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



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


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


in a season


of falling rhythms


A tired Apocalypse


in thick clothing


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


for the new


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.)