Scott Thomas Outlar (USA)
Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, live events, and books can be found. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Scott was a recipient of the 2017 Setu Magazine Award for Excellence in the field of literature. His words have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Dutch, Farsi, French, Italian, Kurdish, and Serbian. His radio podcast, Songs of Selah, airs weekly on 17Numa Radio. He is the author of six books of poetry, most recently, Of Sand and Sugar (Cyberwit Press, 2019).
Speak & Sing & Dance & Flutter & Fly
Each fleck of dust
(an emerald jewel)
adorning your wings
(rainbow rhythms)
carries a lifetime
(captures a snapshot)
of memories
sent swirling/spiraling/spinning
outward & beyond
Singing (diamonds
down from
heaven)
their own (unique) sound
unto existence
(entering transcendence)
Bursting into (intricate) shapes
& (angelic) angles
of (exponential) expansion
w/glitter gleaming on your lips
w/gold sparkles swaying in your hair
w/a language signaling to the gods
whispered through electric words
w/the future positioned perfectly
on the tip of your silver tongue
O butterfly! O cracked cocoon!
speak to me in any/every
fashion/form
A muse, amazing (grace), a miracle
to witness you soar (majestic)
in harmony w/the sun & stars.
Cannibalizing Nostalgia
I need to take a walk on Saturn
black robes/dead eyes
smoke the promises in orbit (adrift)
little white lies
get high on every
what if … almost … not quite
sleep sweetly in lost spaces tonight
in the pines/you know you’re right
I need to taste the dust
powdered on your burdened wings
smell the anger you exude (imbibe)
angel of desolation
get hung on every
hang nail … cut cord … broken star
fall softly through empty vacuum
in the abyss/our own hearts consumed.
Fleeced
flesh feels like bone
blue chills and white cloth
fabric of winter
shaven clean
until old scars show
on the surface
and bleed anew
along with cuts made fresh
smooth blades of aloe
soothe the lines marked by time
focus sharpened
across each hour
spent in hibernation
eyes of the chin and cheeks
naked and open
seek the sun
sweet kisses of shadow
weep gently
from the sting
of lashing winds
as the veil between
suffering and joy
is lifted
blind skin
married to visions
birthed by the source
at an altar of light
sacrificial spirits
sing ancient hymns
with the ghosts of love
at the sight
of a grave
thank God
we never dug
too deep.
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