “Ink Blot” at his site Lunar Lit Poetry Page recently.
 
Thank you to Guy Farmer for using “Quarterly Questions” at his site Poems and Poetry recently.
 
Thank you to everyone who has stopped by 17Numa and is reading this.
 
I think at this point, at least a couple of months in, the beard I’m rocking is the longest/scruffiest I’ve ever grown. I just discovered that some of the cheese dip I was munching on hours ago apparently dripped down and became caught in the hair below my chin. That’s how this whole thing works…you make a mess and then you clean it up. Or, more to the point…you fuck things up all to hell and then you rebuild to make things better…
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar

Two Poems

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Evaluation
 
I’m always cutting to the quick
in the way that I spit
in the face
of the system
 
but the God’s honest truth
is that I must
tear myself to the ground
from the inside out
at this point
 
because I don’t stand a chance
fighting any monsters
in lofty towers
if I don’t up my play
and get game-tight
with a rally and a rise
of all my values
 
I’m all for
poking the dragon
and raising a ruckus
but not before
my vision and focus
are laser precise
and back up to snuff
 
 
 
Humble Pie Fever Fall
 
One step at a time
 
when your consciousness
is in a humbling process
 
take your medicine
 
it might taste bitter
 
but returns are sweet
on the far side of balance

Three Poems

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Scene Shift
 
I’m just as lost
as anyone
 
The one thing
I have in my favor
is a vivid imagination
 
so I can play pretend
and act as if
I’ve found the truth
 
 
Communication Breakdown
 
There are certain truths,
it has been said,
which are self-evident,
but I’m not so sure
everyone received the memo
from whomever
such wisdom is decreed.
 
 
Double Down
 
I’m losing myself to this…
again;
 
but don’t worry,
it’s on purpose.
 
I plan on finding
someone much better
in the returns.

The Perfect Alibi

~ 17numa ~ 3 Comments
Seeking more
than a shallow
sense of depth
at the bottom
of this cup
while I sip my coffee
and stare into
the perfect void
of entropy
and absolution
 
Sinking within
the folds of time
slipstream through space
crash into the rhyme
of reason
made manifest
with the fluid form
of a high wave
peaking at its crest
 
flowing and fluxing
with the ever changing tides
as I soak in the silence
and write out the lines
 
feigning ignorance
at the stump
of the Tree of Life
knowing full damn well
with perfect knowledge
who it was
that chopped down the cherries
 
and shook loose
the apple from our eyes
along with the beam
along with the mote
along with the tear
there comes no river
no false cry
nor weeping
– A poem written in the first hour of the new day. Might as well start these things off with a bang. Light the candles…or use a lamp…just a little light is needed…just a little urge toward evolution…
 
A recorded version of “The Perfect Alibi” is available at this link via SoundCloud.
 
Many thanks to these five Twitter-Verse poetry prompt hosts for providing the inspiration with which I was able to hammer out this early morning piece:
 
#orjay 1002
#VerseReversal 276
#DsubVerse 193
#soulwords
#WrittenRiver 458
 
Thank you also to the many other hosts on Twitter who have kept me inspired for the past few months since I first stumbled upon all the potential fun and games that were available to play around with.
 
In the moments just before Midnight, before having written the poem above, I wrote this one…
 
For the Love of War
 
Love thy enemy
while still doing everything you can
to make sure their plans never reach fruition
 
never in a thousand years
never with their empire ruling
 
Confuse not hatred with war
 
keep it pure
rage it righteous
 
 
…and here is a recording of “For the Love of War” via audioBoom…just because I’m in a groove…and I know these fits can only last so long…so it’s of a primal necessity to capture the moment and suck it dry before the final crash…
 
Anyway, enough of all that. Thank you to everyone who stops by 17Numa to read my words. The process of building this site up brick by brick is definitely something I’ve been enjoying of late. It’s great to keep meeting new people, and that’s why I encourage anyone who would like to get in touch with me to reach out and contact me on Facebook and Twitter.
 
We’re halfway through October…what does it mean? I dunno…but maybe the existential answer will be found after the next cup of coffee is emptied.
 
Bottoms up…seek the source…seize the truth…
 
Selah,
Scott Thomas Outlar