Biography of Christine Natale
Christine Natale Poems
Not In Love
It is hard to write a love poem When you’re not in love. I long to sing of flowers of fire And burning stars above.
Rest easy my darling Though first snows are falling They’re early this year, yes I know Come back to your pillow
Ever since I was thirteen I have watched for you. I know, I have always known No mortal man could ever do or give
Salome To The Head Of John The Baptist
Ah, Johannes Do you not see me? I dance for you -
Circle Of Light
There is always a circle of golden around her In the depth of the winter, a midsummer glow Her presence illumines the terrible blackness Of midnight despair and lessens the woe.
Will There Be Heroes?
Will there be heroes When dawn breaks tomorrow? Will there be heroes When the sun comes again?
Wedding At Cana
He looked into my eyes, the only part of me visible Beneath the heavy weight of veils and jewels I knew He was the only one who saw me tremble Both with fear and with happiness
Blues For Billie
You wrote your own blues, Billie Don’t need no one to tell you, lady Don’t need no one to show you, lady Don’t need no one to say it for you
Shakespeare For The Season
Shakespeare, for the season, is over, And so my own reason for being Here, where I cannot be sure I belong Except for the time I was needed.
A Child Dies
Some say that childhood is golden, As it well may be But I have seen the gold well hidden And racked by infant pain unbidden
Northwest mist hides soft fir tree horizon. We drive around curves through cold violet gray. The day never really changes; A full day of morning.
I thought that I was casual And could give my kisses free - That I could take him to my bed As the shoreline takes the sea.
I have sailed far on a bright wishing star To search for the brave and the true I’ve questioned the wise in mystical guise The directions they gave me were few
The Golden Land
My daughter runs along the sand, A golden kite string in her hand; She calls and waves along the shore Till I can’t see her anymore.
The Saint And Her Fool
She appears in the evening, young and lovely,
Tracing the very edge of a womanhood
That she will never know.
She glides among the trees, singing a silent
Vespers to the stars, and sighing love
And praise to her lord and God.
Dressed in white robes, soft sandals
Bind her feet and keep them
From the sharp and thorny ground.