Poems by Scott Thomas Outlar

Manufactured Chaos

Scott Thomas Outlar
Black boots swarm the city,
marching across lines of a racial divide
that has been trumped up
by a treacherous media
that pimps out lies
to fan the very flames
of the anger that they fuel.

Every provocative soundbite
taken completely out of context
and spewed over corporate airwaves
gets gobbled up by the masses
that couldn’t care less
or be bothered at all
to do a bit of research
and see the bigger picture.

Pied Pipers and pushers of hatred
mark every easy rube
while they lube up
the latest form of deception
to shove down the throat
of those who are
all too willing so swallow and choke.

All the dire warnings
about the heavy hammer
that was designed to fall
and crush the last gasp
of sovereignty and freedom
make no difference now
because the nails
have been set in place
and the carpenters of chaos
are about to start working extra hours.

Reduce to Base

If I had to describe my style of poetry
I could call it: Arsonist

I’ve found that once one
starts playing with fire
it’s difficult to set down the matches

I could say my pen is an inferno
but that’s too poetic
so I’ll just say my tongue is a flame

This world is burning
but I came here to dance

I could talk about a rising Phoenix
but that’s old hat
so I’ll just talk about the dust and the ash

Made from Scratch

Crash and burn
when chaos comes
to burn our lies
to ash

Dust to dust
in the shakeup
as the breakdown
becomes apparent

Weep not at all
nor shed a sigh
when truth pushes
against the system

Built on dirt
the castle crumbles
an empire
made of sand

A siren song
of resurrection
when the new pulse
starts to buzz

Electric stars
ignite the night
and dreams
are called to order

Get what you can
while there’s time
it’s all the same
in the end

Fairy Tale Apocalypse

One upon a time
the illusion of democracy
was still a spell
that the State
worried about casting.

Now the ruling elite
just flip a coin
and tell the losers
to go eat cake.

Once upon a time
there were whispers
in the streets
about which heads
soon would roll.

Now the silent cries
are roaring loud
as the smell of blood
fills the air.

Once upon a time
there was still a chance
to hold the fort
with the promise
of keeping peace.

Now the war is hot
and hell hath no fury
like a free
nation scorned.

Minor Distractions

The key is to be
able to call
out every flaw
in the system
while still maintaining
focus on the solution

There is darkness
over this land
and to understand
its depths
one must plunge
into the muck
without getting stuck…
always being able
to return to the light

Part II

I have my mind set
on shutting down the operations
of an international banking cartel
run by mafia criminal scum

so don’t expect me
to waste my time in the mud
with the masses
slinging shit back and forth

Can we please get on with the show…