In the end
all that matters
is the final poem
that pours forth
from the last lips
left living on earth
as the black smog
suffocates…everything.

It matters not
that no one will survive to read the words.

It matters only
that they were written,
that they were felt,
that they were experienced,
that they were born…

---

This poem originally appeared at the poetry site Dead Snakes earlier this year.

---

As I was searching Google looking for an image to post with this piece, I typed in the words “the end.” After looking at about fifty different versions, the word “end” began to look very funny to me. I’ll never be able to look at it the same. I think there’s something subtly significant about that statement in an existential sort of way, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out right now.

Blackbirds envelop the green grass
across the street
early in the morning,
moving together in a cluster of fluttering wings.
I shift my position in bed
to gain a better view,
now squatting and looking out the window
as the dark wave gains a new tide
and comes shrieking and soaring as one blanket mass
straight toward me.

For a brief moment I fear
the yawning grave is finally calling me
back to the dust, dirt and ash
from whence I once came,
but then, in unison, the wave breaks,
the aggressive wings grow calm, and
the swarm settles down
as it lands now in my front yard.

I exhale and smile.
The beauty of chaos shifts
as order is reclaimed in my respite –
the reaper has granted my reprieve;
and though I know he will surely
one day come hunting for me,
whether it be with a merle of blackbirds,
a murder of crows,
a wake of vultures,
or one-on-one, all alone, with his scythe in hand,
at least for now I can lay back
safely and soundly in my warm bed,
knowing that while I dream about the future,
it will be the worms, outside in the cold,
that serve as today’s sacrifice to the cycle.

---

This poem was written back in January of this year, and it is one of the pieces included in my debut chapbook “A Black Wave Cometh” which was released in a digital version by Dink Press a few months ago. The chapbook is available through Etsy at this link.

I will take this
to the core
of the marrow
where chaos is married
to an emerging order
so we may find
the structure
to satisfy desires
of both flesh and soul
in this strange world
where suffering
somehow leads to joy
and all the pain
tests the limit
until pleasure is reached

I will fade out
in the night
like a sun
that no longer burns
but folds up shop
in disintegration
toward entropy
and dissolution
in this dying cosmos
where each breath
is a blessing
and each kiss
is a lesson
unto the grave

---

This is a poem that originally appeared at Stephen Jarrell Williams’ site Dead Snakes back in June of this year. I’ve been publishing at Dead Snakes nearly once a week for the past seven months. Stephen was one of the first editors to give me a regular forum to share my work. Along with Angie Tibbs at Dissident Voice who has allowed me to contribute a weekly Sunday poem now for the past ten months. Guy Farmer at The Poet Community is another editor that comes to mind who has been very kind toward my writing. Although I haven’t been publishing essays recently, I should also mention that Davi Barker at The Daily Anarchist was also very supportive of my work in the beginning. I’ve been fortunate to make some sound connections in this first year of publishing, and plan on making many more as the journey continues.

---

Anyone interested in staying connected with me and my writing can do so by sending me a friend request on FB or by following me on Twitter @17Numa.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

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