SCOTT HOTALING - POEMS
Scott has rediscovered his passion for tennis and dreams of one day looking like he knows what he's doing. He hopes to fly a helicopter and a hot air balloon in the future and recently had the opportunity to fly in a Piper Cherokee. He enjoys writing articles for Flight Training
magazine while continuing to work on his next children's book.
The candle still flickers inside
the carved face. It was made
to scare, but only for amusement.
The night's voices have slowly
disappeared with the exception
of a soft purr from a stray cat.
The smell of candy and pumpkin
bread still fresh in the air. Soon, the
monsters will once again wait under
the bed until it's time to play again.
A child's costume hangs in his closet next
to his bed. Chocolate and marshmallow
still teasing his tongue. As October
fades into November the air turns
hauntingly cold. Winter is coming.
Tonight the air is still warm.
The sound on the bus
is full of naivety and curiosity.
A girl asks a boy a question
he doesn't know he'll remember
for the rest of his life. The driver
scolds a girl for hitting another even
though she hit her first. Soon, the bus
will be empty, waiting for morning.
Now, it makes its way through
the village where boys and girls
will grow up and decide to move
to a better place. A place where
there's adventure and excitement.
Some will have kids of their own.
New families will move here and
their children will ride the school
bus. A teacher they've never met
will inspire them to believe in
the unbelievable when they've
become too bitter to believe
in such childish things. A boy will
tease a girl and she will hate him
for it until she learns he's loved her
all along. It will be too late then. She
will cry in her mother's arms, and
her father will never let another boy
hurt her again. A son will ride the school
bus for the last time, not knowing it
was the best time of his life. His sister will
save his seat after graduation, until
she meets her future maid of honor. They'll
talk about books and boys and argue
about things they won't remember the next day.
A boy will cut his hair despite his father's
protest to stop another boy from making
fun of him. He will lie and drink and drop
out of school. He will recite something about
sticks and names and hurt and lose himself
in a bottle against time. A girl will be invited
by a boy to the school dance and she will
say no because he looks like a potato. And
that boy will cry in his pillow and curse
every girl in the school. The next day on the
bus a girl with different color skin will ask
him to help her with her homework and he
will kiss her that night. Years later, their children
will ride the very same bus to the very same
school in the village where they fell in love.
They will never move away. For them, there is
no better place than home.
Blue Lake at Sunset
The colors reflect off the cool
water like crisp fruit, sweet and
delicious. The silence is so loud
it's as if I've lost my memory. The
sky is a color I cannot name, for
I do not understand language
well enough to describe such a sight.
As the light fades into the shadows
and tucks the land asleep I can't
help but wonder how it's all
possible. It is a consequence
of imagining the real against
the impossible. The warmth
against my back. I do not want
to look away. But I must.
McMaster Street, 2:04am
I heard their voices from my bedroom
as they grew angry. The street light
lit them up like they were part of the
final act of a play. I parted the curtains
and watched them scream at each other
and wanted nothing more than to help
them. The air around them was surprisingly
calm. The ground soft. I closed the
curtains and went back to bed. Several
hours later I could still hear the yelling.
But the voices were not the same.