Long Camden Poems
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Back in seventeen eighty-one
The revolution hit hard times,
Britain had taken Charlestown
And at Camden had crushed the lines
Of General Horatio Gates,
Leaving nobody to resist,
Except the Swamp Fox Marion
Who alone was able to persist.
South Carolina had fallen,
And Cornwallis was marching north,
The patriots had to stop him,
But could not yet match up with his force.
So they called up Daniel Morgan,
A brawler who had earned his fame
With his actions at Saratoga,
As a soldier he knew the game.
He was sent to march out westwards,
To harass and gain new supplies,
Cornwallis worried about this,
Let Banastre Tarleton fly.
Tarleton was a cavalry fame,
His infamy now widely known,
He’d butchered his foes at Waxhams,
When upwards their hands had been thrown.
The patriots called him Butcher,,
‘Bloody Bann’ was his sobriquet,
Yet many feared the young colonel,
From his legion they would run away.
But General Morgan knew all this,
He was pragmatic in his approach,
Knew what his men could and couldn’t do,
Where they thrived, where they were laid low.
Knowing Tarleton was close by,
He found a spot called ‘Hannah’s Cowpens,’
Nearby the flooded Broad River,
Here all tradition he’d upend.
Knowing militia ended to flee,
And not face a hand-to-hand fight,
He put their backs to the river,
They couldn’t run to escape their plight.
Now they would fight, or they would die,
But he felt this wasn’t enough,
So he split his force into three lines,
Plotting an elaborate bluff.
If the first he put sharp-shooters,
Told them to shoot ‘Epaulet Men,’
Then set up local militias
To form a line just behind them.
And the back were Continentals,
Tried soldiers of many a year,
These he knew didn’t break and run,
They were the few the British feared.
To top it off he arranged them
All on the slopes of a small hill,
Then waited there for Tarleton
Who expected an easy kill.
Tarleton had seen it all before,
At Charlestown and Camden field,
These rebels could talk a good game,
But in a fight they’d run of they’d yield.
So when he spotted Morgan’s force
He did not bother to survey,
Bold and young, he rushed in headlong
Expecting the militia to break...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
It was after the defeat at Camden,
in the fall of 1780,
British Major Patrick Ferguson
sought to exploit Britain’s victory.
To secure South Carolina’s countryside,
he marched his loyalist forces forward,
threatened the men beyond Appalachia,
said he would lay waste with fire and sword.
He believed that with Gates fast in retreat,
resistance in the south would soon fall,
but he’d not met the Overmountain Men,
and did not understand them at all.
Living on the edge of the wilderness,
they were a hardened and seasoned crew,
who had been fighting Indians for years,
and had defeated more than a few.
Isaac Shelby and John Sevier,
fresh from a small win at Musgrove’s Mill,
were not going to just let this threat pass,
that would have been much too bitter a pill.
A call was sent out for all to muster
at a place known as the Sycamore Shoals,
fourteen hundred militiamen afoot,
they all started off after their goal.
Word was that this Major Ferguson
marched fast to rejoin the British man force,
against such an army they couldn’t stand,
so they hurriedly traced Ferguson’s course.
Even put nine hundred men on horseback
so their enemy would not slip on by,
leaving five hundred patriots behind,
across that fair country did they fly.
Ferguson knew he was being pursued,
and made his camp atop of a low peak,
three hundred feet high with broad wooded slopes,
it seemed a secure place to rest and sleep.
So strong did he feel his position was
that he proclaimed, to calm all his men’s fears,
atop the hill they could hold forever,
no force on Earth would move him form here.
Such confidence had the man in his strength
that his lookouts sadly dropped the ball,
at three o’clock the patriots attacked,
the British men had not seen them at all.
The militiamen surrounded the hill,
following a loose and pre-approved plan,
moving and shooting like the Indians,
never out in the open would they stand.
To make things worse, the British forces had
muskets, best suited for open fields,
patriots carrier Kentucky rifles,
at two hundred yards their danger was real...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
12)Coddle- Two fish enrapt in love.
13)Mustard- A diarrhea victim who can wait no longer.
14)Jam Session- A gathering of sweet-toothed weirdos with various jams and
jellies.
15)Coffee Table- An occasional table made of stale and hard coffee beans.
16)Condom- A very stupid prisoner.
17)Confederate- An inmate who nourishes his cellmate with food he sneaks
from the mess hall.
18)Condiment- A mint left on the pillow of Condolezza Rice's hotel room bed.
19)Metaphor- The reason you met her.
20)Meteor Shower- Cleaning meteors in your shower.
21)Osmosis- A female relative of the Osmond Brothers.
22)Gradute- A successfully educated studend ingested by a cannibal.
23)Grab Bag- A purse snatcher's job.
24)Wind Instrument- A guitar lifted and tossed in a hurricane.
25)Destitute- A broke prostitute.
26)Easygoing- Being tied in a wheelchair and pushed down the steepest street
in San Francisco.
27)Castrated- Judging who belongs in what pecking order in the movie cast.
28)Animosity- Dislike of mice.
29)Barn Dance- A group of barns dancing in a hurricane.
30)Carpeting- Gently stroking an automobile you love.
31)Chirk- A Cherokee idiot.
32)Coddle- Embracing your fish prior to frying.
33)Extraterrestials- Coming from another planet, or from Camden, New Jersey.
34)Hail Mary- A religious woman bombarded in a hail storm.
35)Hair Dresser- The absurd practice of putting dresses on one's head.
36)Homely- When poor ugly Lee is home.
37)Antacid- A psychological hallucinogenic drug favoered by hippy garden
insects.
38)Moron- An overdressed person of limited intelligence with far too much
cologne on.
39)Precession- The last days leading up to an economic downturn.
40)Martial Arts- Paintings done by Western town Sheriffs.
41)Spouse- A married rodent.
42)Consort- Dividing criminals by crime categories.
43)Debaunchery- When de bunch of us Brooklyn guys goes out on de town.
44)Drag Queen- When us guys from Brooklyn beat up and haul around
somebuddy from Queens.
45)Dragoon- Da dumb guy from Queens dat we got above.
They married in their own garden under the canopy of a Wild Date Tree
An indigenous plant standing tall for sweetness and benevolent spirits
This one untamed and miraculously withstanding droughts in the City of Gold
It gave meaning to their union which had begun with similar unbroken desire
A small bonfire at midday crackled with pure passion and unified souls
It was warm in their hearts and droplets of faith embraced the heat
Shadows of yesteryear’s clouds had retreated from sorrow and sadness
Not long ago the two lovers had eloped into sunshine and started again
A small party of family and friends sat on the grass casually dressed
The bride in an attire from Camden market wore a rose petal crown
That matched the floral display on his colourful shirt which was in date
With Hippie dreams and nostalgic reverberation of rebellion and Peace
Her Anglican priest had refused to wed them ‘I need to ask my bishop
Who would have to absolve you from the sin of divorce and new love’
They found a Lutheran pastor who arrived dressed in African garb
Aptly with crash helmet and Harley Davidson with a roar to his engine
The lovers had decided against fireworks because they would resemble
Gunshots rather endemic in Johannesburg for all the wrong reasons
Sparklers would do nicely and sky lanterns floated into heaven above
Reached high rising feelings released bright unequivocal compassion
‘We honour our ancestors with all their beauty and divine guidance’
They proposed followed by clapping of hands and a rain dance’s vows
The sun sent its rays to bless everyone in the congregation of well-wishers
When it started to rain at the same time they danced naked in the spray
When such water and solar power combines at such a meaningful time and
Forms a rainbow presiding over the ceremony it’s called monkey’s wedding
And its display brings grace and good luck to withstand vagaries and misfortune
With a ring he gave her a wild date as the fruit never failed to deliver its promise
01st July 2019
Love Letters - 2 - A Collaboration With Michael Clarke-Repost
Love Letter No. 2...Janet Camden.
My most precious darlin' love I come to you across the many miles as my heart it bleeds an undying love for you.How I miss you so sweetheart. Last night I gazed upon the vastness of the velvet heavens and the tears began to fill my brown eyes and fall down upon my ivory face as I whispered your name on the warm southerly breeze. How my heart aches each day that you are away from me my love. Each day I feel a little more of me is wasting away the longer you are away from me.How I long to be held in your loving arms again.I so need to feel the comfort of your gentle reassuring touch .The softness of your words telling me that you love me and will never leave my side and that you will always be with me. Oh, to look into your eyes once more I would gladly lay down my life to know you are safe and with my last breath I would whisper...
~ I Love you~
Love Letter No. 2...John Camden.
My beloved, i find myself more and more lost in memories of you. I never thought i could feel so alone, haunted always by your smiling face. Still, there is an aching in my heart for you and home. Every night i look into the night sky and there you are my Love, my own guardian Angel, watching out for me. I whisper my Love to you and you smile, yet tears fall from soft brown eyes. I shall be coming home to you my Love, one day i shall be there in your arms, tasting your lips and lying by you once again. Tonight i sit alone just watching the sky, seeing you in every star. I think of home , we would be sitting on the porch at this time. My heart aches so to be with you. I long to hold you in my arms again and whisper my Love to you as we lie by the bend in the river. Keep that thought in your mind always. It shall give you some solace through the lonely nights my Love. You are in my thoughts always my Love. Let us make our memories in our dreams.
My Love comes to you on a whispered breath.....I Love You.
In the shadow of Newark’s bricks and bones,
Where the pavement hums with moans,
Where mothers pray with open eyes,
And sons are born beneath gray skies—
The blood remembers. The land remembers.
And still, the chain extends.
They paved the streets with redlines and lies,
Gave promises in powdered smiles,
Then pumped our schools with broken chalk,
And silenced dreams when we dared to talk.
They caged our fathers in policy’s grip,
Then blamed the homes they helped to strip.
This ain't neglect. This is design.
Oppression isn't random—it's signed,
Stamped, and sealed in the systems we breathe,
Where Black lives must hustle just to grieve.
We wear trauma like second skin,
From slave ships to state pens.
But listen—
This is not just their crime.
We, too, have danced in decline.
Some Black parents, too, must rise,
And stop mistaking survival for pride.
Raise kings who feel, and queens who lead,
Not just warriors bruised by need.
We must teach love before rage,
Wisdom beyond wage.
We must unlearn pain as legacy,
And burn every internal enemy.
Because the schools still rot.
The cops still hunt.
The housing crumbles.
The dealers front.
And every corner echoes, “This ain't fair.”
But fairness don't live here—only despair.
Unless—
We rise.
Not in silence, not alone.
But in numbers that shake the throne.
Not just marches, but policy.
Not just anger, but strategy.
Not just hashtags, but healing.
Not just grieving, but feeling.
This is a call to the chained and the chain-makers.
To the mothers and lawmakers.
To the boys dodging bullets and the men behind suits.
This is for Newark. For Camden. For every root
Still growing in poisoned soil—
This is for the ones who never got to grow.
Change ain’t coming.
Change is us.
And the system won’t fall
Until we all stand tall—
And make the mirror of America
See the face it tried to erase.
The Scots, by God,
They drove them out,
With a single Yorkie
At their heels a' yappin'
The Hobyahs tried to fly
Their arms they were a flappin'
Some managed to take to sea
And landed in Hamptonshire,
Yes-serieee!!!
But the British Navy would have none of this,
Big battleships they did send
The Hobyahs saw their doom,
Their plans they did amend
They sailed on to American,
Landed at the New Jersey coast,
The hobyahs could find no better host!
They ate their way from Newark
All the way up to Camden
Avoiding kennels and dog warning signs
There was always people on their roast
Now, much of America
Might applaud this you see,
For most of Jersey's citizens
Were as useless as a rubber tree
Then the Jerseyites came up
With a plan,
They bribed the Hobyahs with
16 barges overfilled with McDonalds
Quarter-Pounders with Cheese-
With big sign saying-
"This Way!!"
"Free PeopleBurgers"!!!!
And Infant Limb Fries!!!!"
Now this was not within
the Hobyah's realm of understanding,
But it sure sounded good....
So on the barges they climbed,
Till each and every one of these fiends
Took to sea, gorging themselves
On what they thought was fast human food
Once out in the bay, the barges were sunk
by remote control
On shore, a Mexican Beach Police Patrolman
was heard to ask Humphery Bogart,
for his beachcomber permit...
Humphrey barked back, "What?- Don't you see the history being made here?
If you're the beach police, let's see your badges!!"
The cop sneered, "Barges?....Barges?????.....We Don't Need No Sinking
Barges!!!!"
(See "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre")
With the kind permission of Marnie Memis (Oh, I Love that name!)
so, another shooting in
the belly of the empire…
i wonder if Charlton Heston’s
withery old cock just
sprung to life?
i wonder if Ted Nugent &
Charlton Heston are sitting in
front of the television together
stroking each other’s hard hard
members with one hand,
whilst gripping their guns in the
others?
i wonder if James Holmes grew up
in the same culture that
dwells in the belly of the beast,
the same culture that develops in the
belly of the empire like cancer spreading,
the same culture that worships
guns like it does money, like it does
“jesus,” like it does the violence that
it propels across the heads of all
who live outside its borders?
hmmm.
and the sound bite keeps pumping
like house bass in our ears
that it all happened at the premiere of the
new Batman movie---
as if it never could have happened on
opening night of “Madagascar 3,” or
“Ted,” or “Brave,” or “Ice Age:
Continental Drift”---as if Christian Bale &
Tom Hardy somehow instigated
a man to kill people in a public theater…
so was Batman playing on Sept. 5th, 1949, in
Camden, NJ? was Batman playing on Aug.
6th, 1966, at the University of Texas in
Austin? was Batman playing on Sept. 25th,
1982, in Wilkes-Barne, Pennsylvania? was
Batman playing July 18th, 1984? how about
the 16th of October in 1991? how about 4/20/99?
and 4/16/07? 3/10/09?
04/
3/
09?
11/
5/
09?
yes, america, blame Aurora on
Christopher Nolan, just like you did
Marilyn Manson for
Eric & Dylan,
then walk away with your
NRA stickers &
your fist in the air
every time a drone kills another bunch of
people in Pakistan “accidentally.”
THEY ARE ALL JUST
“ISOLATED
INCIDENTS,”
RIGHT?
In smoky halls where echoes groan,
they carved the truths in tempered stone,
yet none recall the scribe who wrote—
a chap in boots and mismatched coat.
His quill was plucked from harpy's wing,
he’d hum while making corpses sing,
and in his book, no saints nor rules—
just jesters crowned as sacred fools.
He’d scrawl: “The Pharaohs danced in socks,”
“Atlantis sank for TikTok shocks,”
“The gods play poker, bluffing fate,”
and “Death’s quite fond of jam on plate.”
No funeral dirge, no sacred chant—
just tales of one ghostly aunt
who haunts her pub near Camden Town,
and downs her Guinness upside down.
In Chapter Twelve, he penned with flair:
“The soul’s a squirrel. It climbs. Beware
of preachers selling spirit glue,
and wizards who misplace their shoe.”
The elders scoffed, the prophets wept,
the choirboys fainted as they slept.
But underground, the rebels laughed
and toasted with their witchy draught.
He wrote of love, of wars, of tea,
of how the stars play hide and seek,
of time—“a dodgy landlord bloke
who always vanishes mid-smoke.”
The Book of Souls, they locked away,
filed under “Myths” in disarray.
But now and then, it starts to speak
when full moons twitch and reason leaks.
It sings not hymns, but punk and blues,
of afterlives in dancing shoes—
a book that breathes, that mocks control,
and dares to ask: Who owns the soul?
So if you find it, dog-eared, worn,
by alley bins or fields of corn,
read loud, and let your spirit troll—
for madmen may just save the soul.
The date and time
is not the question at hand.
What we have is a contradiction
of God’s command.
The Mayan, trying to make sense
of natural seasons
without the help of Gods wisdom.
In command of all time and His reasons
for the evolving of his plan.
Produced this formula for fear,
declaring death to all of man.
Whereas we all know God’s word
not disputed, and near,
declares the end to be in dark of night.
Meaning no one will know it to be in sight.
The predicted date will come and go,
as has the 125 others in my time.
Unless of course it is God’s will for
the end to come to man’s lifeline.
aug 12 2010 For Gareth's contest
Mathew 24:35-36 "Heaven and earth will pass away,
but My words shall not pass away. But of that day and
hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor
the Son, but the Father alone." --Jesus Christ.
Since the turn of 1900 there have been some 125 predictions,
more or less, giving the exact time of the end of the world.
In Camden, SC in 1975 many friends of a church gave everything
away and gathered at one of the homes waiting for the end to come
on one particular night. It must have been devastating to face the
world and the newspapers the next day. I have often wondered how
that affected those people. Surely they were blessed.