Scott C. Holstad has published 15 books of poems, and his work has appeared in numerous magazines worldwide, including The Minnesota Review, Wisconsin Review, Hawaii Review, Pacific Review, Southern Ocean Review, Poetry Ireland Review, Arkansas Review, Asheville Poetry Review, and Southern Review. We hope you enjoy the following selections of Mr. Holstad's work. Also, you can visit his personal website for more information.

Conceptualization

she said
you
have the freedom to
choose finally
you are self
reliant and you
can work toward
the greater good
of humanity to
educate and improve 

we are not puppets 

meaning exists
inherent
within humanity 

         drivel
dribbling down my throat
and i try to suppress
the urge to gag before
i simply let go and
PUKE
this blackness out of
my soul and walk away
feeling a little weaker
and a hell of a lot
better. 

Copyright © 2005 Scott Holstad

From Confessions
Pearl's Book 'em Publisher (PBP)

www.bookpearl.com

Community Service

When they sent me out to do my 
community service, the first two 
places wouldn't take me. 
I was a dangerous criminal. 
The third place, a thrift store, 
took me, no questions asked. 
I thought to myself, great, 
sit back and handle a few customers. 

Hell,
they almost broke me. I worked in 
the back with people whose names 
were Gomez and Garcia and who 
could barely understand me. I 
unloaded sofas, washing machines, 
a cast iron stove for God's sake. 

Nearly broke me. 

I looked forward to a cigarette 
break with a madman's glee, 
and I was joined by the others, 
the cigarette the communal language. 
When I finally finished my 
community service, they gave 
me my paperwork to take back 
to court, and on it, they wrote 
great worker, thanks, 

and I felt more satisfaction out 
of that than nearly all of my 
poemsies I've ever had published.

Copyright © 2005 Scott Holstad

From Confessions
Pearl's Book 'em Publisher (PBP)

www.bookpearl.com

More Long Beach Days

my landlady in Long Beach 
read self help books 
while i wrote poems 
in my room. i kept 
waiting for her to seduce 
me, but she never did. 
i was seduced by a 
poetry groupie and 
also by a kinky coed 
at Cal State Long Beach 
who fucked me in an 
alley behind Kinkos 
while police cars 
cruised by. i 
wrote a poem to 
large breasted Lorraine, 
published later in the 
Coe Review, but 
generally i stayed 
at the Reno Room 
with Gerry Locklin, 
sucking down beers, 
waiting to become 
famous – 
or lucky.


Copyright © 2005 Scott Holstad

From Confessions
Pearl's Book 'em Publisher (PBP)

www.bookpearl.com

At Last

What I mean to say is
                      no
I don't want her back,
Just words hanging like
Leaves from a tree limb,
Nothing can bring her back
Anyway; words wouldn't
Build her
Bit by bit,
Piece by piece,
She's gone, and
There is strength
In knowing that.
Maybe the longing
Will ease.  Maybe
The seconds will
Lapse into minutes.
I'm not Christ -
I can't raise the dead.

Copyright © 2005 Scott Holstad

From Confessions
Pearl's Book 'em Publisher (PBP)

www.bookpearl.com

Anti-.

Darkness swarmed over the
Throne of God a long time
Ago, for me.  The pain is
Never ending, the sun lies
Black and dead.  I've fallen,
The blood has dried to a
Trickle; I cannot crawl over
Or through the mire of hurt
Without it affecting me, turning
My heart, my brain to poison.

My
Advisors
Tell me I've been poisoned and that
I do it to myself, but their tongues
Speak only half-truths, for I was
Born to suffer, and that is
Truth incarnate.

So little of what we observe is
Actuality.
Do we see/hear the words
Pouring forth?  Are they
Truth?  I wish and hope, but
My future is predestined,
Per my parents' belief,
And that is denial and death,
The deepest pits of hell,
The thorniest of crowns,
No sympathy, simply
Guilt, pain, anguish, and
Lament.  Call me your
Anti-Savior and I'll take
On your pain too.

Copyright © 2005 Scott Holstad

From Confessions
Pearl's Book 'em Publisher (PBP)

www.bookpearl.com

Animals

I.     Ants

A line, much like the Jews passing
through the Red Sea, comes
straight at me, checkerboard red
and black, intent upon one purpose.
I ponder that purpose, give way
to the conquering hordes and
allow them their hard earned goods.


II.     Spiders

I almost step into it, one of the
biggest spiderwebs I've seen.  In
the middle sat the spider, awaiting
his prey, like the octopus at the
bottom of the sea, unmoving,
nearly invisible.  He will
undoubtedly eat well tonight.


III.     Chipmunks

They race around, thinking they
own this place, and perhaps they
do.  Racetracks have been formed
in the yard, holes from their
burrowing, seed the birds have
lost out on gone beneath the earth.
I think about breaking out my
Glock 23 and taking one out -
they are tearing up the lawn
afterall - but it would merely be
a drop in the bucket, and
cruel after all.


IV.     Cats

The cats walk in on tiny foggy feet,
eyes escaping nothing, seeing all.
They sit and bide their time,
awaiting their prey - the morning
dove in the yard, the chipmunks
and squirrels, that damned dog
next door - and they really don't
even need to be fed.  Who said
you can domesticate a cat?


Copyright © 2005 Scott Holstad

From Confessions
Pearl's Book 'em Publisher (PBP)

www.bookpearl.com

Choice

I am an addict.
I am Bipolar.
I've been addicted to
cigarettes
alcohol
enjoyed speed for quite awhile
driving like the proverbial bat outta hell
spending
fucking
depression
suicidal thoughts
and so much more 

Normal life
is something unknown to me. 
When I was in 3 East,
many of the people there
were trying to come off
something or other
legal, or otherwise. 

The screams made the
flesh crawl. Personally,
I sat on my bed at night
listening to the lady next
to me screaming her lungs
out, and I 
fought 

the urge to
either rip my eyeballs out
or go in her room
and slit her fucking
throat with a piece
of broken glass. 

I know it's hard to quit;
I've had to do it. But,
we get used to our labels;
they're convenient excuses
when we need them to be

I couldn't help putting $7,000
on the credit cards - I'm 
Manic Depressive. 

Yeah, that'll carry you for
awhile, but at some point,
at some point,
you may find yourself
out on your ass
all on your own
you've used up your last card
and what'cha going to do then? 

huh? 

I long for things. I long for
things I can't begin to 
describe, but while I am
affected chemically, I
ultimately need to assume
responsibility for my
actions
and
if love counts
and life counts
then
I can't be a sleepwalker. 

I have to
choose,
lie down with my choices,
make my efforts,
try to get better,
live to see my
illness,
not through crazed eyes,
but through the eyes
of a shared language - 

reconstructed
depths of
wholeness. 

Copyright © 2004 Scott Holstad

From Cells
PublishAmerica
Reproduced by permission of author

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