by Chris Sorrenti
I pray to the soil, ocean and sky
for my next surgical taste of Heaven.
it has moved me like the plates of the Earth,
other times, distant as Jupiter.
And when the words come,
my ego - it flies me;
beams of laser shooting out
from every corner of my being.
I talk to God when I'm alone,
for only she fully understands me,
freeing me from my tethered fits of delirium.
The nature of this planet has set me to gasping,
yet I hide myself in the danger of a city;
in the Capital -
I am a lawn mower working in reverse,
returning the grass in narrow straight lines.
600 hits as of September 2020
Author's Note: Published in the chapbook Verse Afire, A Tri-Annual Publication of The Ontario Poetry Society, May to August 2005 Vol. 1 No. 1, I.B. Iskov Editor/Publisher, Toronto, Canada. I.S.S.N. 1715-0280.
Posted on 02/18/2015
Copyright © 2020 Chris Sorrenti
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 02/19/15 at 03:43 PM|
great ending Chris. I feel as this poem does. I too pray to the soil and ocean and sky, asking why, why do we do you this way?
|Posted by Laura Doom on 02/20/15 at 08:03 PM|
Pray to Mother Nature, talk to God; this delirium has its roots in fertile ground...intriguing editor's cut, Chris :)
|Posted by Elizabeth Shaw on 02/20/15 at 10:41 PM|
I adore this poem and the ending floored me! Sorry not to stop by and comment more often
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 02/22/15 at 08:57 PM|
An abstract look at love and the universe and God (who is neither he nor she) and the human dilemma.