The vastness of your scope
as I stare into the sky
reveals itself here and there
with glimpses into the absolute glimmer,
yet the mystery remains ineffable
in a context beyond that which
my primitive consciousness can grasp,
and I’m beginning to understand
that the seduction of your existential aloofness
is part and parcel
to the inherent romance in this experience of life.

I cannot come to know you fully
in the spaces of my mind,
but I can feel you in my guts,
in my heart, in my veins,
through my blood, in my bones,
down to the marrow.

These two open eyes
cannot gleam your greatness,
but when they are closed
I can see dimensions
beyond this physical plane of existence,
and I can sense the raw power
which pulses from your source
as it radiates outward
to be divined by those who truly seek.

The names which you have been called by
throughout the ages
mean nothing to me at this point –
simple words babbled from broken tongues
cannot capture the purity of your meaning;
it is your essence
to which I am addicted,
and I will never cease
reaching toward your unconditional love
until every urgent craving in my soul
has been satiated by your presence.

---

The month of July is off to a nice start, as I’ve had fourteen poems published in nine different venues so far. They can be found at the links below. They are also linked on my Poems Page, along with hundreds of other pieces that have been released this year.

Censored – The Poet Community

Ignite the System – Aphelion

To the Fascist Fundamentalist Editor – Yellow Chair Review (weekly feature)

A Difference in Degree – Dissident Voice

Entropy and Evolution – A New Ulster

Homecoming – A New Ulster

Fluttering – A New Ulster

Detoxification – A New Ulster

Stand Aside– Black Mirror Magazine

A Simple Man – Black Mirror Magazine

One Last Time Forever – The Poet Community

Sweet Assurances – Visual Verse

The Sadist Cometh – The Screech Owl

3,2,1… – Burningword Literary Journal

To the Fascist Fundamentalist Editor – Yellow Chair Review

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

The silence of white roses
with deaf petals
beneath a muted sun
holds the music’s place
in a steady embrace
while the implosive force of entropy
passes by in an instant’s blink,
and then rhythm is reborn
as melody blooms anew
toward a colorful fruition
of infinite solar expansion
that even the gods
dare not question,
lest the miracle’s magic
lose its elusive power
and get washed away
by a chorus of down-pouring rain
that flashes with a fluid voice
along to the beat of thunder’s drum
as splashes of electric ignition
light up the night sky
with tremors of a vibrating crescendo,
adding the tension of dramatic flare
to the opera of existence
that flutters with grace
between the dimensions of time and space.

The song of the spheres
rotates in tune with heaven’s frequency,
harmonizes with evolution’s wave,
and cascades with a celestial voice
across the infinite tide of the sea
where the sirens weep in waiting
over the tragedy and bliss
of this experience we call life
as it unfolds
one note at a time
until the cycle has completed its spin,
the wheels stop turning,
the gears grind to a halt,
and the symphony reaches a point of exhaustion.

With the dawn
arise

With the roses
bloom

With a fire
burn

Upon my lips
a kiss

Up my spine
shivers

Through my blood
ignite

With passion
love me

Until my heart
cannot take the fervor

With the truth
awaken

With the stars
illuminate

With a spark
shine

Enter my soul
from the source

From the first
to the last

From the beginning
to the end

With your words
love me

Until my heart
cannot take the pressure

Electricity is the Source
in the blood
that brings shivers
across my spine
in the midnight hour
as I silently devour
each laugh that tries to rise

but there is no stopping God-head

Logos fever dreams
bring lucid sleep
where I awaken
on the River Tao

This life is but one breath
make sure to take a big one

I certainly wouldn’t object
to being cut
a big fat check
from a major press
that I could stuff
in my back pocket
and transport
to the nearest
corporate fascist bank
to deposit
so I could spend it wildly,
buying an infinite block
of free time
to use at my leisure
so I could keep
churning out the type
of fiery, apocalyptic verse
that gets me off
harder
than any orgasm
ever will;

and I, no doubt,
would not put up a fuss
if I had a book
rocket to the top
of the New York Times
Best Seller list
based on
it being pimped
and marketed
like a washed-up whore
by some
cult of personality,
daytime television,
vacuous, vapid, shallow, sleazy
profiteer
that received a kickback
off every copy
that was sold
to the mindless mass
of minions
that flocked over
every stupid word
uttered from the absurd
lips
of said sideshow circus clown.

But if I were forced
to stand
with hand
placed firmly upon the Bible,
promising with a sly grin
to swear only the truth
about my intentions,
I would start singing the praises
of the underground,
small press, indie
literary scene,
and how all I really care about
is being one drop of water
in the ocean’s tidal wave
that rises up
from out the depths
of society’s
collective unconscious
like a dark shadow
of the psyche
that must be dealt with
by a tsunami
that slams down
and washes clean
the corruptive stink
from a decadent culture
that needs a little art
shoved down its throat
and force fed
into its soul;

and if the high
and mighty Judge
allowed me to continue
with my rant,
I’d keep running my mouth
in a dissident tone
and a spitfire cadence
with rhetoric about
a Renaissance Revolution
sweeping across
the dystopic plains
of the land formerly known
as the good ole’ U.S. of A.,
and about how the ashes
of the beaten, battered,
broken remains
of the Beast State
will serve as fertile soil
from which a Phoenix Generation
can rise up
and spread its wings
in a New Age
techno-tribal community
that has absolved the sins
of humanity’s fallen past
to pave a path
into the bright future
that buzzes
with neon lights
of high vibration
along to the sweet sound
of the celestial symphony,
where every awakened
and fully actualized individual
can sing and dance and laugh and weep
and cry and scream and dare to dream
without a gavel
hanging heavy
over their head
at every turn.

A gust of wind
breezes up from behind
and gently licks
the back of my neck
with a sweet caress,
urging me forward
toward the next stage
of evolution;
but I, never being
too much in a hurry,
spin around
in a quick shift
of fluid motion
and suck down
a large inhalation
of fresh air
deeply into my lungs,
holding the oxygen
at the core of my being,
feeling it flow
through the blood
and into my brain
where it snaps
dormant neurons
into a triggered sensation
of pure bliss.

The soothing salve
of Mother Nature
rekindles my passion,
and I dance
with a fervent
yet controlled rhythm,
completing the full rotation,
now taking
two steps at once
in the direction
of my destiny
which lies ahead
over the next horizon
calling from the distance
as a siren
to lure me back home
to the Source
where I can rest
at peace
as One.

---

A couple poems out today in the July issues of these publications:

3,2,1… – Burningword Literary Journal

To the Fascist Fundamentalist Editor – Yellow Chair Review

My blood is ignited,
my neurons are snap, crackle, popping,
my mind is on fire,
and my heart…
well, leave my heart out of this –
it’s not ready to join the flames,
not ready to sing and dance,
not ready to celebrate just yet.

My heart would rather hide away
and lick its wounds for awhile
as the sun sings with solar flares
and the sky burns with fervent passion.

This is a time of joy
but not of love.

This is a time of happiness
but not of peace.

It’s too much to ask
that every sign in the heavens
perfectly aligns
all in the same moment
as if the celestial spheres
were raining down miracles
with synchronistic flare,
so my lips will stay sealed
and my tongue will not let loose
with a single wish
to the stars above.

This accelerated high
has just enough juice
to propel the winds of change
and turn the tide in my favor,
so there is no need to beg
of the ocean’s peaking waves
to carry me all the way ashore.

My blood is a pyre,
my neurons are laser sharp,
my mind is crystal clear,
and my heart…
well, my heart can take
a backseat for awhile
and wait with patience
for the next opportunity to strike
while everything else in my life
continues to get better by the day.

---

A few poems out so far this week:

For Whom the Bell Lies – Dissident Voice

Front Page – Social Justice Poetry

Maple Syrup Sex Appeal – Cultured Vultures (won 1st place in Poem of the Week contest)

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar