Countee Cullen

(30 May 1903 – 9 January 1946 / New York)

Countee Cullen Poems

1. In Memory Of Col. Charles Young 3/29/2010
2. Karenge Ya Marenge 3/29/2010
3. She Of The Dancing Feet Sings 3/29/2010
4. To John Keats, Poet, At Spring Time 3/29/2010
5. Youth Sings A Song Of Rosebuds 3/29/2010
6. That Bright Chimeric Beast 1/3/2003
7. Lines To My Father 3/29/2010
8. Uncle Jim 3/29/2010
9. I Have A Rendezvous With Life 3/29/2010
10. Simon The Cyrenian Speaks 1/3/2003
11. Song In Spite Of Myself 3/29/2010
12. Thoughts In A Zoo 3/29/2010
13. To A Brown Boy 3/29/2010
14. To Certain Critics 1/3/2003
15. For A Poet 1/3/2003
16. For A Lady I Know 1/3/2003
17. Harlem Wine 3/29/2010
18. The Shroud Of Color 1/20/2003
19. From The Dark Tower 1/3/2003
20. The Loss Of Love 1/3/2003
21. Tableau 3/29/2010
22. Fruit Of The Flower 1/3/2003
23. Saturday's Child 1/3/2003
24. The Wise 1/3/2003
25. A Brown Girl Dead 10/6/2003
26. Yet Do I Marvel 1/3/2003
27. Heritage 1/20/2003
28. Incident 1/3/2003

Comments about Countee Cullen

  • Gavin Shgwant (2/26/2018 12:26:00 PM)

    Beautiful poems, no other author even compares

    5 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Elijah Rodriguez (2/20/2018 9:03:00 PM)

    he is awsome
    because he writes great pomes

  • Subhas Chandra Chakra Subhas Chandra Chakra (9/9/2017 4:38:00 AM)

    This is quite a nice poem that has a lot many metaphors.
    I enjoyed them a lot.

Best Poem of Countee Cullen


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 Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.

Read the full of Incident

Yet Do I Marvel

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune

[Report Error]