I won a thousand dollars in the lottery,
but it wouldn’t even put a down payment
on the type of dreams I’ve been fantasizing about,
so I tossed half the wad into the gutter
and doused the rest in ketchup
so it could easily slide down my throat
along with the ninety-nine cent frozen meal
I spent the rest of my winnings on.

When I told this to my accountant
he started flipping out,
slamming his hands on the desk,
getting flush in the face,
hyperventilating like a fiend,
and cursing my name to the grave…
completely unprofessional behavior
in my humble opinion.

I just grinned and shrugged my shoulders.
Easy come, easy go, I laughed.
But you’re dead broke, you bum, he raved.
Like hell I am –
I just wrote a thousand dollar poem…
I’ll sleep like a baby tonight, sir.
I watched him clutch his chest and spasm
as I opened the door and turned to walk out.
You’re fired, you filthy swine, I called
out over my shoulder
as I heard his heart explode
in the tiny little office prison where he collapsed.

---

My short story And Then There Was Sound was published yesterday at Revolution John. It was a runner-up in the recent Highlander Fiction Contest. I wrote the piece back in the Spring of 2006 after reading and being inspired by Hermann Hesse’s The Glass Bead Game. Hesse is definitely up there on my list of favorite authors.

Also published yesterday was Who Have You Been Kissing which went up at Leaves of Ink.

I also had a couple of poems accepted by Rasputin: A Poetry Thread. So overall, not a bad day at all.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

I, I, I, I, I –
God, how sickening becomes such a word!

How about a poem
with You in it?

Better yet,
how about a death to poetry
and a resurrection
of real life?

Liquid lightning flash bombs
There are owls screaming in the woods
Kamikaze warpath through the sky
This is not your run-of-the-mill Biblical flood

Prism bullet acid storm elixir
There is rain enough to drown away the past
Electric metal signs of revolution
Crystal plasma hanging heavy in the air

---

This poem was inspired last night by a storm that began with a half hour display of heat lightning directly above my house the likes of which I’ve never before witnessed. I simply sat and marveled at the awe-inspiring show being put on by nature as the electricity pulsed in the air and sent shivers of cool Kundalini energy running up and down my spine. A feeling of palpable primal elegance emanated through the atmosphere. Beautiful and breathtaking. In a word…Wow.

---

A few poems out in the past couple days:

Needle on Empty – Dissident Voice

A Song unto the Ages – Indian Periodical

Broke His Crown – Social Justice Poetry

Loneliness
is the poison-tipped dagger
placed squarely in your back
while embracing the one you love

Loneliness
is the last gasp of breath
escaping from the cancerous lungs
of a father you’ll never see again

Loneliness
is a hauntingly painful memory
that suddenly surfaces in your mind
ten years down the road of life

Loneliness
is the vast black entropy
of existential pain
that laces into the thoughts of a young child
before he’s even had the chance
to consider what this existence truly is

Loneliness
is a poignant song
with dead earnest lyrics
that tear a heart to shreds

Loneliness
is an empty bed
with cold sheets and pillows
while the sweet smell of almost
still lingers in the atmosphere

Loneliness
is a head down on the school desk
begging to go unnoticed
in a room full of fellow students

Loneliness
is the word you almost spoke
when the opportunity was right there
but couldn’t quite spit out
from the tip of your choking tongue

Loneliness
is the last layer of dirt
as it is shoveled upon the grave
of the person you vowed
till death do us part

Loneliness
is the decision that must be made alone
when all you really desire is a comforting voice
to add a little clarity to the situation

Loneliness
is a dark gray cloud
ominously storming down with acid rain
when all you want is one breath of fresh air
to help you stay sober another day

Loneliness
is a walk through the park
on a bright Sunday afternoon
in the heart of Spring
while watching all the happy families frolicking

Loneliness
is the empty barren field
where you once played as a child
with friends you haven’t seen in ages

Loneliness
is a stinging truth
in the midnight hour
as you pray to the sky for a final sign

Hey, babe,
if you’re going to take a bite
out of that apple,
well, I won’t let ya
burn alone,
so pass that sweet salvation
this way
so we can partake
of such a sin together.

You don’t even
have to seduce me
with a sexy striptease…
just leave that fig leaf
right where it is for now
while we feast
upon the flesh
of this fully ripened fruit…
there will be plenty of time
for love and lust
once the sugar high
hits our veins
and the sky
starts to fall
here in the garden
while we work
to replenish this paradise
with our progeny.

Lay here beside me, my dear,
under this tree of life
which offers shade
from the sweltering sun
to our exhausted bodies,
and we will sleep soundly
in each other’s arms
while we dream
of high vibration revelations
concerning the truth about Good and Evil
that will come as a flood
to wash away our ignorance
once we awaken to the new dawn.

a poem
is born from a seed…
like everything else

a generation of ideas…
begotten this, begotten that –
the point is:
a poem is an explosion…
like everything else

---

I’ve been having fun on Twitter the past week or so creating content inspired from poetry prompts. Anyone who would like to connect with me, please do so via @17Numa.

Also, check out my blog 17Numa to find links to published poetry, fiction, and essays, as well as links to over 100 literary venues.

Poems that have been published the past few days:

Backseat Driver – Dead Snakes

Beyond the Pale – Dead Snakes

For Some – Whispers

Censored – The Poet Community

Ignite the System – Aphelion

Teeth stained
neck torn
veins bled
eyes white
but you’ll sleep well tonight
I’m sure

Weak flesh
lust strong
love lost
fangs drawn
but you got what you wanted
all along

Silent moon
empty bed
shallow words
left unsaid
but you swallow the tide
as the sky falls

Frayed mind
heart slain
knife stabs
rib breaks
but you’ll dance on the grave
that you dig

Cheap sell
silver bag
last kiss
burning lips
but you’ll get yours tomorrow
just you wait

---

This piece is dedicated to The Screech Owl. With the news that Grant Tarbard is closing down his site at the end of the month, I thought I’d post a poem on my blog this Thursday that follows along the aesthetic lines similarly to much of the darker work I’ve had published there. I’m very thankful to have had my writing appear at The Screech Owl over the past few months alongside many poets whose work I admire.

Whenever I hit a wall in life
it never fails
that the wall hits back,
but I’m a clever little dude
who always finds a way
to dance around
the rigid dimensions
of that brick bastard’s boundaries…
or, if all else fails,
I’ve never been adverse
to climbing to the top,
perching at the peak,
and diving over headfirst
to the other side,
because after pushing past a plateau
the rewards which are reaped
are always sweet, indeed.

Once upon a time
in another state of mind
with a psilocybin high,
I met a pure white wall
standing sturdy in a hall
toward which I was drawn
as it swung open its gate,
giving me a glimpse
into another dimension
with a crystalline vision
revealing the sacred geometrical vibrations
which serve as the foundation
of all form and matter in creation.
The pink and blue neon fluorescent shapes
swirled around as part of a pulsing, shifting mandala,
serenading me with the sweet song
of collective consciousness
which manifests as frequencies of light and sound
in every realm of reality,
all birthed and born from the same source
of the original Word…
Abracadabra…
Hallelujah…
Amen.

Poet: an identity.
Loneliness: a state of being.
Outcast: a self-created wound.
Love: a scar that never heals.
Hope: forever present; sometimes dim, sometimes bright.
Truth: an existential riddle.
Consciousness: a cross to carry.
Peace: an unknown territory.
Destiny: something to believe in.
Work: an honest occupation.
Job: a waste of God’s gift.
Time: an illusion, yet ever so heavy.
Money: the big lie.
Soul: a vibration of energy.
Source: alpha, omega, and all things in between.
Heaven: perfection within.
Hell: of our own making.
Sex: a long forgotten remedy.
Companionship: nowhere to be found.
Nature: a flowing homeostasis.
Technology: a double-edged sword.
Government: a manifestation of Satan.
Fear: the shadow of the psyche.
Ego: a survival mechanism.
Tao: the holy path.
Anarchy: only for the enlightened.
Chaos: a necessary measure.
Order: a self-regulating pattern.
Poem: one more on the page.