Role Play

The damsel in the tower,

      has the power

            to languish longingly

                     hour by hour

                           playing so skilfully

                    

        her part

in this baffling mythical story

     with its heartening, inspiring glory

           was she real

                          or was she not?

A fantasy invented by me

    allowing my strategy

              for being both desired and free,

                  but her trapped - I sadly forgot

until I unlocked the door

              and with total horror saw

                            

                               her dead upon the floor!

© Valerie Taylor
All rights reserved

Henry V111:

In yonder tower

there is a flower

that hath my heart!

Wolsey:

Sire,

Should you oughta

Ditch the King of Spain’s daughter

to get a son?

For fair Anne Boleyn

Looks designed for sin

Is she the one?

When living next door

Is plain Jane Seymour:

With childbearing hips.

But Holbein deceives

That Anne of Cleves

Will make the grade

The kingdom scoured

Brings Catherine Howard

With pouting lips

So Catherine Parr

Is better by far

As your nurse maid

© Tim Scott
All rights reserved

Leila and the Artist

Leila felt drawn to the opportunity, wanting to open her mind and body to it. Rumours had spread quickly that he was coming to find new subjects for his paintings.  Leila dreamt of being chosen, not to hang on a wall static and one dimensional. The means to an end, so her innate ability to dance might be noticed.

Not part of the usual crowd of young girls that constantly preened themselves making her feel awkward and clumsy.  They dreamt of being life models, she dreamt of being a dancer.

Leila had grace and poise when she had the confidence to stand tall. Shoulders back. Her open pose mirroring her open face. Visible and vulnerable.

Today felt different.

Leila dressed carefully in her dancing outfit. Beautifully made and painstakingly stitched by Chantal. She understood everything.

The bodice criss-crossed with broad white ribbons.  The diamond spaces it created filled with bright blue feathers and sequins that fluttered and glittered with each move. The skirt flaring outwards with a lacy drift of ruffles flowing with her hips as she danced for her mirror.

I’m looking at a print of the painting now. I see the hope and vulnerability embracing her dancing soul.

© Liz Redfern August 2013
All rights reserved

Henry VIII was once riding out with Cardinal Wolsey

Oh Royal Henry your wandering eye

Collecting wives and pretty girls

I have my Beth with golden curls

With flowing locks, fast and long

She stole my heart by her sweet song

I have her trust, she`s made a home

And before you ask

I’ll not go again to Rome

© Liz Redfern

All rights reserved

For my part

In yonder tower

there is a flower

that hath my heart

For my part

I should have cried, “Horrible of hue,

hideous canker to behold; you shall rue

this lusty day.”  But to serve him, as I ought,

to Rome I hastened.  “As you have sought,

I entreated Clement: ‘Sanction a divorce (Henry needs a son)’ ...”

Anne Boleyn and I were both undone.

© Sophia Roberts

All rights reserved

Wolsey’s Reply

Dear Liege, it seems

Katherine, your wife,

Cannot fulfil your dreams.

Arthur’s ex-wife

Brings only strife.

I fear the worst –

Your union’s cursed.

To Rome I’ll go

To share our woe,

And I dare hope

The blessed Pope

Will soon annul

Your marriage vow.

You’ll free your flower

From her dread tower

‘Ere Lenten roses

Make winter poesies.

© Gill Dunstan

All rights reserved