Tired Chasm

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

Purge

My voice is itching for raw meat

something bloody that I can scream

It has been too long since I sang that song

where everything burns to the ground

These seeds we planted didn’t grow at all

when season changes I will till the soil

A thousand times that I have tried

so one more try won’t crack my mind

Scratched up lungs and coughing fits

I wipe my hands of all the rest

This cancer has me by the balls

my knees are scabbed from where I crawl

Nails in the floor, fear in the sky

one thousand more stabs in my side

It’s flesh and bone, it’s black and white

sweet soul kiss source when the body dies

Monthly Recap: May 2015 Edition

I had 44 poems and two short stories appear this month in 20 different venues. I’d like to sincerely thank all the editors and publishers at the following publications for allowing me to contribute:

Snapping Twig, Dead Snakes, WritingRaw, Visual Verse, Degenerates: Voices for Peace, Poems and Poetry, Crab Fat Magazine, The Haunted Traveler, Crack the Spine, Illya’s Honey, Section 8 Magazine, UFO Gigolo, Dissident Voice, Yellow Chair Review, Social Justice Poetry, Tuck Magazine, VerseWrights, Leaves of Ink, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, and Fish Food Magazine.

On a more personal note, the first few weeks of May were some of the most manic and disjointed that I’ve experienced in the past couple years. The culmination of bad habits and poor decisions led to the straining of relationships with both my family and friends.

I’d like to say a heartfelt thank you to my sister for punching me in the nose (figuratively speaking) and helping me/forcing me to get my shit together and regain a sense of balance in the way I go about my affairs.

It’s when we reach our lowest points sometimes that we realize who it is that truly cares.

The muscle must break down so that it can grow back stronger.

It is from out the flux of chaos that a higher state of order can emerge to flow.

It is from out the ashes that this Phoenix will rise again in June…

Taking Measure

What is the measure of a man?

What is it that determines who we are?

Is it the genes we are born with?

Is it the millions of years of ancestral DNA?

Is it the name we are given when we enter this world?

Is it the way we are raised

and the values instilled in us through childhood?

Is it what we are taught in school

through textbooks written by strangers

about a history we were not around for?

Is it the jobs we take for money?

Is it the work we are inspired to do?

Is it the food we eat?

Is it the clothes we drape upon our flesh?

Is it the company we choose to keep?

Is it the way we treat our fellow humans?

Is it the way we handle the circumstances which arise

during the course of life’s ups and downs?

Is it the thoughts that run rampant through our mind?

Is it the words we speak?

Is it the songs we sing?

Is it the actions we perform?

Is it the truth we try and uphold?

Is it the little white lies we tell?

Is it our connection with something greater than self?

Is it the blood which flows through our veins?

Is it the condition of our body?

Is it how we adjust and adapt

as evolution brings trials and tribulations

into our experience to learn from?

Is it the way we relate to the world around us?

Is it how we treat those who are less fortunate?

Is it our fate?

Is it our destiny?

Is it our karma?

Is it the freewill choices we make?

Is it the beliefs we have?

Is it how many years we spend upon the earth?

Is it how we handle the inescapable truth

that a yawning grave awaits us in the end?

Is it the suffering we endure?

Is it the joy we experience?

Is it the places we travel?

Is it the people we meet?

Is it the lovers we share our hearts with?

Is it the loves we lose?

Is it the dreams we have?

Is it the goals we achieve?

Is it the aspirations we can’t quite reach?

Is it the family we start?

Is it the type of children we bring into the world

to take our place when we bow out?

Is it the happiness we spread?

Is it the sadness we feel?

Is it whether or not we reach a state

of perfect peace and enlightenment?

Is it where we lay our bones down at night?

Is it the size of the house we live in?

Is it the type of car we drive?

Is it how many miles we walk?

Is it the height of the mountain we scale?

Is it the depths of the abyss we dive into?

Is it the amount of jewels, trinkets, and baubles we amass?

Is it the simplicity found when we shed

the skin of this mortal flesh?

Is it in the seeking?

Is it the final relinquishment of the search?

Is it in the legacy we leave behind?

(5/30/15)

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Courage up the Sleeve

Blissed out under the sun

with a new wave forming in the distance

Ready to catch the tide

and return to the conscious space of pure thankfulness

Thankful for the flow and the flux

the highs and the lows

Happy to have survived the fallout

because the grass is now getting greener

I sold my soul cheap

but was able to earn it back

through humility and surrender

to a power much greater

than any dark force or worldly institution

I gave into the desires of the flesh

thinking that vices could bring me joy

but then was shown that virtues

of the heart, mind, and soul

can always trump any negative hand on the table

Building back up after being beaten down

and looking forward to the next challenge

because it is the tests which life brings on

that help us become the best person possible

if we only are willing to face them head on with courage

and allow the lessons to truly sink in deep

A Thousand Dollar Poem

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 the fuck 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.

Dismissing the ZZZ’s

I thought about going to sleep

but the bottle isn’t empty yet

and I simply refuse to be called a quitter

I thought about going to sleep

but then remembered that there are still two more hours

to bleed dry until the sun dawns on the horizon

and I’m not one to waste the last hint of darkness

with my weathered eyes closed and my frayed mind switched off

I thought about going to sleep

but the striptease pillow just isn’t sexy enough

to lure me into that spider web tar pit trap

I thought about going to sleep

Hell, I thought about a lot of things

but none of them really stood tall

above and beyond the rest

so I thought I might as well stress

these adrenal glands a little further to the point of popping

I thought about going to sleep

but there are words yet to write

and cigarettes yet to smoke

and dragons yet to chase

and lightning yet to bottle

and truth yet to seek

and gods yet to kiss

and love yet to birth

and death yet to taunt

and disease yet to fuck

and mistakes yet to purge

and hope yet to find

and faith yet to leap

and souls yet to shine

and stars yet to sing

and wounds yet to heal

and doors yet to open

and intentions yet to manifest

and roads yet to travel

and fires yet to burn

and floods yet to surf

and madness yet to laugh off

and tears yet to weep away

and crosses yet to carry onward

I thought about going to sleep

but then I thought

crank up that noise

and put on my dancing shoes instead

May Update

Trying to get back into a rhythm after falling off a bit last month in my productivity. No let up allowed. To slow down is worse than death. Or maybe I’m just a hyperbolic, sensationalized, exaggerating artist…

20 poems published so far in May:

Sucked Dry – Social Justice Poetry

Going through the Motions – Poems and Poetry

Melee – Yellow Chair Review

The Things That Go Unspoken – Dissident Voice

Test Tube – UFO Gigolo

A New Obsession – Section 8 Magazine

Turning the Cycle – Section 8 Magazine

Ripped, Shredded, and Ready to Go – Illya’s Honey

High/Low – Crack the Spine

Feigning Ignorance – Poems and Poetry

Trump Hand – Degenerates: Voices for Peace

Gone to Pot – Visual Verse

The Low Down Dirty Blues – Dead Snakes

Vomited – Dead Snakes

Futurist Spring – Snapping Twig

Crash Course – WritingRaw

So We Might As Well Dance – WritingRaw

Burning Rags – WritingRaw

Big Shark – WritingRaw

Drain Until Complete – WritingRaw

One short story this month:

Stealing Roses from a Grave – The Haunted Traveler