¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ wind ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ rose ¦¦¦¦
Cold rain ¦¦¦¦¦ sweet grass ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ clouds like ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Grey skies ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Nought warm ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ was,
Nought ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ hair ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ phantom, forlorn,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ghost ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ face ¦¦¦¦
Cold wind ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ voice ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ tears ¦¦¦¦¦ my heart ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ with ¦¦¦
Silence ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of November by William Cullen Bryant)
Misfit always out of step with the world,
Outsider longing to run forever;
Then into my reticent life you twirled;
Proximity my only endeavor;
Eyes lit on fire and my appetite swirled,
there was no confusion whatsoever;
The vampire in me kindled a sparkle,
Edward Cullen please make me immortal.
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 )
Hapsburg bailiff Gessler’s hollow kow-tow;
was a farce William Tell would disavow.
A hat on a pole! I'll never bow.
Such disregard tagged him, non-compliant
in a poem told by William Bryant -
William Tell was the one most defiant.
His snub of the snob gave reason to dread
Tell must shoot an apple from his son’s head.
"Now off to prison!" Boss Gessler then said.
Mountain man in prison swallowed his doubt
dreaming of freedom's well-followed route.
Swiss subjection he would soon hollow out.
January 15, 2021
inspired by William Cullen Bryant's poem, William Tell,
Legendary hero of Swiss independence.
The Drop
I am on the white bright bed’s edge
hanging on for dear life, in a dream
just before sunrise, where it is a ledge
above 5th Avenue. Fingers gripping the seam
of the sheet, while raindrops weaken my hold
drops so very cold, my fingers freeze, turn blue
growing numb, letting go. It is so cold
Pray there is snow below us to break, or a crew
to catch us before we break on the concrete
below. Cold fingers lose their grip
and I plummet quick to the street
face down, cheeks rippling - just a drip
of rain slides down my collar, it makes my
edges all cold, I pull the blankets tight and sigh.
T. A. Cullen
C-ontagion
O-f
U-nknown
N-astiness
T-erribly
E-mploys
E-erie
C-ontact
U-sing
L-ethal
L-ink's
E-pidemic
N-otoriety
Topic: Birthday of poet Countee Cullen (May 30)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
C-ouplet
O-de
U-ses
N-o
T-irade
E-xpressing
E-xcellent
C-omment
U-nder
L-ovely
L-ines
E-rasing
N-egativity
Topic: Poet (Countee Cullen)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
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.
You out there in the darkness
Picking up your pens
Need encouragement from the Lower East Side
Surely you can writing something as imaginative as Tolkien
Funny as Woody Allen
As moving as Countee Cullen. So pick up your pens
and write
send it to poetrysoup.com
No, you probably won't be able to quit the day job
Or maybe you will!
(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.
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
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)
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
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
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
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