Christine Austin Cole

Christine Austin Cole Poems

1. Snowflakes & Other Intermittent Things 10/7/2008
2. On The Art Of Being (An Open Letter To The Un-Brave) 5/23/2009
3. Rock (No Hiding Place) 5/22/2008
4. Tlii 2/21/2009
5. Winged 5/4/2008
6. Five Days (Flight Into Oblivion) 5/26/2009
7. Veridicality 8/18/2008
8. Icterus 7/17/2008
9. Goodbye, No More 7/22/2008
10. Time And Space(S) 10/5/2005
11. Reflecting Gods 4/26/2008
12. Cleansed 5/29/2005
13. Well 4/25/2008
14. Cloudy 5/29/2005
15. Saving His Life 7/26/2008
16. On Horses (And Other Tragically Breakable Things) 7/26/2008
17. Resolution 7/9/2008
18. Dragonflying 10/19/2008
19. The Poem Pro Tem 11/7/2008
20. Next Door 7/9/2009
21. Wonder (And Nothing More) 5/16/2008
22. Body Of Work 7/11/2009
23. Of Daffodils & Rain 7/6/2008
24. Life After Drowning 5/20/2008
25. Barely Waking 5/20/2005
26. The Morse Code Of Eternal Dreams 7/6/2008
27. The Practical Application Of What We Forgot 5/15/2008
28. And Then, Not 4/27/2008
29. Here, Now, Tonight 5/14/2005
30. Pregnant Pause 7/17/2008
31. An Evening In Portugal 7/19/2008
32. Art (And Nothing More) 4/7/2009
33. Debris (Dust Or Diamonds) 5/4/2008
34. Lost Marbles (A Coffee Shop Tragedy) 4/27/2008
35. Art (For An Audience Of One) 5/26/2008
36. Confession 7/6/2008
37. I Left A Poem 5/7/2008
38. Air Born 5/13/2005

Comments about Christine Austin Cole

  • Wiskey Pete (7/23/2009 8:12:00 PM)

    Re: Your poem 'Confession.'

    (knowing she would sin again) Ahhhhh, how true
    those words are for all of us.Is not that the
    point of any confession? To keep trying to
    be better and confession is that constant
    reminder to do exactly that-a reminder.

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Best Poem of Christine Austin Cole

Art (For An Audience Of One)

I may be Art
in the way that he was, she was
in the way that you,
most certainly, are –
in its truest form…
in its own brilliance;
a sun that blazes away
the unnecessary haze
of each new day.

I may be Art
spoken aloud in a bustling room
above the clank
of coffee cups
picked up and set back down
on wooden tables -
echoed in each scrape-sound
of every chair as it’s drawn
closer to the stage.

I may be Art
that exists alone, for its own self
having found the virtue
of residing there
on the page, inside a drawer
of ...

Read the full of Art (For An Audience Of One)


I remember
Fading lines of now blurred ink
And metal, fascinating metal
That I confess to have over thought
From comfort to bruised skin
Music, moonlight… and then
Night’s bursting heart giving way
To the practical considerations of day

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