Best Cullen Poems
(after Alfred de Vigny)
He glided through the somber pines,
a shark in surly ocean.
In truth, I loved his sleek, low lines,
the danger in his motion.
Wild creatures do the best they can
to keep their young ones fed,
and I'm ashamed to be a man -
I shot the snow wolf dead.
The first ball doesn't always kill.
He'd need another round.
I tracked his blood up Cullen Hill,
to where he'd gone to ground.
To meet with death, he chose his place
under a dogwood tree:
as I beheld his handsome face,
he blazed fierce eyes at me.
He knew the game was up at last,
nowhere to run or hide:
but in that glare, a meaning passed
that's scalded me inside.
I saw acceptance in his look,
and dignity, and hurt.
And wonder, at the time I took,
as I knelt in the dirt.
"It's how it is," the green eyes said,
"to moan or whine is weak.
You've done for me. I'll soon be dead.
There are no words to speak."
I did it with my hunting knife,
then wept hard for my friend.
I pray I'll own his grace in life,
his courage at my end.
Bryant’s Necropolis Conceit
Silent halls of death so cometh
William Cullen Bryant
Thanatopsis supremeus now
A sepulchre awaits us all.
Dour darkness and shroud forever
Thanatopsis-Phantasmus
The spirit world so beckons us
We all shall so wither and fall.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
(January 15, 2015) (Double Dactyl)
As I drive by the end of days I see a pumpkin and a happy witch on the doorstep of my joy,
As I pass by my four year old’s awe toward friendly ghosts down the street of nostalgia,
I am reminded of Saints gone home and good souls on their penitent journey,
Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Paul Robeson and the poets of my past,
Hendrix, Morrison, Michael, Louis Armstong and the Sounds of my testimony,
Prince and Wynton Marsalis, Miles Davis, Amadeus, Earth, Wind, and Fire,
Saints living, saints dead, souls vibrant, souls sad in the darkness of regret,
We are a glorious symphony on this, this all Hallows Eve,
The eve of that day when I celebrate the muses of my sacrifice and the foundations of my epiphanies,
“Halloween is here” my youngest daughter exclaims and I am reminded of many a night spent scavenging for sweet things and expectant laughter,
Tragic kings like Edgar Allen and Charlie Parker, souls with so much pregnant genius that the world was too much for them,
It is our celebration dear friends that will move the mountains of discontent,
And so in this season of harvest, carpe diem calls me to absorb as much love as I can as the sun sets on purple leaves and gorgeous corn stalks,
And in mother Africa, the ancestors dance like their Celtic sisters who fused the worship of our Lord and the glory of mother Gaia,
And in mother Africa the land recovers from the grief stricken sting of rape,
And in mother Africa my sisters and brothers celebrate the saints gone forward into that great mystery,
Tecumseh and Black Elk I celebrate the brilliance of your aptitude,
And I cry with you in triumph for the resurrection of a people forsaken but not defeated,
Come Glory,
On this All Hallows Eve, I celebrate the beauty of a journey full of confusion and catharsis,
For the reality is that we truly cannot fail,
As our cloud of witnesses sing to me of the victory that awaits,
Tonight, adorned with the fashion of merriment,
And the subtle chill of October wind reds our lips,
Come Glory and Glory be to the faithful departed,
Happy Halloween!
High festive confusion among real monsters
Around that wonderful time of the year, for:
Lay men mistook Dracula for Edward Cullen,
Lost Big Foot, they called "Chewy"
Offense they did to evil wizards when they whispher "Hogwarts is real"
Wicked witches were thought from the West,
Every werewolf was seen as a teen,
Even the Devil is encouraged to wear Prada, that
No human that night guessed the monsters were real!
October 22, 2016
Hello my name is Keith Edward Baucum.
I am a black male who was born on the
day of July 10, 1982.
I'm the youngest out of my mother's seven
children.
I am from Laurinburg North Carolina. I
still live in Laurinburg North Carolina.
My interests are education, poetry, African
American studies, African culture,
literature, visual arts.
My favorite poets are Marcus Garvey,
Phillis Wheatley, Tupac Shakur, Langston
Hughes, Maya Angelou, Paul Laurence
Dunbar, and Countee Cullen.
I would like to publish a book of poems,
stories, quoets, and writings.
I am 31years old and as single as one can
be.
I have no children.
The type of music I like are hip-hop, R&B,
rap, soul music, reggae music, and gospel
music.
I'm a Christian and I'm a black
nationalist
My mailing address is po Box 792
Laurinburg North Carolina 28352
Written by Keith Edward Baucum Aka Red
Seven aka The Brown
Philosopher aka The Green Poet
"Showers and sunshine slowly bring the deepening verdure o'er the earth; To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back."
~ William Cullen Bryant
As I awakened this morning, I rejoiced to hear
melodies of song birds with lyrical good cheer.
'Twas their news that Spring had finally arrived,
time for nature's splendid beauty to be revived.
No longer would the bite of Winter's chill be felt.
Sunshine will warm the Earth; snow would melt,
The change of season is heralded when robins sing
and flocks of sparrow and goldfinch take to wing.
To my garden I'll hasten. There's much to prepare.
Bird bath needs cleaning to welcome them there.
Feeders to fill with seed to attract pairs for mating.
Chickadees are near, and I can't keep them waiting!
They've nests to build in branches of maples and oaks
I love their whistling melodies, that's why I try to coax
them to remain in my yard for as long as they desire.
There's a cardinal. His crimson hue like flames of fire!
In Spring, flocks of wood thrush and tanager abound.
I open the windows to enjoy their enchanting sound.
My berry bushes feed hungry warblers and blue jays.
Their antics are quite amusing on these vernal days.
Red hibiscus will be in bloom for the ruby throated.
Such mesmerizing little ones. Upon them, I've doted.
Each night I listen to the wailing call of a lonely loon.
Wanting a mate, he howls as a wolf bays at the moon.
When night greets the dawn, I will awake once more
to hear the mellifluous chirping of Spring Aves I adore.
Even if the skies are filled with clouds, gray and dark,
distinctive will be the flutelike chant of a meadowlark.
February 24, 2021
A Spring Birds Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Fields where the bondman’s toil
No more shall trench the soil,
Seem now to bask in a serener day;
The meadow-birds sing sweeter, and the airs
Of heaven with more caressing softness play,
Welcoming man to liberty like theirs.
A glory clothes the land from sea to sea,
For the great land and all its coasts are free.
From “The Death of Slavery” - Poem by William Cullen Bryant
On this August day unclouded and drenched by sun,
Millions gaze back down history’s road of red dirt
For a testimony in memory strong enough to assert
The four-century path of great wrong they had to run.
All men are created equal…that famous creed…
Spoke by the founders in bigotry and greed
To buy them a selfish liberty and us a silent grave,
To make narrow-minds reign and tolerance die,
And to raise their banner over the head of the slave,
Adding their mark of racism to God’s clear blue sky.
In our heart our souls await the Lord’s avenging day
And for the winds of heaven to waft and play.
Thank God for legs able to march four hundred years
And for arms strong enough to make the enemy flee.
We now plead by the Psalms of David to be free,
With words so grave as to not be eluded by ears.
No longer bewildered by the curse of Cain,
Undaunted we march with God’s justice to gain.
Our steps have caused the infringed land to quake,
As we roll on dreaming of our liberty to seize
A treasure that generations assayed to take,
Knowing deeply that nothing less will appease.
This four-century trek has mitigated our dread,
Preparing us to raise our banner over their head.
Though our wisdom can enable us to vilify injustice,
We must depend on God to defeat its monstrous sins--
For it is by His wisdom that the arc of justice bends,
And continue to show our faith for Him to trust us.
Four centuries we have called on God to break the chain
And return to us our strength and passion once again.
The day has come for us to stand and face the sunrise,
With a new spirit and a shout of joy for the new day.
We must now escape this virtual yoke of lies
And standfast in the liberty for which Christ did pay.
A hymn of thanks we sing for a long-awaited deliverance
And for the glorious liberty of the children of Providence.
You stand majestic, proud, glossy
Sometimes you boast graceful curves
That's when they call you Grand, or Baby Grand
To me, you're living and breathing
Full of emotion, comfort and understanding
My heart skips a beat when I see you!
When I'm in a bar, hotel or restaurant
Immediately my head and eyes are seeking you
Then I catch sight of your familiar shape
Childish excitement makes its entrance
I rush over, lift your lid and awaken you
Such love do I find in ebony and ivory!
As I begin to caress your keys
And pour out my thoughts through song
You've had the likes of Alicia Keys
And Jamie Cullen making beautiful music
Of course, you've had the pleasure of the company
Of those who play classical pieces too
Relaxing the listener into a peaceful world
Monochromic tactile, gentle touch
Sending shivers down the spine
Sedating the soul as melodic waves undulate
There's an incredible connection between you and me
I told you all about being bullied at school
I'm sorry I kicked you, my friend
It was not directed at you
But I was recalling the cruelty of the teenagers
And venting my sorrow and frustration
You let my grief spill out
As I play songs that remind me of my beautiful husband
And you join in with me as my fingers rejoice
Over the love and grace of the Father God
You respond by the sounds that flow
From those beautifully engineered strings
It's as if you have arms consoling me
As they wrap around my shoulders
Slowing the heartbeat
Thank you for giving such harmonic pleasure
And allowing me to express my feelings
Be it joy, fear, sadness or contentment
You ARE a living, breathing creation
And I hope you'll be around for years!
Dedicated to a wonderful friend of mine - a song written on my Sophmore year of highschool.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chorus]
Hurricane Ida, she come rollin’ along
Hurricane Ida, she be singin’ this song
She lives in our hearts and souls
It’s where she resides
Bother her, she’ll break your nose and lift up the tides
Oh yeah!
[Verse I]
She’ll turn those fish to sushi, she’ll make tyrants bow down
She’ll flood those monsters clueless and she’ll take the gold crown
She’ll bring bread to the needy and she‘ll brighten the forlorn
She’ll heal and stitch up every piece that’s tattered and torn
Oh yeah!
—she’ll even feed you corn
OW!
[Chorus]
Here she comes again!
WATCH OUT!
[Verse II]
She can make you shiver, she can penetrate your soul
She makes sparkly Edward Cullen look like a troll
She’s glamorous and fabulous, not tah mention lots of class
She makes Michael Jackson slip and fall on his ass
Oh yes!
—she’s more expensive than gas
OW!
[Chorus]
(GUITAR SOLO!!!!)
She lifts up up up UP UP HER TIDES!
Hurricane Ida, you’re so wild and free
With your awesomtasticalness
You will make history-Aiiiieeeeeeeee!!!
Massachusett's Willianm Cullen Bryant
The first 'All American' poetic giant;
with verses in 'American English'
Focussed the new nation's eyes
as his poetry became widely recognised.
Bryant(1794-1878) found fam with 'to a Waterfowl' & 'The Prairies' & also helped lay the
foundations for 'American' poetry as well as creating Central Park NY
Sunday quote, and new poem-
( “And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief” – William Cullen Bryant )
Sad At Twilight Hour Love's Paradise Can Be Lost, With Sunday Quote
Sad at twilight hour love's paradise can be lost
Same as horrid death delivered by ole Jack Frost
Wherein dies the beauty of rose and its great fame
And the bright garden that once set ones' soul aflame
Alas! But such reminds this truth-life is no game.
Sad at twilight hour love's paradise can be lost.
Life gives and it takes, oft at very heavy costs.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-24-2022
Rhyme, ( When dark reigns and all seems lost )
This is a parody of a poem by Countee Cullen displayed in my notes.
She thinks that Blond number seven
Will make her Zza Zza Gabor.
The herbal facial was like heaven;
The back rub was a chore.
Happy
Attention (Luvs it!!!!)
Loving
Intelligent
Extremely nice
Girly-girl! (NOT!)
Holdin' on... To her pic of Edward Cullen!
They didn’t understand what I saw
They couldn’t see the deep passion, late at night in those baby blue eyes.
All they saw was a number and a reputation.
So you were 21 and captain of your hockey team?
In my eyes you were priceless and only old enough to drive.
The jersey you wore stayed on the ice and your skates were left untied.
You said the things only guys in fairytales would say,
I called you my “Edward Cullen” and we kissed our nights away.
We were both so alike that it brought out our worst.
I would scream, and so would you, until our throats would hurt.
Sometimes you’d make me cry so hard that when I looked up you’d be crying too,
But no matter what life or love threw at us I always knew that you meant it when you’d take
my hand and pull me aside,
Cup my face and kiss my lips,
Or fall asleep at my side.
There was never a doubt in my mind that yes, boy, you did love me.
After that night when we watched everything end and we both knew it was for good,
I know I loved you and you loved me,
And maybe when time is on our side, we could be together
For me, crazy is a loose term.Crazy is when you
stare at a pencil and laugh when someone
asks you what you are doing that is so
interesting about the eraser. Crazy is when you have
an hour-long sob fest, and then start singing
and dancing when your favorite song comes on.
Crazy is when you do or say a
completely random thing, like "Do you ever wonder
where the eraser bits go?" or
having a thumb war with yourself.
Crazy is when you type up all your favorite sayings,
print them off and tape them to
your wall, just for something to do.
Crazy is when you memorize the complete
biographies and physical traits of every
character in Twilight (or almost, at least).
Crazy is when you write Emmett or Edward Cullen
is hot on your homework instead of doing it.
Crazy is downloading all of Twilight and New Moon off the books on C.D.
fromthe library, and listening to them over and
over again.Crazy is when you first read twilight you push
the book in every ones faces and yell out
EDWARD. Crazy is also when you pretend to skate in your
bathtub in your bare feet with soap. Crazy
is when you run around the house screaming that you have
lost your mind. Crazy is when your friends and family are
scared of you because you are suddenly cheerful then not.
Crazy is when all you can talk about is Edward Cullen or Troy Bolton.
Crazy is when you have conversations with the Twilight and/or
High School Musical actors/actresses in your head and yell,
DON'T JUDGE ME when some one asks you what you're doing...