|
Frequency
by Glenn CurrierA million departures
into the web
into the evening
in which ensee is,
and eye doll
is no masterpiece,
the bad news -
tornados ripping.
onto the streets
crawling with anger
dotted with wreckage
of a day packed with urgency.
My writing sponged from the blood
of ruptured intentions
reeks of rubble
washed ashore
from God knows where.
What delusion
snares me into thinking
I find you here?
You say:
come back to me
I did not abandon you
in your dogged run.
Don’t try
to outrun me.
You think your escape
in all directions
has no direction.
Stop and listen.
Hear my strains
in the pitch of plumeria
in the sweating of elm
the small silences of summer.
All you need
is to tune
to my frequency. 06/27/2011 Posted on 06/28/2011
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/28/11 at 03:33 PM A truly beautiful poem Gleen, combining several aspects of spirituality, technology...and relationship, all masterfully interconnected through your words. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 06/28/11 at 05:58 PM "My writing sponged from the blood of ruptured intentions.."
Sometimes i am brought up short when reading and I go over a line again and again and again, in absolute awe. This, sir, is one of those times. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 06/28/11 at 09:05 PM Those first two stanzas are what did it for me. Powerful and deeply affecting. Awesome. |
| Posted by Paul Lastovica on 06/29/11 at 12:51 AM I too am partial to the fury of the opening stanzas; and soothed by the resolution. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 06/29/11 at 11:26 PM When led astray God reminds us that he is still where He always is when we are ready to listen. Bold imagery catches one's attention as one makes his way through the analogies. |
|
