Scott Thomas Outlar

Prioritizing the Itinerary

I saw God
descending downward
in a golden halo cloud
from Heaven’s precipice,
radiating pure source energy
with electrical sparks
which illuminated space
in all directions.
I saw the sky rip open.
I saw the New Age birthed.
I saw the world rejoicing
in outbursts of uncontrollable weeping.
I saw people falling to their knees
in praise and adulation,
worshipping the miracle,
singing with angelic voices
in a chorus of perfect harmony and rhythm
about the blessings
being bestowed upon the Earth
through the grace of a second coming.
I saw it all transpire
in a Big Bang flash
of terrible awesomeness.
I saw the unfolding
of a glorious affirmation
as peace flowed over the land
and rippled in cascades through the blood
beating in the veins of a billion newly opened hearts.

I came…I saw…
I turned my back
and walked away…
I had other things
that needed to be done.

What I Want for Christmas

Can you give me
more neuron synapses
flashes
that create passion?

Can you give me
more fire, more suffering,
more love, more art?

Can you give me more truth?
Can you give me more poetry?
Can you give me more wine?
Can you give me success

Can you give me less
of all the things
I do not need?

Can you give me more space,
more time, more awareness?

Can you give me more health,
more alertness, more mental acuity?

Can you give me my future,
up front, on loan, in the present?

What a Lame New Age

What if all was lost
in the great vomiting forth
of all that was found
before the sickness arrived

What if peace on Earth
and kumbaya
were gathered around the campfire
waiting to roast the next sacrificial animal

What if the politically correct
nice and neat and pampered
suddenly felt gravel in their teeth
and were forced to suck on grit and grime

What if the Earth folded hand
and gave up the ghost
with absolute zero remorse
when the black angel of death came round

What if the pale white horse
lost all face in the lie
of a Revelation spent and wearied
ready to be buried or burnt

What if worms feasted on the ash
of a Phoenix that forgot to rise
as it laid dead on the ground
not living up to its mojo

Enter the Rose

The shit
is where it’s at –
that is where
the new life
resides,
waiting on its opportunity
to flourish;
yet modern civilization
flushes it away
into tubes and pipes
that settle
into swamps of sewage.
All the wasted nutrients
of the good waste
are shipped away,
kept at bay,
sent off
for the purposes
of clean and squeaky
sanitization.
But all it’s done
is turned civilization
into a sanatorium,
a cell full of fools
separated
from the natural cycle.
But like all rhythms in life,
this Empire will fall,
decay, and eventually crumble
back into the soil,
while meanwhile,
a new society will emerge
from the wastelands and the junkyards
and the septic tanks.

Visions

Visions of reading poetry to crowds.
Realizing I’ve done so before –
though it seems a lifetime ago,
not just five years.

Visions of women fawning for my mind.
Realizing they have done so before –
though it always ended badly,
probably being all my fault.

Visions of receiving a big pay day.
Realizing it has happened before –
though it was always more of a gift
given unto me from family or a banker.

Visions of it all coming together –
the art, the women, and the money.
Realizing it isn’t that far away –
just a few more years
of putting one foot in front of the other.

Scott Thomas Outlar profile

Written By the Whispers of the Wind

I wanted to write a poem
about the perfection
of this moment,
but the wind
whistled all the words away
as the melody of a breeze
gently swayed
through the branches of trees
in these woods
where the world is at peace.

I wanted to gather my thoughts
in an effort to memorialize
this magical scene,
but the sky caught my eye
with its brilliant shine
and so my mind
became enchanted by the design
of God’s loving light
as an amazing grace
pierced my heart with faith.

I wanted to write a poem
about the perfection
of this moment,
but instead
it wrote itself
into my soul.

One Night Pass ☊

She bled crimson lust
with dragon breath
when the fire came
to wash my soul
to hell and back
with a one night pass
to fever dream city
as Satan moaned
at every touch of flesh
and hiss from fangs
that poured ecstatic venom

She laughed long and hard
with eyes lit up
as the sky wept down
in bullet point rain
straight to the vein
with mercury overload
singeing the chaos
of a symphony choir
in love with the siren
that remains a liar
but still gets the meal in the end

Render Unto

Once upon a time
I used to work
at a bookstore.
One of the duties
I enjoyed
involved sitting in the warehouse
and making phone calls
to customers
who had placed special orders
for out-of-stock items
once they arrived
and were ready to be picked up.
Probably the strangest title
I ever came across
was the Cliff Notes version
of The New Testament.
This struck me as being odd at first,
but, upon reflection,
I realized
that it was a perfect
representation of a fast-paced, modernized,
consumer driven, contemporary
American culture.
It was a book
for people who believe
Jesus was the Son of God,
and that what he had to say
was awfully important,
just not quite important enough
that they could be bothered
to read the Gospels in their entirety.
Who has the time for such things, right?
Time is money, after all,
and we all know what Jesus had to say about coin.

My Niece and the Dream Catcher

She asked me:
Has this thing been working?
And I said:
Yeah.
And she said:
Well, how do you know?
And I said:
Because I was able to write them down in the morning.
And she said:
How?
And I said:
It’s magic.
And she said:
That’s not real.
And I said:
You have to believe –
It’s energy –
It’s consciousness –
And she said:
I know it’s real.
I’m just angry
because I’m tired.
And I said:
It better not catch your dreams
or I’ll have to give them back to you.
And she shut the door
as she went to join her sister
in the other room.
And I went back to drinking
and thinking about the next poem
I could write to imitate Bukowski.

90 Day Ride

Take a breath

170 mph
for three months straight
since Bukowski
set my mind on fire

Transformed me
from a writer
into a poet
with a flame
in my belly

Set me on a path
with only one direction –
straight ahead
razor edge
zeroed-in

Ready for success
or annihilation
whichever comes first