Poetry competition CLOSED 5th July 2013 2:26pm
WINNER
marielavoue (Gypsy Red)
marielavoue (Gypsy Red)
RUNNERS-UP:
Carpe_Noctem
and bluegirl19
Page:
What Was Henry Thinking?
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
Hnery the VIII. Read about him and write a poem about what you think he was thinking.
http://m.cdn.blog.hu/ba/balavanyposzt/image/ra_h8_portrait.jpg
One poem per poet maximum.
No collaborations.
Good Luck.
And, thanks in advance for entering.
Strider
Whoops, sorry for the typo!
One poem per poet maximum.
No collaborations.
Good Luck.
And, thanks in advance for entering.
Strider
Whoops, sorry for the typo!
EngrVV said:I think King Henry was thinking of how to get another wife, much younger and hornier than the rest. 
He was thinking
Jane Seymour my one true love
with needle work most elaborate
Beautiful was her soul
(. After her death, it was noted
that Henry was an
"enthusiastic embroiderer")
Soul of my soul
why the fuck did I write
Greensleeves for that
headless tramp Boleyn
For you Jane my love
Provided Heir unto me...
He was thinking
Jane Seymour my one true love
with needle work most elaborate
Beautiful was her soul
(. After her death, it was noted
that Henry was an
"enthusiastic embroiderer")
Soul of my soul
why the fuck did I write
Greensleeves for that
headless tramp Boleyn
For you Jane my love
Provided Heir unto me...
Anonymous
Carpe_Noctem said:[quote-207131-EngrVV]I think King Henry was thinking of how to get another wife, much younger and hornier than the rest.
He was thinking
Jane Seymour my one true love
with needle work most elaborate
Beautiful was her soul
(. After her death, it was noted
that Henry was an
"enthusiastic embroiderer")
Soul of my soul
why the fuck did I write
Greensleeves for that
headless tramp Boleyn
For you Jane my love
Provided Heir unto me...
[/quote]
nice noctem...loved greensleeves!
He was thinking
Jane Seymour my one true love
with needle work most elaborate
Beautiful was her soul
(. After her death, it was noted
that Henry was an
"enthusiastic embroiderer")
Soul of my soul
why the fuck did I write
Greensleeves for that
headless tramp Boleyn
For you Jane my love
Provided Heir unto me...
[/quote]
nice noctem...loved greensleeves!
[size=3]RHYMING:
The man who takes no exercise
Is going to end up my size
If he eats, drinks excessively.
Of physical activity.
I used to wrestle, swim and joust,
Play tennis till muscles said ouch;
After falling off my horse flat,
Exercise stopped, I ran to fat.[/size]
(Note Henry was remembered as an energetic player of tennis - more violent than the Wimbledon version today - and it was after a serious tournament accident when he injured a leg that he noticeably put on weight without any corresponding cut in his diet.)
The man who takes no exercise
Is going to end up my size
If he eats, drinks excessively.
Of physical activity.
I used to wrestle, swim and joust,
Play tennis till muscles said ouch;
After falling off my horse flat,
Exercise stopped, I ran to fat.[/size]
(Note Henry was remembered as an energetic player of tennis - more violent than the Wimbledon version today - and it was after a serious tournament accident when he injured a leg that he noticeably put on weight without any corresponding cut in his diet.)
http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/00798/tudors460_798525c.jpg
Find we, a time for peace to pant
and breathe short-winded,
we hath but to perce yee to the roote
more shall we trench thy channel and fields,
bruise thy flow'rets bathe thy tendre croppes.
That we come heare to be merry in bawdy play,
thus make that onely true, we now intend.
We Shall daub thy lips with nature’s substance to breed.
We lately did meet thy maiden’s intestines shock
and fury with our uncivil debauchery, now in mutual
well-beseeming be no more opposed, fore our
ill-sheathèd knife shall cut no more.
We are impressèd and engaged with thy womb,
nailed for our advantage, but this our purpose
is now old 'tis to tell you we will go gentle.
In forwarding this expedience; what yesternight our council
did decree then let us see therefor, betwixt thine legs.
This haste was hot in question, many limits of the charge
set down but yesternight, when all was thwarted,
there came we irregular and wild, in such beastly
shameless transformation, as may not be without
much shame retold or spoken of.
As by discharge of our artillery hath brought us
smooth and welcomed calm.
And is not this my sweet an honorable spoil?
A gallant prize? Ha, is it not?
A conquest for thy liege to boast of,
yea, there thou mak'st me sad,
and mak'st me sin in lust,
a theme of honor's tongue.
Who is sweet fortune's minion and her pride,
whilst we by looking on be praised yet we see
riot and dishonor stain thy brow.
Of my young days, Oh, that it could be proved
that some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle clothes our life where we lay!
Then would I have you, to be mine,
of this rutting buck’s pride?
The prisoner of which we,
in this adventure hath surprised,
and for mine own use we keeps,
and sends us word, which makes
us prune thineself, and bristle up
the crest of youth against our dignity.
But come yourself with speed to us again,
For more is to be said and to be done,
That some night-tripping fairy
had exchanged you where thee lay,
and thus called mine
but let you from my thoughts.
What think you, prisoners are we
in this adventure, surprised naught
than out of anger can be utterèd.
We are thy besotted liege.
Gypsy Red
A King's Thoughts
Upon watching Catherine Howard's Execution
God’s eyes my leg aches.
Oh Catherine, why?
Why must you put me into a state
That I cannot control?
You knew that I loved you
Favored you above all other
From the moment you danced
Into court.
Your eyes twinkling with excitement
In the midst of a ball
Or even in middle of Mass.
God’s mouth, my leg aches.
But then you strayed from me,
Whored yourself out to Culpeper
And for what?
I made you a queen,
Gave you a world
Made of jewels and gowns
And people to serve you
Then you repay me by
Opening your legs
For the first man
Who walks by!
God’s big toe my leg hurts…
What did you think I would do
When I found out?
That I would let you go on
Bring shame to me,
Making me a bloody cuckhold
For all of England to see?
I locked you up,
And you try to escape
Banging on the church doors
Begging forgiveness.
I think not.
A king never forgets
And he never forgives.
God’s arse my leg hurts.
Death is what you deserve
And I made sure you got it.
I will not tolerate
A slut for a wife.
I heard you practiced
Lying your head on a block
It seems to have worked
You place it on so carefully
Before the Frenchman’s sword
Only the best for you Catherine…
God’s balls, my leg hurts!
Upon watching Catherine Howard's Execution
God’s eyes my leg aches.
Oh Catherine, why?
Why must you put me into a state
That I cannot control?
You knew that I loved you
Favored you above all other
From the moment you danced
Into court.
Your eyes twinkling with excitement
In the midst of a ball
Or even in middle of Mass.
God’s mouth, my leg aches.
But then you strayed from me,
Whored yourself out to Culpeper
And for what?
I made you a queen,
Gave you a world
Made of jewels and gowns
And people to serve you
Then you repay me by
Opening your legs
For the first man
Who walks by!
God’s big toe my leg hurts…
What did you think I would do
When I found out?
That I would let you go on
Bring shame to me,
Making me a bloody cuckhold
For all of England to see?
I locked you up,
And you try to escape
Banging on the church doors
Begging forgiveness.
I think not.
A king never forgets
And he never forgives.
God’s arse my leg hurts.
Death is what you deserve
And I made sure you got it.
I will not tolerate
A slut for a wife.
I heard you practiced
Lying your head on a block
It seems to have worked
You place it on so carefully
Before the Frenchman’s sword
Only the best for you Catherine…
God’s balls, my leg hurts!
Anonymous
A winner soon fellow poets!
Strider
Strider
