Countee Cullen Short Poems | Poetry

Famous Short Countee Cullen Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Countee Cullen. A collection of the all-time best Countee Cullen short poems

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Countee Cullen | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Countee Cullen

Incident

 Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee;
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
Now I was eight and very small, And he was no whit bigger, And so I smiled, but he poked out His tongue, and called me, "Nigger.
" I saw the whole of Balimore From May until December; Of all the things that happened there That's all that I remember.


by Countee Cullen

For A Lady I Know

 She even thinks that up in heaven
Her class lies late and snores

While poor black cherubs rise at seven
To do celestial chores.


by Countee Cullen

The Wise

 Dead men are wisest, for they know
How far the roots of flowers go,
How long a seed must rot to grow.
Dead men alone bear frost and rain On throbless heart and heatless brain, And feel no stir of joy or pain.
Dead men alone are satiate; They sleep and dream and have no weight, To curb their rest, of love or hate.
Strange, men should flee their company, Or think me strange who long to be Wrapped in their cool immunity.


by Countee Cullen

A Brown Girl Dead

 With two white roses on her breasts, 
White candles at head and feet, 
Dark Madonna of the grave she rests; 
Lord Death has found her sweet.
Her mother pawned her wedding ring To lay her out in white; She'd be so proud she'd dance and sing to see herself tonight.


by Countee Cullen

Simon the Cyrenian Speaks

 He never spoke a word to me,
And yet He called my name;
He never gave a sign to me,
And yet I knew and came.
At first I said, "I will not bear His cross upon my back; He only seeks to place it there Because my skin is black.
" But He was dying for a dream, And He was very meek, And in His eyes there shone a gleam Men journey far to seek.
It was Himself my pity bought; I did for Christ alone What all of Rome could not have wrought With bruise of lash or stone.


by Countee Cullen

For A Poet

 I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
I hide no hate; I am not even wroth
Who found the earth's breath so keen and cold;
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold.


by Countee Cullen

To Certain Critics

 Then call me traitor if you must, 
Shout reason and default! 
Say I betray a sacred trust 
Aching beyond this vault.
I'll bear your censure as your praise, For never shall the clan Confine my singing to its ways Beyond the ways of man.
No racial option narrows grief, Pain is not patriot, And sorrow plaits her dismal leaf For all as lief as not.
With blind sheep groping every hill, Searching an oriflamme, How shall the shpherd heart then thrill To only the darker lamb?