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Valerie 01884 84 04 22

Thursday 29 August 2013

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

Saturday 17 August 2013

Henry V111:

In yonder tower
there is a flower
that hath my heart!



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

Wednesday 14 August 2013

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