—David Wright, Sacramento
It was an August Sacramento day,
Nineteen hundred and seventy five.
Our Yellow Cabs were not air conditioned back then.
I had too few fares and few tips and
Two flat tires that day.
Had my fill.
Shift finally ended, and I
Bummed a "Black Beauty" and a "J"
From a cab driver buddy and I
Went home to my apartment.
Popped the pill, smoked the "J", and
Dived into the apartment swimming pool.
Forty years later and I can remember how that felt and I smile.
Don't even try to catch up.
The wind moved the leaves
And the stars were a
Twinkle in an eye
The beauty of ocean
Went on forever
Under the moods of
The leaves are moved again
Wind begins to weep
Clouds cover sky
Moon goes to sleep
BODEGA BAY RENTAL HOUSE
We always liked looking through the big window, the one
Facing the sea, the one we had the telescope set up by to sometimes
Bring a distant boat or whale close. Close. Nearer.
Once I swear I saw a mermaid in the surf, golden tail, she
Beckoned me to follow with her finger.
A kind of wakeful dream.
Was it a dream?
Often the view won't do, the
View won't do at all.
I head out the door,
Slam it, run across the sand,
Now getting wet with sea-spray, the
Smell is intoxicating, the
Breakers jolt me awake, my feet on the
Slime of kelp.
Bubbles on the wet sand
Where the sand crabs dig in.
A frantic desire, straining to be
Ever closer, ever one with the wild essence.
No matter how close we get we want to be even
Nearer the source, ever more enveloped by it.
And then, even here, after a series of breakers, there comes a
Mystical calm, it turns so quiet one hears the peeping of the
The surf seems to take a rest, seems to breathe deeply before again
Cracking the quiet wide-open with a fresh set of breakers.
After awhile I head back, heat up some chowder, and sit
Inside now content again to gaze out the big window.
Of course the day would always come to
Painfully pack the car and head home.
Sometimes I recall the vision of that mermaid and I wish I had followed her out
Past the breakers, farther into the open sea than anyone has ever gone.
TO THE MISTRAL WIND
Always just as I've languished too long on
Glass seas, the stink of death in my nostrils, first comes a
Light breeze, and then, again, the
Mistral wind blows me!
Deeper than skin my
Sails sing out, no
Encompass me now.
The stars are eschew, the
Howling is deafening, the
Yet again I crash onto some unknown island,
Unconfined by their dreary maps.
Drums pound on as never heard, then a
Thunderous song from a tiny sea bird...
Before whom the
Great whales flee.
Again I convalesce on wet sands,
Painfully alone but
REVELATIONS IN THE MARROR
—Scott Thomas Outlar, Atlanta, GA
The vastness of your scope
as I stare into the sky
reveals itself here and there
with glimpses into the absolute glimmer,
yet the mystery remains ineffable
in a context beyond that which
my primitive consciousness can grasp,
and I’m beginning to understand
that the seduction of your existential aloofness
is part and parcel
to the inherent romance in this experience of life.
I cannot come to know you fully
in the spaces of my mind,
but I can feel you in my guts,
in my heart, in my veins,
through my blood, in my bones,
down to the marrow.
These two open eyes
cannot gleam your greatness,
but when they are closed
I can see dimensions
beyond this physical plane of existence,
and I can sense the raw power
which pulses from your source
as it radiates outward
to be divined by those who truly seek.
The names which you have been called by
throughout the ages
mean nothing to me at this point—
simple words babbled from broken tongues
cannot capture the purity of your meaning;
it is your essence
to which I am addicted,
and I will never cease
reaching toward your unconditional love
until every urgent craving in my soul
has been satiated by your presence.
(Originally appeared in The Song Is…)
—Scott Thomas Outlar
A yellow buzz from the sky
torches the center of my third eye,
stroking the membrane softly
and sending shock waves through neuron pathways
which have laid dormant for ages.
An electric hum throbs like thunder
as the storm builds to a crescendo
and rains down with vibrations of fire
to sing in the silent space
between my ears in the back of my mind.
Oxygen tastes like emptiness
when I breathe in the void
seeking to inhale the present moment fully
so I can exhale the past
and spark a fresh path toward tomorrow.
Pour down on my tired head
with a symphony from the stars
so I can sense the frequency of heaven
that pulls my consciousness back to source
where the primal truth bursts
all the bubbles of illusion
that hold me back from higher karma.
One more step, one more day, one more thought,
zeroed-in on reaching the inherent destiny
that was writ upon my DNA code
when I burst forth from the womb
and entered this world of mortal flesh
where nothing seems to make sense…until it finally does.
—Scott Thomas Outlar
A heart full of Christ’s blood
A liver saturated with the piss of Dionysus
A mind that flashes back and forth
between a faithful love of light
and the temptations calling from the darkness
There are angels soaring in the heavens
but there are snakes down here in the grass
A desperate search for higher truth
A crashing tide of little white lies
A body with legs that can walk
all day and night toward the siren
A body with a bruised and broken back
lacking the strength to rise out of bed
A womb with promises of new karma
A grave that yawns with a final seduction
A silent meditation on the path toward peace
A violent world that cannibalizes its own flesh
A fiery halo adorning the crown of ascended masters
A rag of salt for thieves with wounded hands
There is always a fresh hope in the next step
but there are always new challenges that lie ahead
RHYTHMS OF THE RAIN
—Scott Thomas Outlar
A summer storm,
of a sudden,
begins to fall
heavily from the sky.
Furious rumblings of thunder
in the heavens
mirror the wild sound
my pounding heart makes
as it screams out your name.
A flash of lightning
zigzags through the air,
igniting the atmosphere
with bolts of electricity
that send shivers up my spine
at the enticing thought
of holding your hands in mine.
I close my eyes
and listen to the rain
as it pitter-patters
into the nearby puddle,
and I imagine
that each drop of water
represents a divine kiss
landing on your precious lips
with a promise sent from mine
to love you infinitely and eternally
even beyond the end of time.
THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS
—Scott Thomas Outlar
The Harbinger of Hallelujah
has arrived in his hour,
and she is adorned
with the smile of an angel
that sends my heart swooning
into a deeper state of happiness
than it has ever known.
Ascending me upward through the sky
in a chariot of glistening gold,
she shines a thousand rays of light
from the reflection of a holy halo,
and my eyes are mesmerized
by the sight of her divine presence.
Who am I to deserve
such a gift of utter bliss?
And how can I return her kindness
other than with a thousand kisses of pure love?
Through the heavens we soar
with our two souls entangled as one
while the clouds spread apart
and open a portal to cosmic realms
where the goddess makes her home,
and now I, also, thanks to the fortune
granted from every star ever wished upon,
can sleep soundly in her safe arms forever.
—Scott Thomas Outlar
Your love is like a wave sent from God,
crashing over me,
taking my breath away,
pulling me under
where the flames of my heart
can be quenched
in deep waters
that I’ve never
quite learned how to swim.
Our thanks today to Photographer Stacey Jaclyn Morgan, always intriguing, to David Wright, a Sacramento poet who has been around our poetry community for many years and who has just returned to the fold, and to Scott Thomas Outlar from Atlanta, GA, whose poems, "Revelations in the Marrow," "Schism," and "Undertow" are included in his new book, Happy Hour Hallelujah, which was released in August of 2016 through CTU Publishing. Go to www.ctupublishinggroup.com/scott-thomas-outlar-.html for info/.
Friends, students and admirers of Sacramento Poet Laureate Emeritus Dennis Schmitz will be saddened to learn that his wife, Loretta, passed away on August 15. Her obituary in The Sacramento Bee may be seen at www.legacy.com/obituaries/sacbee/obituary.aspx?n=loretta-schmitz&pid=181159295
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