COUNTEE CULLEN

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COUNTEE CULLEN
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Miss Countee Cullen

“I keep the
roots concealed”
—Countee Cullen,
“Confession,”
Copper Sun (1927)

I come not simply—
To queer Miss Faulkner although
She certainly needs it.

Wandering thru gay—
Yoknapatawpha this way
Harlem on my mind.

Miss Countee Cullen—
Deserves a little queering
Too wouldn’t you say?

Gay Harlem

“NOR what you crave
Be gratified”
—Countee Cullen,
“To One Who Was Cruel,”
Copper Sun (1927)

I crave cool young black—
Down-low Mandingo lovers
But they ingore me.

The more I swish and—
Try to butch it up, the more

They just ignore me.

Not a day goes by—
Without black love eluding
My gay Harlem lips.

Black Pride and Prejudice

“WE shall not always
plant while others reap
the golden increment of
bursting fruit.”
—Countee Cullen,
“From the Dark Tower,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Does he beguile you—
Your tall lanky black brother
Muscular and mute?

Does he beguile you—
Seduce your trembling body
With his mellow flute?

Does he make buds bloom—
Even in deepest winter?
You soul on ice melts?

Black Gay Poetry

“WEEP not, you
who love her;
She is nearer
Than the word”
—Countee Cullen,
“Threnody for a Brown Girl,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Weep not the Muse—
The aching Mandingo Muse
Wise as Solomon.

What was crooked then—
Be even more bent now dayz
Our love knows no shame.

Recall male beauty—
The way it was way back when:
The Rod of Aaron!!!

Dark Chocolate/
White Chocolate

“CLEAR to her the
hidden reason men
daily fret and toil”
“Nor what you crave
Be gratified”
—Countee Cullen,
“Threnody for a Brown Girl,”
Copper Sun (1927)

It’s perfectly clear—
The way your lips slide nicely
Down over his skin.

Careful not to bruise—
Your brother’s slender body
Your young dinge other.

We need elegies—
For the heartbreaking moments
When he loses it.

Going Down on Moses

“MY mind should
stray the Grecian urn”
—Countee Cullen,
“Uncle Jim,”
Copper Sun (1927)

“White folks go down too”—
Moses said one day coming
Down from the Mountain.

“Some like dark meat, too—
Even Pharaoh is well known
As a Nile Dinge Queen.”

“The Delta Bourbons—
The Mississippi Elite…
They all be Dinge Queens.”

Slavery Blues

“SOME weep to find
the Golden Pear
feeds maggots”
—Countee Cullen,
“Colored Blues Singer,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Love doesn’t always—
Sing like the beautiful sea
Full of melody.

Slave ships stuffed with us—
Across the cruel Atlantic
Thru sullen, mean waves.

Our slow rotting flesh—
Lynch parties late at midnight
Manhood dripping blood.

Litany for a Love Child

“OUR flesh that was
a battle-ground shows
now the morning-break”
—Countee Cullen,
“The Litany of the Dark People,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Your flesh is my flesh—
The same blood runs thru us both
You and I Brothers.

We can never leave—
Our past behind us, Tyrone,
Your father not mine.

A Saxophonist—
Our mother loved him dearly,
You were her Love Child.

Pity Your Brother

“PITY the deep in love;
They move as men asleep”
—Countee Cullen,
“Pity the Deep in Love,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Pity me, Tyrone—
For I am a Sleep-Walker
I’m the Living Dead.

When I moan & sigh—
It’s because of you I die
A thousand slow deaths.

Sliding the sheets back—
With my tremulous fingers
And my Lover’s eyes…

The Snake Knows

“And looking up we saw
with glide and dip, cold
supple coils among the
branches slip”
—Countee Cullen,
“One Day We Played a Game,”
Copper Sun (1927)

ADAM and Eve knew—
And so did Cain and Able
As well as the Snake.

When I snared a kiss—
I looked at you & called you
Dark Semiramis.

And when I went down—
You hissed at me like a Snake
Stained my Lips with Sperm.

Timid Lover

“I who employ
a poet’s tongue”
—Countee Cullen,
“Timid Lover,”
Copper Sun (1927)

THE things you did with—
My curly head there in bed
I still feel ashamed.

Your exotic bend—
The way it curved down my throat
Your pubes my moustache.

I was the most mute—
Dinge acolyte in the world
How you curled your toes.

Nocturne

“Tell me all things
false are true, I am
in a mood for lies”
—Countee Cullen,
“Nocturne,”
Copper Sun (1927)

YOU’RE so cocky, sly—
Crafty and deceptively
Selfish, self-serving.

But I don’t care tho—
I’m in the mood for your lies
And your sulky ways.

When I feel you cum—
Growing so weak in my arms
I be Thug enthralled.

Doing It Again

“What if you
come again and
swell the throat…”
—Countee Cullen,
“Words to My Love,”
Copper Sun (1927)

HARDLY a mute bird—
When you cum a second time
Swelling my clogged throat.

You’re my Heavy Date—
I grow dead & dumb sucking
Your brains outta you.

I don’t miss a drop—
Oral intercourse is what
Seems to turn you on.

En Passant

“If I was
born a liar”
—Countee Cullen,
“En Passant
Copper Sun (1927)

I’M pretty jaded—
Just a born liar when it
Comes to guyz like you.

Like when you tremble—
Such strong masculinity
So muy macho.

I’d say just about—
Anything to get into
Your Abercrombie shorts.

A Song of Sour Grapes

“Before it
gathered root”
—Countee Cullen,
“A Son of Sour Grapes,”
Copper Sun (1927)

HOW can anything—
Taste so rotten & slimy
So utterly tart?

The look on your face—
Sinuous smirk on your lips
As I swallow you.

You like to see me—
Shudder & squirm really bad
Your disgusting wad.

Dinge Lament

“That too much
beauty slew”
—Countee Cullen,
“Lament,”
Copper Sun (1927)

THE pillow knows all—
It knows too much about me
Me and you in bed.

Dinge male beauty knows—
The look on your face tells all
Buried deep sideways.

Bending your bent neck—
Over the edge of the bed
Your large purple vein.

If Love Be Straight

“Beyond the
shadow of a doubt”
—Countee Cullen,
“If Love Be Staunch,”
Copper Sun (1927)

SOMETIMES I wonder—
If love be Straight then what is
It I feel for you?

Is my love Crooked—
Does it Bend Sideways outta
This Hetero World?

Is my love Twisted—
Does it possess Cloven Hoofs
Voodoo Hoodoo Love?

Sonnet to a
Scornful Youth

“I kneel unfavored
finding your still fair”
—Countee Cullen,
“Sonnet to a Scornful Lady,”
Copper Sun (1927)

THOUGH your regal prick—
Is pointed elsewhere than me
I’m still enamored…

Your cruel eyes scorn me—
Your pouty young lips trembling
You hate supplicants.

Even my bruised knees—
Passionate petulant ass
Simply disgusts you.

A Family Tree

“Twas break of
heart that made
the Love Tree grow”
—Countee Cullen,
“The Love Tree,”
Copper Sun (1927)

OUR Family Tree—
It’s Genealogical
Story of you & me.

Branching off in two—
One dirty Whiteboy bent Limb
Bending crooked gay.

The other darkly—
Mahogany Mandingo
Bent the Other way…

I Blew My Brother

“And brand with “Shame”
these two that burned
Without the legal thong”
—Countee Cullen,
“The Wind Bloweth
Where It Listeth,”
Copper Sun (1927)

MY kid brother was—
The better man & I went
Down on him a lot.

My mouth grew as hard—
As he was down there making
Love to his Wish Bone.

Sullen arrogance—
Turned into helpless disgrace
A purple hickie…

Zoophilia

“like a snake
with changeless
slothful eye”
—Countee Cullen,
“Thoughts in a Zoo,”
Copper Sun (1927)

STIFLING flesh be trapped—
Even the lordly lion
With his untamed heart.

Tyrone in his shorts—
Like Bomba the Jungle Boy
Leopard-skin Loincloth.

Both young Jungle Lords—
With their coiled-up slothful snakes
Uncut sleepy worms.

Gay Poet Gets Lynched

“Aloft the sacred
knife is curved”
—Countee Cullen,
“The Poet Puts His
Heart to School,”
Copper Sun (1927)

WHO needs a Redneck—
Lynching party to die a
Miserable Death?

All you have to do—
To slay your faggot brother
Is deny me Love.

You know it’s been that—
Way since the first time I got
You off last Summer.

Brotherly Love

“prodigal and proud”
—Countee Cullen,
“Love’s Way,”
Copper Sun (1927)

LOVE aint demanding—
It’s not very ennobling
Or like courteous.

It’s more like drinking—
The last bitter dregs of the
Incestuous feast.

Your prodigal prick—
So vain, so selfish, so proud
Strictly business.

Portrait of a Brother

“Weary, restless,
now fever’s minion,
furnace hot”
—Countee Cullen,
“Portrait of a Lover,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Twisting, shivering—
Doubting, prone to revealing
Too much deep feelings.

He pulls me in deep—
I’m bewildered even as
I use all my wits.

Something uncanny—
Like I can taste him all the
Way déjà vu through.

An Old Story

“I must be
ready when
he comes”
—Countee Cullen,
“An Old Story,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Countee Cullen my—
Jean Cocteau guide down thru
The Liquid Mirror.

Translating Harlem—
From my Lover thru the Grave
Using “Copper Sun.”

Harlem Heurtebise—
Black Orpheus Cadillac
Old Story Reborn.

Gay Harlem

“More fickle, false,
perverse, far more
unkind…”
—Countee Cullen,
“To Lovers of Earth:
Fair Warning,”
Copper Sun (1927)

Give over to Straights—
The fervent, righteous and
Wasted Poetry.

To gay poetry—
Let your heart and mind
Resurrect itself.

This old Earth has been—
Around a long, long time &
Here when you be gone.

Tyrone

“He never spoke
a word to me”
—Countee Cullen,
“Simon the Cyrenian Speaks,”
On These I Stand

He didn’t have to—
Say a word to me because
I simply knew it.

He didn’t have to—
Call my name since I
Was already there.

He never signaled—
I always knew when he had
To feel my lips then.

Tyrone 2

“His cross
upon my back”
—Countee Cullen,
“Simon the Cyrenian Speaks,”
On These I Stand

At first I said to—
Myself maybe only once
Then that will be it.

But then it happened—
Again and what could I
But be on my knees?

Tyrone’s skin was beige—
The lightest smoothest tan skin
But his dick was black.

Tyrone 3

“But he was
dying for a dream”
—Countee Cullen,
“Simon the Cyrenian Speaks,”
On These I Stand

Tyrone wasn’t meek—
He wasn’t bashful either
He was impatient.

He knew me better—
Than a I knew myself back then
And I acquiesced.

Dying to get off—
He called my his girlfriend’s name
When he got off nice.

Tyrone 4

“With a bruise”
—Countee Cullen,
“Simon the Cyrenian Speaks,”
On These I Stand

Sometimes he pulled and—
Yanked my hair so hard I saw
Lots of shooting stars.

Other times he got—
So weak he almost passed out
I left a hickie…

Heritage

“What is
Africa to me”
—Countee Cullen,
“Heritage,” Color

Tyrone’s heritage—
His copper loins, smooth & lean
Lean pair of pork-chops.

He’s got a pug-nose—
Like a cute Porky Pig stud
His nostrils erect.

They quiver around—
The edges when I stroke him
And he looks away.

*

His father must have—
Looked the same way after he
Made love to mother.

That’s what Africa—
Means to me not jungle herds
Of tusked elephants.

Zebras and vultures—
Alligators and lions
Throbbing drums at night.

*

This aint Africa—
A Chicago sax player
In a nightclub is…

Tyrone’s nice thick vein—
Wiggling down his pale forehead
Throbbing when he comes.

Not the dark sluggish—
Congo River or the Snows
Of Kilimanjaro.

*

His nakedness is—
Africa to me mingled
With his damp armpits.

Rain and cannibals—
Headhunters hungry for head
That’s getting closer.

*

Taking a shower—
After making love is okay
Steamy together.

Savage measurements—
Not in miles but in inches
Things I can’t forget.

Boughs, roots & blossoms—
Mute nuts and forbidden fruits
How he twists & squirms.

*

Writing baited worm—
Primal, African heathen
Jazz in the background.

Spreading his tight cheeks—
Getting my dirty whiteboy
Tongue deep inside him.

Feeling him lose it—
Letting his dinge heritage
Finally be mine.