I don’t want wisdom.
I don’t want truth.
I don’t want love.
I don’t want peace.
I don’t want revolution.
I don’t want sex.
I don’t want God.
I don’t want fame.
I don’t want power.
I don’t want faith.
I don’t want hope.
I don’t want passion.
I just want one more clever thing to say
on social media.

---

This poem originally appeared a few months ago at Guy Farmer’s site Poems and Poetry.

Not a whole hell of a lot on my mind this morning. But feel free to check out other pages on this blog where perhaps there can be found some far more interesting and in depth analysis concerning this existential problem we refer to as life.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Some people say
that the truth
is too hard to handle,
too hot to touch,
too explosive to get near…

but I say
that karma
without the truth
is too much to bear,
too heavy to carry,
and too much of a burden
to experience again
as the next cycle turns –

---

My weekly Sunday poem at Dissident Voice is out today. You can read Know Thy Purpose, Draw Thy Weapon at this link.

Hit me up on FB and Twitter if you want to stay in touch. Hope to hear from you.

Please feel free to leave comments, critiques, compliments, or concerns of any kind here on the blog. They are very much appreciated.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Your love is like a wave sent from God,
crashing over me,
taking my breath away,
pulling me under
where the flames of my heart
can be quenched
in deep waters
that I’ve never
quite learned how to swim.

---

A few recent publications:

Issue 7 of Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine was released yesterday. My poem “Three-Legged Dog” appears within.

Issue 30 of Section 8 Magazine’s print zine contains my poem “Untitled/Entitled.”

The August issue of Ygdrasil features my two poems “Held Lovingly” and “Erupting Tide.”

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

This hat was worn by Johnny,
and my Father loved Johnny –
who taught him how to fire a gun
and took him to the woods.

I never met Johnny;
he was dead long
before my time,
but I’ve worn his hat now
for twenty-five years or so.

I wore it in the woods
as a kid
while pretending to be
Indiana Jones.

I wore it to the store
to buy ink
when I needed to
print the first copy
of an early book
I wrote.

I wore it to
my Father’s funeral; now
both he and Johnny
are gone.

But I’ll keep
wearing the hat
because I loved
my Father,
and that seems to be
the way
this thing goes.

---

This poem originally appeared on Christmas Day of last year at The Camel Saloon. It was the first Christmas spent without my Father since his passing last February. I miss him dearly, but also know that he would be proud of the path my life is on at this point. I use the sadness of missing my best friend to propel my absolute drive toward success forward. One day I’ll write a proper post dedicated to the best man I’ve ever known, but for now such words are still being written in my mind.

I learned that The Camel Saloon closed up shop recently. That venue was always a hard nut for me to crack. In fact, this is the only poem that was ever accepted there. So it goes.

The August issue of Ygdrasil was released today. I have two poems included which you can read at this link; if you are so inclined, of course.

Anyone who has any critiques, compliments, concerns, or suggestions of any kind, please leave me a comment here on the blog. I’m still in the early phases of getting this site up and running, but I have big plans for the future…

Come connect with me on Facebook and Twitter. I’d love to stay in touch with everyone.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

The homeless poet
stood outside the bar
in the cold
talking to anyone
who would listen.

He held a stack of papers
in his hands
that he gave away
to anyone who showed
the slightest interest.

He said they were free,
but anyone with half a heart
would give him a buck or two,
or at least some coins,
just enough for a cup of coffee.

He was a guru
in his own peculiar way,
and his words
were laced with a type
of apocalyptic strangeness –
full of velvet angels
with dark chocolate wings
receding down from heaven
to punish the normal
and bring chaos to the meek.

He was all mixed up inside,
but that was his role to play,
and it was all perfect,
and it was all beautiful –
whether he found a bed,
or whether he died in the street,
it was all ok,
because the angels were coming either way.

---

This poem originally appeared in the recent Summer issue of Belle Reve Literary Journal.

It is based on a man I met a few times on the streets of Atlanta back in late 2009. I enjoyed talking to the guy, though his mind was slightly cracked after years of living on the streets. He is the only other person I’ve ever met who spoke about The Renaissance Revolution, which has been an archetypal concept growing in my heart for over a decade.

I wrote around thirty stream of consciousness poems over the next few nights after my initial encounter with the man…whose name was Craig now that I think back on it. Ten or so of those poems have been published in the past year. In fact, “Manifestations of Heat” was just recently accepted by Clockwise Cat for the upcoming October issue. That period back in late 2009 was a time in my life full of wild synchronicity and magic. It helped open my mind up to the larger mystery of consciousness, and to tap in more fully to the alignment of where the energies of heaven and earth converge. That, however, is a post for another time…

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

We’re all looking
for something better
than what we are;
something deeper
than what we’ve felt;
something stronger
than what we’ve sensed;
something more honest
than what we’ve
been telling ourselves;
something more steady;
something more calm;
something more real
than what we’ve experienced;
something that never
winds up hurting us
in the end;
something sweet
that isn’t addictive;
something alive
that doesn’t die on us;
something powerful
that never loses its grace;
something that never runs dry;
something that never talks back;
something that comforts us
when we are hurt;
something that understands
the existential pain;
something that does not lack
in the moments
when we need it most;
something that is brave
when we are full of fear;
something that fits the bill;
something that naturally
smiles for the camera
without having to fake the cheese;
something rich without pretension;
something high without a kite.

---

This poem originally appeared at Dissident Voice in December of 2014. I’ve been writing a weekly poem there for around ten months now. You can check out my archive at this link.

Also, feel free to check out the Poems page here on my blog to find links to nearly 400 pieces I’ve published in the past year.

I’d love to connect with you on Twitter and Facebook.

If you’re so inclined, please leave me a comment…let me know what you think of this blog. Any suggestions, critiques, compliments, or concerns are most certainly welcome.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Flip the switch
on the sun

welcome to
entropy 101

where darkness
is the flavor of the month

and one taste
is never enough

Consumed
by the shadow’s mask

ever lurking
in the corners of the psyche

embrace
the kiss of the fall

before you walk
better learn how to crawl

---

Links to some of the poems that have been published in the past few days:

Untitled/Entitled – Section 8 Magazine (print only)

The Way It Is – Your One Phone Call

Murder Inc. – Dissident Voice

Burns Hot for Evolution – Harbinger Asylum (print only)

July 11/12 – experiential-experimental-literature

A Song unto the Ages – Medusa’s Kitchen

Comes the Omega with the Dawn – Medusa’s Kitchen

Bring a Blowtorch – Medusa’s Kitchen

Fleeting – Medusa’s Kitchen

Harvest the Summer – Medusa’s Kitchen

There is Nothing More to Say – Medusa’s Kitchen

Unto the Silence – The Poet Community

---

Anyone who enjoys my work and would like to stay in touch can follow these links to connect with me on Facebook and Twitter.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

My sound sleep is suddenly stolen
as I’m violently shocked awake
by a screeching source of confusion,
shattering the crystalline visions
of a peaceful paradisiacal dreamscape
where I had been safely stationed in hiding
as I sought the faceless beauty
of an unknown angel
from the other side
who could possibly fall
from the graceful arms of heaven
and save my sinful soul
from this dualistic rift
that constantly creates a schism
between the warring hemispheres
in the back of my brain.

Now the maddening echoes of the chaos fields
reverberate with pulses of white lightning
through the closing circle
of my slashed consciousness,
corrupting the cycle of dreams
and disrupting the circadian rhythms of my rest
while rupturing my spirit
with a knife to the side of my psyche
as the Judas Goat offers a final betrayal
and ushers me unceremoniously
back to the here and now of this broken reality.

A silent crash whistles through the window,
singeing the humid night air with an ominous warning
whispered from the trickster gods of this perilous world,
painfully piercing the tortured memories of a thousand almosts
and a million not quites
that still linger in the spaces of blacked out truth
that I refuse to face head on;
and so I cover my head and cower in bed,
tossing and turning as the lies
sing their circus song of despair,
waiting for the blissful release of sleep
to once again wash over
and return me to the realm
where all such concerns simply melt away
and vanish
as swirling abstractions
of a life forgotten
on the far side of the looking glass.

---

This piece was written as a response to multiple Twitter prompts which I’ve been having fun with for the past couple of weeks now.

Many thanks to all the hosts at these fine challenges (#MadVerse, #ashverse, #ntitle, #ShapePoetry, #ThePaths, and #POETHEME), as well as the many others who I’ve been writing with of late.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Oh, come on now,
who doesn’t like
a little genetically modified,
poisoned,
pesticide sprayed,
herbicide laced,
unripened,
hydrogenated,
processed,
frozen,
fried pile of
high fructose slop
disguised as food
and plopped
on their lunch plate?

How can you have any pudding
if you don’t eat your meat?

Only the best
for our kids –
after all,
We’re Number One!
(with a bullet
and an empire)

Now stop complaining,
stand up straight,
stare at the flag,
place hand over heart,
and pledge your allegiance
to God and country.

---

This poem originally appeared back in March in the social justice newsletter Dissident Voice where I’ve been publishing a poem each Sunday for the past ten months.

This piece is a comment not only on the type of disgusting, processed, nutrient-void slop that is served to the school children, but about the basic choices that the average adult makes everyday when it comes to what they put into their body.

The old cliche, “You are what you eat,” is essentially spot on.

If you put cooked, dead, overly processed, chemically laden, artificially laced, toxic garbage into your body, the result is most likely going to be cloudy thinking, poor health, and an endless cycle of trips to the doctor getting prescribed symptom-suppressing medications that perpetuate a downward spiral.

The more you choose clean, natural, organic, nutrient-dense, electrically charged, high vibration, easily digestible foods, the healthier and more radiant your life will become.

And with that little commentary out of the way, I’ll get back down off my soapbox, place my bare feet upon the earth, take a deep breath, smile from ear to ear, and finish by saying this: Do whatever you want, eat whatever you want, live however you want…just know that their are natural laws of biology and chemistry at work in this universe, and every choice you make either works with or against said laws.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar