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Smoke

We earned our stripes that night
amid the polka dots and cigarette butts
and other signs of life
clamoring for attention.

Those stripes unfurl in
a smoky ambivalence
leaving tentative finger prints,
another reminder of something

illusory that the wind may dispel
just as easily as fire leaves
an ashy mark on anyone
bold enough to reach.

Vote now for my book cover (please)

They say not to judge a book by its cover but I need you to do just that. If you liked the cover of my book, The Alien in the Backseat, please vote for it for the Cover of the Month contest on AllAuthor.com! It takes just a few seconds and requires nothing more than a click. Vote for my book cover here:

Buried

We buried our despair in the shade of the pine tree,
holding hands as we turned our backs
on those needling thoughts left in the dark.

The hulking ogre took root, waiting
to spring on us when we tried to take cover
beneath the canopy of stars
stretched too tightly that cool night.

A possum or some other unanticipated visitor
disturbed the tranquility, clawing at the dirt
until the ogre — always lurking as we
were distracted by routine — jumped out

to terrorize us once more
while we scrambled for a shovel
or another plot of land.

Underneath (it abides)

The stone’s back hides shadows
unspotted by sunlight,
a mossy reminder that some memories abide
in the dark for good reason,
threatening to emerge if the river rises
just enough
to knock that weight
just enough
until sunlight dissolves
shadows leaking downstream
at last.

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About Me

Phillip Knight Scott is a native of Durham, North Carolina, where he lives, writes, and watches old episodes of Doctor Who. He’s only recently published his first collection of poems: Paint the Living, Plant the Dead. His poems have appeared in numerous publications including Galway Review, Vita Brevis Press, Olive Skin, Spillwords, and others.

His debut novel, The Alien in the Backseat, is available on Amazon.

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