The colorless tale revealed 
the thunder within the traveler, 
lost among thoughts of another drab day 
absent the echoing light 
normally demanding something 
approaching the end.

Rest — or the appearance 
of cloudy dreams lifting him 
the gray skies 
underfoot — is weary while an end 
itself and for him,
thundering only a little longer.

© 2020 | Phillip Knight Scott

dVerse Poets Pub: MTB Lists that Google Give us. I started with “rest is…” and took some liberties with “rest is for the weary”

Clouded future

Time was an afterthought 
as the clouds called us to attention, 
demanding we acknowledge 
through misty eyes 
or other fog-soaked facilities 
the half-eaten candy of a pastoral dream 
where rolling grasses trampled 
through an otherwise quiet afternoon.

The half-hidden sun 
implored us to come outside, 
though we misunderstood 
as he went in circles for days, 
refusing to get to the point, 
so we sat inside, anticipation dawning 
with dew-drenched ideas of misadventures
masked by another day’s ascent.

© 2020 | Phillip Knight Scott

Written for Sue Vincent‘s Thursday photo prompt “clouded” #writephoto
Photo by Sue Vincent

Brilliant arc

That memory we used to share 
comes asking for blueberries when I close 
my eyes. I see a kaleidoscope.
Purple juice carries more than it thought
when pinched between fingers that just a moment ago 
looked white. 

You tried to ruin me but I know 
tomorrow jumps two ways. A shooting star tells the tale 
for only a moment, extinguished on descent,
though its arc burns red against the black 
as if the contrast should surprise us.
The fire reveals the fruit.

© 2020 | Phillip Knight Scott

Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Prompt You tried to ruin me, but I…”

Sarcastic shoes

Sneezes can be sneaky and 
on particularly 
warm nights when fireflies dot the horizon 
like sarcastic shoes 
leaving prints on white carpet,

the clock kills time 
as tick (time 
obscured in shadow or yellow dust)
tocs (keeping its own time)
slice through secondary thoughts. 

Insects feel ephemeral
(though I hope
they feel nothing) as sarcastic shoes
envelop then in shadow,
interrupting time’s deliberate walk.


© 2020 Phillip Knight Scott

Tell Us Your Publishing Story: Phillip Knight Scott

I am honored to be featured over at Go Dog Go Cafe sharing my story of publishing my first collection of poetry. Head over there and join a happy community in this time of intense uncertainty.

Go Dog Go Café

Phillip Knight Scott picture - Phillip Scott

Name You Write Under
Phillip Knight Scott

In what part of the world do you live?
North Carolina

Tell us a little about yourself.
I am a native of Durham, North Carolina, where I live and write poetry. A husband and father, I find happiness in family, friends, reading, and of course writing. Though writing embarrassingly self-important poems since childhood, it was only at age 39 that I published my first collection of poems, Paint the Living, Plant the Dead.

Tell us about your journey as a writer.
I wrote poems for much of my childhood but, with the intrusion of adulthood, only sporadically wrote while my career took hold. When I lost a job unexpectedly in 2018, I turned back to writing, working on a novel and diving back into the world poetry, which has been therapeutic and rewarding. Though my unemployment was short, I could not shake…

View original post 462 more words

This tree

Photo by Sue Vincent

This tree wraps the sky in its arms, a promise 
of salvation buried beneath bark 
as leaves peak at the surface, buoyed 
by the world’s pledge of protection 
softly cooing on the wind.

The breeze dissolves as all things must 
into an atmosphere of unmoving refuse 
where changing winds turn away 
against the backdrop of cows laying still 
under the too-slow warming sun.

And still this tree shivers looking ahead, 
optimism scrubbing bark clean of dirt 
and other residue otherwise clouding its defense,
stronger in the effort while grasping 
at the heavens, uncertain as they are.

© 2020 | Phillip Knight Scott

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Still

Through the thorns

We search for a scarlet rosebud, 
grabbing past the dreary thorns — 
hidden but hopeful — pricking us 
on our pursuit of that perfect bloom 
sprouting defiantly for us.

The fire reveals the fruit but 
illuminates scars — some we’d hoped 
to hide with half-eaten candy — 
not realizing that the bigger the room 
the more places for serpents to hide.

I feel fortune’s poke in this, propelling us 
on a treasure hunt where X 
misses the mark sometimes while 
our best highwater pants 
keep our shins delightfully dry.

Phillip Knight Scott | © 2020

Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Prompt : “scarlet rosebud”

Survive the ice

Morning arrived with an icy slap 
of good intentions — a cheeky 
red reminder to weather another day. 

Will the unwritten tourist hasten 
to the conclusion, twenty-four unlived 
chapters cut for time? 

Or will she hold the day close and enjoy 
whatever blows in with the chill, knowing 
we cannot choose the story but relish the book? 

The sun illuminates 
what night tries to hide —  a colorless tale 
cannot survive long. 
Survive long.

Phillip Knight Scott | © 2020

Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge : “twenty four” and “ice”

Reflections in space

Standing in the mirror
she failed to divine
the scope
of a universe just above 
the horizon. Unseen 
within herself, 
distracted by visions 
of reflected glory, her dreams 
begged for sunlight.

The astronaut neglected 
to recognize the gravity 
of the situation, 
but with luck she will 
seize the opportunity 
another daybreak illuminates, light 
bounding among 
the star-point hopes 
shining in the dark.

Phillip Knight Scott |© 2020

Today at dVerse Poets Pub, Mish asks us to choose last lines in a book and find inspiration in them. I took inspiration from this quote: “She shuts her eyes. Drifts off untroubled, everything clear, and radiant, and all at once.” — “And The Mountains Echoed” by Khaled Hosseini.

Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: “Standing in the mirror she”