Hanging Dead upon the Tree of Life

Poetry Editor ANANYA GUHA’s Note:

A widely published poet especially in the world of litzines Scott Thomas Outlar‘s poems strike you for their labyrinthine movements, philosophy and meditative qualities. The movements slow, almost taciturn can also sweep one with surprises. A prolific poet Scott does justice to an encrypted code of poetry. There seems to be very little litzines in which he has not made a mark. Read his poems for their unobtrusiveness and for their soul stirring lyricism of the heart.

Hanging Dead upon the Tree of Life

 

Rotten fruit

spoiled in the garden

 

Hell in the veins

 

Hungover from the fall

 

dancing in the shadows

back to the den of the snake

to call out the coward

 

with my own rib

cut from the chest

stab in the heart

to slay the Beast

forevermore

 

and bury

your temptations

in the pyre

 

dust to dust

ash to ash

 

This Tree of Life

now flowers

 

This knowledge pours

unto our souls

~

 

Naked Embrace

 

The fading sky bleeds

burnt orange tears,

giving way to night’s

shower of stars.

 

Piercing light cascades

from heaven’s waterfall,

eliciting a flood

of primal passion down to earth.

 

Stuck in the warm embrace

of honey maple syrup,

we strip naked

and wait for our flesh to burn.

 

Eager is the lust

of a draining moon,

kissing our inflamed pours

with its velvet rays of silent electricity.

 

A buzz hums in the atmosphere

as lightning pulses in wild waves,

accompanied by rumbling thunder

that drives the song into raw veins.

 

Pumping feverishly through blood,

a sugar rush of adrenaline to the head

pops open dormant glands

to release enlightenment’s echo.

 

Vibrations from the chaos storm

lick our souls to the bone,

cleansing away ancient remorse

and breathing fresh hope into our hearts.

~

 

Ignorance Is Bliss

 

On chilly nights such as these

spent alone beneath the Buddha’s tree

 

near the lake where, long ago,

we first embraced in dance,

 

I begin to hate enlightenment,

and simply want your lips near mine again.

~

 

The Greedy Grasp

 

Fragile fate

is always

ready to be seized,

yet slips

so easily

through greedy fingers

that lust too longingly

when seeking to hold

destiny

all at once.

 

Take your time, child,

there are plenty

of sights

to be seen

along the sojourn

up the mountain side;

no cause

to blind thine eyes

from bright visions

best taken in

with short, sweet,

subtle glances

here and there

along the way.

 ~

 

Creating Space

 

An opportunity for salvation

can be found in every moment

of mindfulness…clearing away the mental debris

to create spaciousness…a calm respite…

an empty void

into which each inhalation of breath

can enter…filling the lungs…

oxygenating the blood…exciting the neurons

into a white frenzy of light…pulsating

with electric energy from source to soul…

firing through previously dormant synapses

with a passionate frenzy

of creative inspiration…a tidal wave…

a fervor of high peak ascension…

wait…what happened to the quiet reprieve?…

slow down…start over…each moment

is an opportunity…

~

 

Waiting It Out

 

Empty branches

sway

in a season

full

of falling rhythms

 

A tired Apocalypse

swaddled

in thick clothing

shivers

in the cold

too afraid

to unveil

its promise

 

Swallow the truth

with a warm

cup of soup

for a soul

in need

of remedy

 

Hidden away

but gaining strength

while waiting

patiently

for the new

solstice

to rise

~

(Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry and fiction can be found. He is a recent Best of the Net nominee whose words have appeared in venues such as Words Surfacing, Yellow Chair Review, Harbinger Asylum, Section 8 Magazine, and The Mind[less] Muse. He also writes a weekly piece for the Dissident Voice Sunday Poetry Page. Scott’;s chapbook “Songs of A Dissident” is forthcoming in early 2016 through Transcendent Zero Press.)