christine+Walden


 * "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know it is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know this is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"**

//**3 Poems by Wislawa Szymborska**//
//**The End and the Beginning**// After every war someone has to clean up. Things won't straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble to the sides of the road, so the corpse-laden wagons can pass.

Someone has to get mired in scum and ashes, sofa springs, splintered glass, and bloody rags.

Someone must drag in a girder to prop up a wall, Someone must glaze a window, rehang a door. Photogenic it's not, and takes years. All the cameras have left for another war.

Again we'll need bridges and new railway stations. Sleeves will go ragged from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand, still recalls how it was. Someone listens and nods with unsevered head. Yet others milling about already find it dull.

From behind the bush sometimes someone still unearths rust-eaten arguments and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew what was going on here must give way to those who know little. And less than little. And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass which has overgrown reasons and causes, someone must be stretched out blade of grass in his mouth gazing at the clouds.

**In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself**
The buzzard never says it is to blame. The panther wouldn't know what scruples mean. When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame. If snakes had hands, they'd claim their hands were clean.

A jackal doesn't understand remorse. Lions and lice don't waver in their course. Why should they, when they know they're right?

Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton, in every other way they're light.

On this third planet of the sun among the signs of bestiality a clear conscience is Number One.


 * LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT**

They're both convinced that a sudden passion joined them. Such certainty is more beautiful, but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they'd never met before, they're sure that there'd been nothing between them. But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways-- perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?

I want to ask them if they don't remember-- a moment face to face in some revolving door? perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd? a curt "wrong number"caught in the receiver?-- but I know the answer. No, they don't remember.

They'd be amazed to hear that Chance has been toying with them now for years.

Not quite ready yet to become their Destiny, it pushed them close, drove them apart, it barred their path, stifling a laugh, and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals, even if they couldn't read them yet. Perhaps three years ago or just last Tuesday a certain leaf fluttered from one shoulder to another? Something was dropped and then picked up. Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells where one touch had covered another beforehand. Suitcases checked and standing side by side. One night. perhaps, the same dream, grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

Riffed off of** Wislawa Szymborska's //The End and the Beginning//
 * The Reality of a Discovery

Someone, broom in hand, Still recalls how it was. A time of unbroken land and ever-changing laws.

When the world held fast to change, When tomorrow brought a moon. Infinity lived in a range Each second was a boon.

But nothing lasts forever Even we knew that. And in times of lighter weather. We learned the world was not flat.

So someone there, Cleaning the mess of wisdom Can tell you how very rare, It is to find a content kingdom.


 * Ode to a Very Special Hat**

This world was meant for you. A fact not oft mentioned In this land of jealous hats, But this world was made for you.

When the apple fell upon his head And Einstein wrote his theory, It was done to understand What held you there above my brow.

When they explained the rainbow dear. They did it so we could describe What magnificence doth fill you, What caused the joy growing in their eye.

So when they steal you from my head And scowl at your appearance; Know it is because they fear A god in a human’s presence.


 * A 5 Year Old Sings A Carol (Praise Poem)**

To sing in adoration of a tree Is a privilege my dear man. An act saved for a certain month, To be done by one lone voice. So in December of ’98, As I prepared to do the honor How mad, How hurt How shocked was I To find the role had been stolen away! She had taken She had grabbed She, a sister of high regard, Had come to woo my shrub. And that, I shall not stand for! So when my dear stood up to sing… I screamed I yelled I threw a fit! My point, made so very clear The tree was mine. The song was mine. So you know the Christmas Eve Of 1998.


 * Sonnet About The Future**

To say that I was shocked, my dear Or even a bit surprised Would have caused the yesteryear To forge its own demise. It would have cried a thousand tears Upon an ever-setting sun Than have to face the reeling years Of noble maids come undone. To fear such time, To cower and hide, Would have made mine A dangerous side. So proclaim this lesson from the high hills, The future will always come against your will.


 * Let's Talk About My Poetry**

One of the most noticeable facts about my poetry is the fact that my inspiration is transparent. Whenever I read one of my poems I can see room which poet I drew my inspiration, from which source the flower doth grow. One of the other evident points about my poetry is the fact that I tend to state in simpler terms my theme and then proceed to give examples in more poetic forms. These have been two commonalities common through out my very short career.


 * Wislawa Szymborska**

What makes Wislawa Szymborska such a great poet is not the fact that she speaks in pretty rhyming verse or discusses light, free topics but instead chooses to take a powerful metaphor to describe a simple reality, simple being key. When reading her poems is becomes obvious from the very first one that she does aim to sugar coat her poetry but to take a simple occurrence and explain it in way that makes you, for once, stationary. She tells you about the world outside your window in a calm voice, an objective voice, a nurturing voice. The first poem I ever read by her was one entitled “Perspective”, in this poem she described watching a couple leaving a building. While watching these people she began to deduce things about their lives through the little things, she put it into simple terms, she kept it brief, and she injected enough emotion to have you envision the entire event. It was this initial reaction to her poetry that has kept me an avid fan through the years and has made me decide to share it. It is true that her writing is no secret, but the completely unique experience that accompanies your own reading is one I would highly recommend.