Long Historychild Poems
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King Henry VIII and His Wives
By Elton Camp
When Henry’s brother was too young to care
He was made to wed a princess from over there
But you must do just what we say little fella,
Catherine's the child of Ferdinand and Isabella
Catherine had not been Queen for very long
When things with her mate went badly wrong
Medicine was weak. To save him, doctors tried
But despite all they did her young prince died
With Spain, England had a pact
The agreement must stay intact
Henry was then a child of eleven
Hardly a betrothal made in heaven
Henry married at age eighteen
And Catherine became his queen.
Though it is quite sad to have to tell
The queen’s babies didn’t fare well
To bring her husband true joy
She must give birth to a boy
She bore him just a single son
Who died before a year had run
Though married for twenty-four years,
Henry gave voice to his greatest fears
“I have married the wife of my brother
When I should have waited for another.”
But he said this with a sly grin
While he kissed Anne Boyeln
She refused to go to his bed
Until the two were set to wed
Anne produced a baby right away
But ‘twas a girl to Henry’s dismay.
He thought she had done a crime
When both babies died next time
“I’ve been down this road before.
It’s clear you are just a whore.”
No more shall you see my bed.
Rather, you will lose your head.
Jane Seymour was next on the list
So that Anne was scarcely missed
From Jane, virtuous and fair,
There came at last a male heir
Infection was the reason why
The queen proceeded to die
Henry at her death was distraught
But the new child filled his thought
Anne of Cleves was next to arrive
Had a problem, managed to survive.
Henry found he didn’t like her well
“This German woman is ugly as hell.”
The next queen to unfurl
Was just a teenage girl
Catherine Howard was her name
But she was not free from blame
Culpepper was her boyfriend
She had confessed at the end
And unlike the wives before
This one truly was a whore
Catherine Parr became wife six
She did not try to use any tricks
To her, duty came above
Even the man she did love
Of this bad background cannot be any doubt
It is how the Church of England came about.
Who of the people could expect to be a winner
By adhering to a religion formed by a sinner?
Marcus, as a child heard it all, the oral stories
Ancient in glories quickening his vein. Like blood
Rolling where the Roaring river runs, peonies
Calling up ancestral history in dream and flood
Unfold desires of in streams of African blood
Sentinelling the separate walls few understood
Grand visions comes from simple pains, O Garvey
Answer the call again, for we who forged oneness
Respecting constitution and creed, have tasted sourly
Vast tons of alienation, injustice, and wretchedness
Even Fanon could not describe. We need community
Yearning to build, yearning to rise, unshackled by history.
Malcom took the mantle towards a promise land
Angry and disgruntled using words for magic wand
Leader extraordinaire, do you remember him, Harlem
Clad in the beauty of your power, a black diadem
Overtly demanding that the police freed a wronged son
Master orator, how brief our black comets run
Let him remain an X to slavemasters filthy game
Inspired by greed to dehumanize us shackle shame
To our least Trans-Atlantic memory. But I will trace
True to the Little's pedigree, your father's Jamaican face
Leaving Maroon Town, St James, for this Egypt dark
Eke-ing existence to your soul, O what glory did he spark!
So Stokely, the Kwame Ture who died like a forest leaf
Thundered from your mountain with intellectual grief
Only a child barred from jim crow restroom and restaurants
Kindling racial pride could understand. Your spirit haunts
Eternally gloried diased ignorants. Starved by segragation
Lunch counters closed like social doors to all the race
You stood up, shouting power to minautor and monsters face.
Angela Davis, O how the pack hounds howled, pursuing you
Natural beauty, legally schooled, and yet an outcast
Granted no justice or reprieve while fearless for an alternative view
Etched upon the soul and suffering from the angry past
Lady, there is no statuesque liberty sweet as you
Leader of a ghetto stand so black men would not die invisible
Excluded by a muted history. This tribute is from all of us over due.
Continued From:
13. BTK Coming Attractions Part 5
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195839
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Truly A Kid
BILLY the Kid was truly a kid when found in the company of children.
Many children of his day would go on to say
how much they wished their playtime with him would never end.
Good Guy / Bad Guy were one of the games Billy would play with the children in town.
"Bang! Bang! You're dead Billy!"
Billy would then grab hold of his chest and comically fall down to the ground.
Salsa Bocca recalls her playtime spent with her playmate Billy Bonney.
"He used to bounce me on his knee for what seemed like hours as if I were riding a pony."
The following story might not be true but I'll still share it with you
because it certainly fits Billy's profile.
This young boy in dismay kept following Billy all day.
Wherever Billy went he was followed by this star struck child.
"Do you know who I am?" Billy asked the young lad.
The child simply nodded, "Yes" was all that he said.
Billy took off his hat, dusted it off and placed it on the young boy's head.
The innocent young child was overjoyed and smiled
and then this is what Billy said and did.
"If anyone ever asks you who gave you that hat,
you tell them you got it from Billy, the Kid."
Billy was also very respectful of the elderly
and very sympathetic towards they who were poor.
Many times he would extend acts of kindness towards them.
He was a true philanthropist at heart to be sure.
The newspapers portrayed him as this dangerous desperado,
someone to be hated and feared and appalled,
but to all of the residents of Fort Sumner, New Mexico
Billy was very fondly adored by all.
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To Continue Go To:
15. A Short And Violent Life Ends. A Legend Begins.
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195837