2016-10-07

Cikël poetik nga Scott Thomas Outlar

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 Scott Thomas Outlar)


                          Transcending Definitions


Art is not an institution…
it is an inner fire
born out of those
whose eyes pierce deeply
into hidden burning beauty.

Art is not a class taught by Academia…
it is a holy vibration
pulsing through the veins
of those who sense the truth
of this world’s perfect purity.

Art is not a transaction…
it is a soulful expression
that has no choice
but to be released
as a reflection of the Source.

Art is not a sales pitch…
it is an intense emotion
coupled with a vision
of crystalline transcendence
that ruptures open new dimensions.

Art is not yet ready for the grave…
it is a raging protest
against the mortal flesh
that sings the sweetest melody
about overcoming life’s suffering.

 Closer to the Core


There is truth
in the steep hill
waiting on the other side of the bridge

There is truth
in the long walk
that carries flesh and bones to the top of the path

There is truth
in the cracked nuts
left by a squirrel on the picnic table in the woods

There is truth
in the lost days
left behind in memories that sometimes surface

There is truth
in the open heart
that warmly welcomes the future to come calling

There is truth
in the courage
that stands back tall every time it falls and crumbles

There is truth
in her sweet voice
that promises with gentle whispers that life is evolution

There is truth
in the gene swarm
that survived a billion years to reach this very moment

There is truth
in the fire
that burns all corrupt systems down to primordial ash

There is truth
in the dust
of this fresh grave upon which we dance

There is truth
in the magic
of miracles that explode when lust and love become as one

There is truth
in the sex
that shakes the foundations of this earth

There is truth
in the dreams
that emerge in sleep when the mind is sober

There is truth
in the sky
that is clear blue and flashing light from heaven

There is truth
in the siren
that sings a song to wash away all stains of sin

There is truth
in the bed
born anew each morning when we rise together

There is truth
in the touch
of fingertips that seduce sparks of electric ignition

 Safe Harbor


Your love is like a lighthouse
when my ship is lost at sea,
offering a beacon of safe passage
so that the vessel can avoid a crash
and maneuver away
from the perilous fate of rocks
by sailing toward the bright shine
that is calling from the harbor at shore.

Your love is like the alignment of synchronicity
when the universe
winks at itself in the mirror
to reflect the perfect attunement
of micro and macro
connections of coincidental causality.

Your love is like the morning dew
sent down from heaven
in the form of manna
to feed the earth
as a new dawn rises.
While the birds wake up
and sing their happy song of salvation,
the sun bursts over the horizon
with its first rays of the day,
casting fresh miracles
into each hour
with an intensity of warmth
that will never burn out,
never cease to comfort the world,
and never be quenched
in the hearts of those
who have been blessed by your grace.



 Searching the Stars


I woke up this morning
with a righteous urge
burning in the front of my brain
that was born from dreams during the night.
I felt compelled to create a new word
greater than love
that could correctly express my emotions toward you.

This language is a millstone
tied around my tongue
that won’t allow
the full intensity of truth to be known.

I poured through every page
in the dictionary,
yet all I discovered were synonyms
to say the same thing in a slightly different way.
I need something more pure!

I went to the yard
and dug my hands into the soil,
ripping a hole down through the dirt
to the pit of earth’s magma core.
But even this
volcanic fire of fury
did not flare with enough passion.
I need something that can never be extinguished!

I bought a ticket, hopped aboard a plane,
and soared to the sky
in search of a hint laced in the clouds.
But even this rarified air
at the heights of the planet’s atmosphere
could not breathe an answer into my lungs.
I need to escape this gravity!

I strapped on a suit,
bribed the guards at the station’s gates,
and entered a shuttle destined for space
with the hope that some rare star
might sing a holy verse
into my heart.
But even this light
brightly shining
since the very beginning
at the Big Bang of creation
could not manage to muster an explanation
to soothe the growing suffering
caused from my fruitless mission.
Woe be this tragedy!
I need something greater than God!

In my dismay, I returned to the world below,
crawled back into bed, and closed my eyes
that I might weep myself to sleep once more.

In the silence born
from this darkest space,
a revelation flashed
through the raw synapses of my mind.
In this state
of my damnedest sorrow,
an epiphany erupted
in the image of your perfect visage.

The realization struck at my center
with the force of transcendent peace,
explaining to me
that words no longer matter
now that you are in my life;
and so, simple thoughts of love
will always be enough
to satiate my soul
as long as you remain by my side.

 Green Eyes


She has gorgeous green eyes
that shine

She is a Goddess of Light
and I will love her
for all of my life
…beyond unto eternity…

Her mind is wise
with deep intelligence
with calmness
with correctness
with concentration on evolution

Her heart is kind
and good
and generous
and comforting
and nurturing
and warm with the warmth of the warmest sun

Her soul is eternal
with faith
with fate
with consciousness connected
to the Source of God

Her body is electric
salvation
Her smile is holy
transcendence
Her flesh is perfect
beauty
Her gorgeous green eyes
are the gateway to heaven

(© Scott Thomas Outlar) 

Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, and books can be found. His latest collections are: Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016) and Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016).


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