Home   Home

After Another Three Orbits

by Chris Sorrenti

How did I get to be this way?
so far from where it both
noisily and quietly began
in sunlight and darkness
walking barefoot on poetry’s shore

True, a relationship has its advantages
but so many distractions
so many
too many
I can’t count the times I felt the passion
but in the end gave up the chase
and yet still happy she was here

How did it come to this?
once more finished where I began
though the landscape has all changed
a different kind of chaos, but familiar
I can’t recognize but for its
curves and straight lines

And though this may not be
the strongest outing in a long while
as so often before
with shoes removed and soles to the fire
the bond of blood and poetry
grows strong again
walking down that ocean’s shore

© 2010

1,460 hits as of May 2020


Posted on 06/23/2010
Copyright © 2020 Chris Sorrenti

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by A. Paige White on 06/23/10 at 11:55 PM

Wow. I never realized until I read this, how BP not only fouled our beaches but it has fouled my concept of a walk on the beach. I need to quit watching the news if it's going to mess up my ability to comprehend poetry correctly. This is a well written poem, but all I can picture from the last stanza is two lovers trying to walk amongst the sludge. Did today's earthquake up there affect you any? Sure hoping you're ok.

Posted by Charlie Morgan on 06/24/10 at 12:22 AM

...tryin' again to fight the Scourge--LIFE. well written from the gut...yes chris, there is life after love, or losing one's heart yet again...your pome rocks me[gently]as tho' Christ was lying down in the boat w/ me, still i turn to check and see if He's still there. a good full o' life pome.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 06/24/10 at 05:53 AM

this feels like a coming home of sorts. i like it and feel welcome. and it sounds like the door was waiting open for you.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 06/24/10 at 07:34 PM

I hope I'm still kicking ass after writing poetry for as long as you have, and that's not to say you're old by any means. You're miles away from whatever age you are or might feel, and this poem proves that. It reads like someone who has just started to really get on a roll.

Posted by Linda Fuller on 06/24/10 at 11:38 PM

The more times I read this, the more I like it.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 06/25/10 at 08:10 PM

The Muse will entice! And the bond never be broken! Very thoughtful reflection on the poetic experience of the writer.

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 06/25/10 at 08:22 PM

Very well done- gritty write. The more I read it, the more I liked it. I have spent many hours wondering how I got to where I am.

Posted by Charles E Minshall on 06/25/10 at 10:59 PM

As always well done Chriss...CharMin

Posted by Glenn Currier on 06/26/10 at 05:01 PM

Oh man, how I can relate! The last four lines are my favorites. "the bond of blood and poetry" - brilliant and so true. More than an old friend whom I never forget and too seldom visit - there is a bond of blood. Thanks for shucking the shoes and making your way here.

Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 06/26/10 at 09:35 PM

Great write, Chris. Seem that poets have two main problems. One is writer's block, when the words won't come at all, and the other is logorrhea, when the words come so fast that they can hardly get to the wastebasket in time. Nice. Thanks.

Posted by Max Bouillet on 07/02/10 at 11:33 PM

I often fear she will leave as well. This word draped muse that never seems to stop waiting for me to return after the mundane activities that all too often we call life. Great write!

Posted by Paul Lastovica on 07/02/10 at 11:43 PM

I'm there, too. The long over-due return voyage at last in full swing

Posted by Therese Elaine on 07/03/10 at 05:25 PM

We shift, and grow, and decline, and despair, we become these unrecognizable faces under predictable masks, complacency inserting itself into the bloodstream of passion, day-to-day necessity drowning out the whispers of longing and killing the appetite we thought we had...but we shift again, and we find ourselves once more, albeit perhaps more cautiously, taking the tourniquet off of passion, letting silence take over so that we might hear those whispers, and letting our desire to indulge our appetites fill us...that we may feast.

Return to the Previous Page

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 1 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2020 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)