Long Boleyn Poems
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~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
I have pages of unfinished poems, most a menial scribble.
Thoughts, simple phrases, baited hooks without a nibble.
Rhyming lines lost like balls because of my faulty dribble
or tossed aside because my muse and I began to quibble.
How many romantic sonnets were derelicts in my head
because I didn't note them; too lazy to rise from my bed?
Unwritten, they expired when from my mind they fled.
In dawn's light they were buried as my tears were shed.
Departed is the beauty of verses that might have been,
and if I'm recognized as a 'poet,' I would consider it a sin.
I can hardly bear their death; executed like Anne Boleyn,
and its shame I feel for the loss. I'm riddled with chagrin.
I wish those phrases had burrowed deep inside my mind,
those I no longer recall. The forsaken ones I left behind,
abandoned unintentionally, those I have hastily maligned
with neglect or passivity. To grieve for them, I am resigned.
Should I pen a plethora of poems and ten thousand more,
my guilt would never be erased, so I write this with candor
and a pledge to face this litany that I undertake as a chore,
to value my flowing thoughts as ones I should never ignore.
October 7th, 2022
When first I saw London, it was in a book in the library,
But then I came to England, experiencing its history.
The Bridges over the river Thames, like sentinels over the city stand...
While the long Buildings of Parliament, lay beneath Big Ben's command.
The Palace Guard at Buckingham, who keep safe Her Majesty...
Marched oh so smartly on parade; such a wondrous sight to see.
The Cathedral at Westminster, final home to Kings and Poet too...
Along with other Heroes of the Realm are honored and here given their due.
The bustling floors at Harrods, with all the things to buy...
Finding just the right one for Granny, as too soon for home we'll fly.
The imposing dome of St. Paul's and its windows of stained glass...
Will not be erased from memory, so long as life shall last.
The Double Deck Bus ride to Picadilly or the Tube to Trafalgar Square...
Where stands the Column of Nelson, rising high into the air.
Standing on the deck of the Cutty Sark with the Moth laying close beside...
A trip to the Maritime Museum and a quiet Hansom ride.
We'll not forget the Museum of art, the British Museum, or the Rosetta Stone...
We will long remember Traitor's Gate, where Ann Boleyn once entered alone.
Within the walls of the Tower are kept the Jewels of State...
Lingering here with the memories past, of those who here met their fate.
Alas, we will miss this Great City as homeward soon we'll go...
But it is the people we'll miss most of all, the Londoners we've come to know.
Though we know not your names, your faces with us remain...
For we will fly homeward and oft think of you again.
These few lines cannot begin to tell the cherished thoughts we keep...
Of your City, your History, your People across the ocean so wide and deep.
We hope you always will be well, in your country on the sea...
As friends we depart your historic land, our best wishes always for thee.
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
The dancing flames lit up her hair
In shades of dark and light
She looked at me with longing eyes
That sparkled in the night.
I know, she said, what you desire
The fruit that longing seeks
She looked me straight into the eyes
I watched her burning cheeks.
I will give all and be your slave
As long as you are mine
We shall make love ‘til dawn is here
And drink the sweetest wine.
She threw herself into my arms
And kissed my waiting lips
I held her tight; could not resist
Her undulating hips.
Our passion’s fire burnt all night long
Each movement – tenderness
I wished this bliss we could prolong
Profound togetherness.
When morn’s first rays peered through the pane
Lace curtains etched our skin
A tapestry of silk domain
She was my Anne Boleyn.
But fantasies evaporate
When light is shed on them
Forbidden love seemed to berate
How tarnished was our gem.
One night we shared, but ne’er again
Could we pursue our lust
Her husband, he was my best friend
We’d violated trust.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Co-write: Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire ~ Oct 2014
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.
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.
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!
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
King 'Enry of The 'Ouse of Tudor ruled merrie olde England, the mighty and the meek.
'E was quite obese in 'is elder years and threw 'is weight around - so to speak!
'E governed from 1509 'til 1549 when 'e expired and began 'is eternal bourne.
Though 'e slept around a lot, nary a male heir for 'is regal throne was born!
With virgin maidens and other guy's wives, 'twas a promiscuous life 'e led,
Though 'e eventually wooed a strange assortment of royal wives to 'is bed!
'E 'ad six of 'em, which would've left even the most virile of men in a daze!
'E soon tired of each and 'e dispensed with them in various and sundry ways!
Both Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard were destined to lose their 'eads!
Catherine of Aragon and Catherine Parr died of mysterious causes in their beds.
Jane Seymour and Anne of Cleves died from natural causes it is said as well.
'Twas rumored that 'Enry played golf as bells tolled each of their deathly knell!
'Enry got in a spat with the Pope of Rome which resulted in 'is excommunication.
This involved among other things 'is cavalier attitude in matters of domestication!
'E got in a towering snit and formed the Church of England as it is known today.
This 'ad all of not so merrie olde England in an uproar but 'Enry 'ad 'is way!
'Enry ruled with a fist of iron - serfs and gentry as well learned to toe the line!
'E died due to an old jousting wound and 'is fondness for food and wine!
'E was only fifty-five when in Windsor Castle 'e was laid out in repose.
'E was sent on 'is way with great pomp and ceremony as the olde saying goes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 15 in Deborah Guzzi's "Sista's Bloody Sista's" Contest - October 2010