Long Anne boleyn Poems
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Six wives - three Catherines, two Annes and a Jane
were married to Henry in the course of his reign.
An Anne and a Catherine met their end by the axe.
Anne Boleyn was too haughty, Catherine Howard too lax.
Henry's very first wife was Catherine of Aragon,
both pious and faithful, a virtuous paragon.
Producing no sons, she incurred a divorce.
Anne of Cleves followed a similar course.
Her face was spotty; she had bad teeth and bad breath.
Don’t trust a portrait, the wise man saith..
Jane Seymore very sadly died as she gave birth.
Henry's last wife, Catherine Parr, was a woman of worth.
More a nurse than a playmate, she bathed Hal with affection
and did a good job to relieve his dejection.
Envoi
So that's the close of this ditty,
which I think is rather a pity.
No, I'm not the Poet Laureate,
as the Royal Court never saw to it.
If I were paid to do so,
I'd keep writing like Robinson Crusoe.
Perpetual
Intellectual
Mother
Just another
Smother, then cover
“Too weak to recover”
“Be our good maid”
“Just to be betrayed”
“Don’t give her a voice!”
It’s not love if there’s no choice.
To deal with perpetual self-assertion
The old sisterhood of overexertion!
Sarah Baartman
Wu Zetian
Cleopatra
Anne Boleyn
Joan of Arc
Sophie Scholl
Sylvia Plath
Marilyn Monroe
Micaela Bastidas
Yang Guifei
Fate bestowed a bitter gift
A curse more grave than death’s drift
A life where they were lured and torn
Left gasping, alone, forlorn
Once the universe had lost them
Cruel hands never let them astray
Their trials, none atoned
Their weary souls never left alone
Battles fought, voices shorn
Our bodies spent, our spirits worn
No rest, no vindication, no excursion
Just the classic sisterhood of overexertion!
I came across a tale one day
about a hatchet on display
a crowd be had an oddity
I see no man but only me
mind pays less, its tales interest
as time goes fast like growing grass
the tailor comes and sits right down
the storyteller's not around
then, frightfully in front of me
fate dealt a blow, the hatchet be
from whence it came I know not where
as if it fell out of thin air
from behind me, a voice I heard
a manly voice in every word
said please excuse me buttercup
was meant for me I stood right up
to see who made that teasing sound
and while I stood I turned around
I could not see a single man
except, a lady with a fan
who held it upright to her face
are you dear sir in the right place
my presence here I came to hear
about that hatchet over there
what of that caused your purviews
about its tale, it spreads like news
there's no such tale, they only lied
our harm in jail, they tried to hide
that tale began in Wilson's years
we tried and tried but no one cares
since there's no tale what is the point
nothing to write or to exploit
you're a writer ... and unemployed
mayhaps unlike, poor Anne Boleyn
I like the way you made that sound
I need a bit of your background
start with your name it's Alice Paul
let's spread the news at DC Mall.
There's no mobile internet all day; Ukraine is flying drones
My mother, a sure reincarnation of Caterina Sforza
Who else would be so impeccably dressed in
A crimson jacket and a chic silk blouse when's it's anomalously hot in May?
We saw Romeo and Juliet, a Gérard Presgurvic musical. The verdict?
''Too raunchy, too loud, too much dancing.''
Me, Countess of black cats and Lady of possums —
I feel like a prehistoric curio pet in a cloud of Shalimar
And the music swims back to me
By God, it all just grabs me most violently
And I know I want to dress real nice, I'll be a funny Anne Boleyn
And I know those dead rascal Persian children will forever play with undead children
Amongst endless Indiana cornfields
And I know I am Sarah and you're Mohammed
And I know Russia and America won't always be circling each other
And I know I am from Izmir and you're from Cyprus
And I know everyone young and beautiful will just be dancing with
Their silly yellow stars on
They'll just dance, dance, dance until this strange sin is no more
They'll just dance, dance, dance light into being
And I know I'll go see that play about a Russian winemaker and a Polish musician
And I know I'll light a candle to St Jadwiga to bring my South African lover back
And I know we'll go to Uruguay and do 101 sun salutations
And I know we are Dodi and Camilla and we'll be sipping
Chilled white wine and gingerly nibbling on little vegan cakes
In pretty Bergen-Belsen
And I know we're going to become marvelously angelic somehow, some day
And I know it'll be all Belgian candies, sexytimes and Omar Khayyam poems
And I know all sensitive and non-violent males
Will be awfully useful during a crisis
And I know all hyphenated persons won't be different people in different languages
On my way home I see a stern fisherman by the Fontanka —
My blackfella heart instantly senses something, a falling black cockatoo feather perhaps
I watch a dying fish flail around fornlornly as if it was a sacrifice to some dark Reptilian god
Under the sliver of a young waxing moon
The fisherman knows the Moon Man is bad
As high priest to the Moon Man, the fisherman guards every piglet tragedy
And I know I love my hyphenated blackfella alien heart
And I know I am quite enough
And I know I am quite enough
Bessie Blount, lady-in-waiting, gave him a bastard son.
Catherine was first true wife, who birthed his daughter.
Anne Boleyn, lady-in-waiting, caused king to divorce.
The king wants what he wants, a legitimate son.
Henry the 8th
what a treat
ain’t he sweet
not so much...
Anne births another daughter, and loses her head.
Jane Seymour, yet another lady-in-waiting, nets a son.
She then dies from complications. Life is complicated.
Anne of Cleves was not to the king’s liking; ugly.
Henry the 8th
what a treat
ain’t he sweet
not so much...
Married six months, then labeled as his sister; what!?
Fatso, ahem I mean the king, married another Catherine.
She was executed for adultery and treason, though
nicknamed, “rose without a thorn;” thorn in his side.
Henry the 8th
what a treat
ain’t he sweet
not so much...
Spirited, educated, Henry's sixth wife, Catherine outlived him.
She brought peace and stability and cared for his kids.
Six wives would eventually die, some young, not old,
all beautiful ‘cept for one. Relative to the king? Not so great.
11/1/2020
Caren Krutsinger’s SIX RELATIVES
Seems King 'Enry The Eighth in 'is choice of wives wasn't all that judicious.
To 'Is Grace's regret they were either too ambitious, promiscuous or capricious!
'E solved such prickly matters for five of them by divorce or grisly be'eadation!
'E 'ad to protect 'is own somewhat dubious reputation as 'ead of the nation!
Anne Boleyn and Kate 'Oward lost their 'eads to the dreaded axe,
For being a tad froward with 'Enry and with morals somewhat lax!
Marriages to Anne of Cleves and Kate of Aragon were conveniently dissolved.
Jane Seymour did 'er duty giving 'im a male heir, then died - crisis solved!
Kate Parr was widowed when King 'Enry crossed that mysterious River Styx,
But 'is five other wives as 'istory records, were left in one 'ell of a fix!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
In Pacifica
I despise that portrait of me.
The likeness ends
with the name.
Yes, Jane Seymour, unbeheaded
Queen of England.
No, not of pinched thin lips
and sharp bird-beak nose.
Those hideous wimples
tented on over plucked foreheads
displaying protruding toad eyes....
I was not the smoldering gypsy beauty
of Anne Boleyn
nor the loud, youthful
excess of everything
Katherine Howard
but look what their beauty cost them:
one head apiece.
I was pretty in my watchful, rich-wombed way.
I carried a King in my devoted belly
and a great love for my cousin-husband,
a fondness for estranged young Mary
and a fervent wish for peace.
I carried the scent of my beloved garden
sweet forsythia
nor the harlot’s stink of
Paris and promiscuity.
I was loathe to undergo
a coronation
I did not want to be Queen
and yet here I am,
the only wife to receive a queen’s funeral
and share a tomb
with the Beheader.
~Henry & Anne~
Henry spied Anne, a beauty to his eyes
She answered the call to his innermost longings and sighs
Catherine his wife did not beget the heir he desired above all.
Anne the would be mother,Henry wanted,she did him so enthral.
Bedding Anne, this raven haired beauty
Would be a delight and not a kingly duty
His feelings ran deep for this girl Anne, he cast off his wife faithful and true…
He gave up his adherence of faith for Anne Boleyn and the chance of a little heir too.
He made himself head of the church for his desired soul-mate
But with all this machinating she didn’t know he had signed the young girl’s fate.
Anne knew she would be the soul-mate of a king
She planned and she schemed to grasp that wedding ring
The soul-mates did plan for their wedding and sons
To be announced to the world by the firing of guns.
But the soul mates did part in about a thousand days
As her head left her shoulders under the axe man’s steely gaze
Soul-mates they thought- but not forever did they last
One cannot plan a soul-mate those dice have to be cast.
© 22/05/2012
Written By:~GG~ For nettes Soul-Partners contest Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn
Fiction or fiction? I say fiction
how about youse guys?
most people WANT to believe in magic
so they keep the door open
no harm and sure does boost
tourism dollars for those thrifty Scots
don't blame them do you?
to this day, Anne Boleyn still haunts
the Tower of London
who are we to dispute these so-called myths
although the human mind is capable
of all kinds of strange images and illusions
the lure remains all these years later
keep an open mind is my philosophy
I know, I know what you're thinking
he's into the sauce again!!!
wouldn't it be so amazing that if one day
Nessie came up on land
for a picture-taking session and talked to CNN
NOW I'M JUST BEING SILLY...
AN INFAMOUS LEGEND
King Henry XIII was indeed quite a boy,
He had no clue how to spell the word coy,
He was consumed by a quest that
A wife bear,
And give birth to a male heir,
He was fat, red headed and
Dressed with flamboyant flair!
Not quite my thing,
For a ruling King!
He wedded his first wife Catherine of Aragon,
Who did not bear a son
And grew to loathe this noble lady
He had done!
Cromwell, Henry’s adviser was used,
And finally abused, he had
To ask parliament to pass a bill,
Which made divorce a common drill.
One morning King Henry got out of
The wrong side of the bed,
And had Cromwell beheaded,
The executioner had trouble
Severing his head!
This Bill made Henry, head
Of the Protestant faith.
The Pope excommunicated King Henry
From Rome,
A disliked King who sat on
England’s throne!
Catherine now belonged in the past,
Enter Anne Boleyn,
Their marriage was short and ill fated
For she was publicly beheaded!
In between marriages and wives,
Henry had affairs,
One wonders how far his seed was spread,
Let’s not split hairs,
Probably he could fill a today’s
Rugby stadium!
With his family jewels downstairs!
Jane Seymour, his third wife was
Was the love of his life,
She gave birth to an heir, a son,
But his beloved wife died,
Henry was sad and perhaps
A single tear dried!
Now Henry had a son,
But needed to still live his life
So he spied wife number four
Who willingly came to knock
On his door.
But Henry divorced Anne of Cleves,
Wow lucky lady!
And so entered wife number five,
Who was brave and plucky,
She had a short married life,
Tried and sentenced for treason,
This was an excuse for a reason
To have Catherine Howard beheaded,
Soon after they were wedded!
Congratulations to Catherine Parr,
For though she was the last,
She outlived the King by far,
And brought to rest his cast,
And lewd past!
In fifteen hundred and forty seven,
King Henry died,
We doubt he went to Heaven,
And was laid to rest next to Jane,
His third wife, and beloved bride.
Perhaps Henry's family jewels should
Have been shredded or beheaded,
And then he be remembered,
As an infamous legend.