Photo courtesy of Chris Sorrenti, Ottawa, Canada

Home | Directors' Page | Contact Us The Poetry of Chris Sorrenti Bio: A long time resident of Ottawa, Chris Sorrenti first started writing poetry at age 15, as a means of dealing with the pressures of adolescence, and has been hooked ever since. In his own words, “I find reading and writing poetry a spiritual experience, helping me to survive difficult times and celebrate the positives in my life.” In 1992, Sorrenti joined the executive of the Tree Reading Series, finishing as Director before stepping down in 1994, and is currently webmaster for the Sasquatch Artists’ Performance Series in Ottawa. His work has appeared locally in periodicals such as Bywords (1991), Alter Vox (2000). In 2000, his poem, Super Nova was published in the Australian (Canberra) arts newspaper, Muse. More recently, his poem, Less Cluck But More Meat For Your Buck, won honorable mention in the 2001 Ray Burrell Award for poetry, and subsequently published in Vol. 11 of the creative writing periodical, Grist Mill. MORE THAN A FEELING I look around see the power in everyone and everything an energy I can almost touch a sensation that I can’t explain watching the clouds pass overhead my spirit flying along with them if I could only grasp that feeling oh what tales I could tell © 1979 THE HISS I remember the hiss traffic seeping through adolescent window the toil of motors accelerating into one and me with syncronized heartbeat freshly licensed little realizing it was also youth's engine turning pistons pumping into a scream essence exhausted quickly into dank night air and not far off in darkened wood winter howling through the rusted carcass of an automobile listening also © 1992 EULOGY FOR A POET for Marty Flomen R.I.P. 1942-1997 no secret the hands of your clock ticked a smaller circumference across 55 years gears slowly clogged with asthma, diabetes, triple bypass yet no one predicting how soon you’d deliver the ultimate poem at the wake no casket only photographs as testament to a life despite handicaps hurled bravely at the pretentious grunts of those around you your 35mm smile projecting teasingly already from another world not even a week ago as close as a phone call I didn’t make nauseous I bellow into the vacuum once vibrating with your poetry who now my dispenser of brotherly wisdom? hero of open-mindedness? and for a slice of your eternity the hands of my clock ticking a smaller circumference © 1999 LESS CLUCK BUT MORE MEAT FOR YOUR BUCK urban legend be damned! my 17 year old son has it on good authority (friend of a friend - no names) there’s some strange goings on at those Kentucky Fried Chicken farms enough to make Colonel Sanders rise from the grave and sizzle in his own embalming fluid word is KFC’s legal title to a genetically enhanced hybrid of poultry little resembling mother nature’s original recipe … bigger breasts, larger wings - more muscular legs yet just as tender - and whammo! 11 different herbs and spices takes on a whole new meaning my son further points out as we’re stuffing our faces with the evidence tonight the word ‘chicken’ can no longer be found on any of the packaging and faster than you can ask why did the mutant cross the road? gall darn - he was right - I checked! so the next time you’ve a craving for extra crispy and while licking your fingers suddenly get an urge to crow like a rooster on steroids can’t say a friend (no names) didn’t warn you! © 2000 Based on an urban legend. Click here to learn more. won honorable mention in the 2001 Ray Burrell Award for poetry contest, and first published in Vol. 11 of Grist Mill NOVEMBER GIFT for me and the solitary spider outside my kitchen window unusually warm allowing one more day of life repair of its web for visitors almost certain not to arrive finishing the dishes I contemplate the pointlessness envious of the spider’s lack of concern at what tomorrow may not bring had planned lugging the camera to work the same species commonplace in summer outside my office window set the zoom on macro snap a whole roll of film wondering if my subject’s aware its fifteen minutes of fame has all but passed away overnight the temperature drops morning kitchen window empty again but for a new web without a spider below photo one of those actually taken as referred to in poem © 2000 all poems and photos © Chris Sorrenti more of Chris’ poetry available at Pathetic.org