Heroic Crown of Sonnets: The Fairy

The fairy princess chose him for a king;
she found him walking through a crowded wood,
and followed him on iridescent wing;
her heart then singing fairy music good.
He was not young, but fairies see the soul
his mind was diamond, heart was rainbowed light;
she saw where others were a mass of coal
this man, this one, was brilliant beacon bright.
She flitted then, from branch to branch, concealed
and judged the man on way and secret thought;
she saw in him some wicked ways revealed,
but basked in beauty deep within him, caught.
She feared to love; though loving would be just;
the man was fragile, born of clay and dust.

The man was fragile, born of clay and dust,
a short-lived mortal, hardly just a breath.
Though heart toward love was wildly, deeply thrust
she knew her love would only end in death.
A fairy prince would make a better king;
a thousand years would pass like seven days,
but love a man? How sharp would be the sting
when breath was gone; how short man's spirit stays!
She shuddered then, with thought of all the loss
and yet his soul was lovelier than theirs;
no fairy prince had half his rainbow's gloss
no fairy prince had such a light to share.
No, it was he who must and should be king.
Her fairy eyes took in the joy he'd bring.

Her fairy eyes took in the joy he'd bring,
what sweet delight his reign would mean to her;
if he, a man, were made the fairy king,
so many hearts would sing with joy and stir;
the fairy babes would each bask in his light,
and grow so strong, and brighter for his thought;
and in the dances on the moony nights
the songs would glitter with the notes he taught;
yes, all the world of fairies would rejoice
if broad-souled man would take the fairy crown;
the woods were filled by glory of his voice;
in waves of music sweetly she would drown.
And yet though love rose thrilling and robust,
her fairy heart knew better than to trust.

Her fairy heart knew better than to trust;
she knew that men are fickle, and unkind,
and yet she felt despite it all she must
reveal herself and all her fairy mind.
She sang a harmony to all his song
and when he looked, she landed at his feet,
then made herself much taller, then and strong
'til eye to eye the two of them should meet.
He saw her wings, and knew just what she was;
remembering the stories as a child;
his old heart quailed, and he stepped back because
her beauty's force was absolutely wild.
He took her hand, but didn't tell the truth;
he sought through her the secret rose of youth.

He sought through her the secret rose of youth;
the legends told the fairies had this thing;
he didn't tell the fairy all the truth
because he feared just what the truth would bring.
Yet he was old, his life was nearly spent
and if this rose was in his hands indeed,
the years would fall, and time's hold would be rent,
while he bloomed freshly as a springing seed.
He wanted this; he hungered for his strength.
What joy to stand in passion's door again!
The fairy heard his thoughts and all their length,
and knew just what to offer to him then.
“Come with me now, your troubles will be slain;
some blooms are balms and heal men from life's pain.”

“Some blooms are balms and heal men from life's pain,
and I have one that counteracts the years;
why should you age, when sweet one, you could reign,
and never feel another lonely tear?
Come with me now, and take my fairy hand,
and I will give you kingdoms, and my love.
My heart is yours to have and to command,
and you will find me docile as a dove.”
She drew up then; he yearned for her embrace;
her form was lush and promised much delight;
she saw herself reflected in his face
and subtle change in vibrant rainbow light.
He wanted her, as well as rose of youth;
she sought in him an echo of her truth.

She sought in him an echo of her truth;
a fairy's soul is always changing form;
a fairy heart retains the joy of youth,
and adds to it a passion ever warm;
a fairy sees itself in all its works;
the flowers bloomed, the stars well-shined at night,
no fairy child ever hides or shirks
because their jobs are always a delight.
She loved this man; he loved her love so well,
that they were married, in a fairy ring;
and all the fairies rang the flower bells,
and human man was crowned the fairy king.
So king and queen began their magic reign;
she lay with him and all his griefs were slain.

She lay with him and all his griefs were slain,
such rapture there beneath her fairy wings!
Their jasper cave was lovely in the rain,
and they had joys that only love can bring.
He felt his age when stroking her smooth skin;
her strength was such he wished his own was more;
she saw these thoughts while in his arms again,
and kissed his cheek, then flew through jasper door.
Her heard her land in gravel late at night,
and in her arms she bore a glowing bloom;
it filled the cave with gentle crimson light,
and glorified the shining jasper room.
She came to him as if she'd lie and rest,
he held her close; she placed rose in his breast.

He held her close; she placed rose in his breast,
and as he slept, the years each fell away.
The rose's scent perfumed the cave and blessed;
the rose's bloom unworked cruel time's decay.
When morning came; he rose a man of power,
his body twenty, or perhaps eighteen;
and how he blessed the magic of the flower
that left his skin so perfect, smooth and clean.
The fairy laughed to see the joy he took,
and held him then, to share in his heart's bliss;
she stood far back and took another look,
and offered him another fairy kiss.
She looked, and yet her eyes were not quite dry;
his heart grew young, and yet he still could die.

His heart grew young, and yet he still could die,
his mortal form was still a frightening thought.
She loved him much, and couldn't help but cry
because with danger his dear life was fraught.
The fairies all took counsel time to time,
and worried over his mortality,
he stood there, glowing, in his vibrant prime
but age and death would never let that be.
There was one way to give him lasting life,
too terrible to even think about;
the magic stripped from fairy wedded wife
would give him wings, while she would go without.
She lie awake against his human breast,
her fairy heart would never give her rest.

Her fairy heart would never give her rest,
she watched him walk, while flying, she danced air;
she searched old books for answers in her quest
to find a way to bring him wings to wear.
What life he'd find! What joys he'd know as king!
What beauties would his bright soul then unfold?
What good was life if his death it would bring?
What good was love if shortly dead and cold?
She loved him so; she longed to give him all,
but what of her? And how would she exist?
Her fairy heart considered such a fall,
and what it cost to love the man she kissed.
She wept, he'd never felt the gentle sky;
she longed for day that he could rise and fly.

She longed for day that he could rise and fly;
at last her heart was broken with his plight;
3,000 years she'd lived, but not known why;
but now she lived in glory of his light.
It wasn't right that one so beautiful
should go unwinged, and have the shortest life
while she, a fairy with the eras full
should fly, uncaring, though she was his wife.
The rose would only work a single time;
she had to act to give him many years,
for why should he, a creature so sublime
feel rough, raw age, or know a dying fear?
She loved him true; and after final soar,
her fairy dust she stripped from very core.


Her fairy dust she stripped from very core;
her light went out, her wings both dried and snapped,
she pulled and pulled until there was no more,
then carried dust to where her husband napped.
She knelt beside him while her tears fell thick,
and rubbed the dust into his human skin,
she paused, head spinning, dizzy now and sick
but forced herself to rub him down again.
The dust sank in through muscle and his bone,
he woke while she was kneading his broad back;
he said, “Oh no! Oh no! This was your own!”
He looked at her, and saw her magic's lack.
He felt his blood begin a heady roar;
he spread his wings and loved her then no more.

He spread his wings and loved her then no more;
her magic gone, she was a human queen;
the fairy king had loved her fairy core,
he'd loved her for her wings and fairy sheen,
and when she gave it all for love of him,
his love failed fast; without her flitting wings
and popping off to chase her varied whims,
her way was not a pleasure to the king.
She loved him well, as fairy and as girl,
her heart was his; they reined and ruled, and yet,
she'd once had wings; she'd hide behind her curls
and weep for flights that she could not forget.
She loved the king far more than light or flight
his glory then became her heart's delight.

The fairy princess chose him for a king;
the man was fragile, born of clay and dust;
her fairy eyes took in the joy he'd bring;
her fairy heart knew better than to trust.
He sought through her the secret rose of youth
some blooms are balms and heal men from life's pain;
she sought in him an echo of her truth;
she lay with him and all his griefs were slain.
He held her close; she placed rose in his breast,
his heart grew young, and yet he still could die;
her fairy heart would never give her rest
she longed for day that he could rise and fly;
her fairy dust she stripped from very core
he spread his wings and loved her then no more.

© Streambed. All rights reserved, 10 hours ago

C  
Heroic Crown of Sonnets: The Fairy

The fairy princess chose him for a king;
she found him walking through a crowded wood,
and followed him on iridescent wing;
her heart then singing fairy music good.
He was not young, but fairies see the soul
his mind was diamond, heart was rainbowed light;
she saw where others were a mass of coal
this man, this one, was brilliant beacon bright.
She flitted then, from branch to branch, concealed
and judged the man on way and secret thought;
she saw in him some wicked ways revealed,
but basked in beauty deep within him, caught.
She feared to love; though loving would be just;
the man was fragile, born of clay and dust.

The man was fragile, born of clay and dust,
a short-lived mortal, hardly just a breath.
Though heart toward love was wildly, deeply thrust
she knew her love would only end in death.
A fairy prince would make a better king;
a thousand years would pass like seven days,
but love a man? How sharp would be the sting
when breath was gone; how short man's spirit stays!
She shuddered then, with thought of all the loss
and yet his soul was lovelier than theirs;
no fairy prince had half his rainbow's gloss
no fairy prince had such a light to share.
No, it was he who must and should be king.
Her fairy eyes took in the joy he'd bring.

Her fairy eyes took in the joy he'd bring,
what sweet delight his reign would mean to her;
if he, a man, were made the fairy king,
so many hearts would sing with joy and stir;
the fairy babes would each bask in his light,
and grow so strong, and brighter for his thought;
and in the dances on the moony nights
the songs would glitter with the notes he taught;
yes, all the world of fairies would rejoice
if broad-souled man would take the fairy crown;
the woods were filled by glory of his voice;
in waves of music sweetly she would drown.
And yet though love rose thrilling and robust,
her fairy heart knew better than to trust.

Her fairy heart knew better than to trust;
she knew that men are fickle, and unkind,
and yet she felt despite it all she must
reveal herself and all her fairy mind.
She sang a harmony to all his song
and when he looked, she landed at his feet,
then made herself much taller, then and strong
'til eye to eye the two of them should meet.
He saw her wings, and knew just what she was;
remembering the stories as a child;
his old heart quailed, and he stepped back because
her beauty's force was absolutely wild.
He took her hand, but didn't tell the truth;
he sought through her the secret rose of youth.

He sought through her the secret rose of youth;
the legends told the fairies had this thing;
he didn't tell the fairy all the truth
because he feared just what the truth would bring.
Yet he was old, his life was nearly spent
and if this rose was in his hands indeed,
the years would fall, and time's hold would be rent,
while he bloomed freshly as a springing seed.
He wanted this; he hungered for his strength.
What joy to stand in passion's door again!
The fairy heard his thoughts and all their length,
and knew just what to offer to him then.
“Come with me now, your troubles will be slain;
some blooms are balms and heal men from life's pain.”

“Some blooms are balms and heal men from life's pain,
and I have one that counteracts the years;
why should you age, when sweet one, you could reign,
and never feel another lonely tear?
Come with me now, and take my fairy hand,
and I will give you kingdoms, and my love.
My heart is yours to have and to command,
and you will find me docile as a dove.”
She drew up then; he yearned for her embrace;
her form was lush and promised much delight;
she saw herself reflected in his face
and subtle change in vibrant rainbow light.
He wanted her, as well as rose of youth;
she sought in him an echo of her truth.

She sought in him an echo of her truth;
a fairy's soul is always changing form;
a fairy heart retains the joy of youth,
and adds to it a passion ever warm;
a fairy sees itself in all its works;
the flowers bloomed, the stars well-shined at night,
no fairy child ever hides or shirks
because their jobs are always a delight.
She loved this man; he loved her love so well,
that they were married, in a fairy ring;
and all the fairies rang the flower bells,
and human man was crowned the fairy king.
So king and queen began their magic reign;
she lay with him and all his griefs were slain.

She lay with him and all his griefs were slain,
such rapture there beneath her fairy wings!
Their jasper cave was lovely in the rain,
and they had joys that only love can bring.
He felt his age when stroking her smooth skin;
her strength was such he wished his own was more;
she saw these thoughts while in his arms again,
and kissed his cheek, then flew through jasper door.
Her heard her land in gravel late at night,
and in her arms she bore a glowing bloom;
it filled the cave with gentle crimson light,
and glorified the shining jasper room.
She came to him as if she'd lie and rest,
he held her close; she placed rose in his breast.

He held her close; she placed rose in his breast,
and as he slept, the years each fell away.
The rose's scent perfumed the cave and blessed;
the rose's bloom unworked cruel time's decay.
When morning came; he rose a man of power,
his body twenty, or perhaps eighteen;
and how he blessed the magic of the flower
that left his skin so perfect, smooth and clean.
The fairy laughed to see the joy he took,
and held him then, to share in his heart's bliss;
she stood far back and took another look,
and offered him another fairy kiss.
She looked, and yet her eyes were not quite dry;
his heart grew young, and yet he still could die.

His heart grew young, and yet he still could die,
his mortal form was still a frightening thought.
She loved him much, and couldn't help but cry
because with danger his dear life was fraught.
The fairies all took counsel time to time,
and worried over his mortality,
he stood there, glowing, in his vibrant prime
but age and death would never let that be.
There was one way to give him lasting life,
too terrible to even think about;
the magic stripped from fairy wedded wife
would give him wings, while she would go without.
She lie awake against his human breast,
her fairy heart would never give her rest.

Her fairy heart would never give her rest,
she watched him walk, while flying, she danced air;
she searched old books for answers in her quest
to find a way to bring him wings to wear.
What life he'd find! What joys he'd know as king!
What beauties would his bright soul then unfold?
What good was life if his death it would bring?
What good was love if shortly dead and cold?
She loved him so; she longed to give him all,
but what of her? And how would she exist?
Her fairy heart considered such a fall,
and what it cost to love the man she kissed.
She wept, he'd never felt the gentle sky;
she longed for day that he could rise and fly.

She longed for day that he could rise and fly;
at last her heart was broken with his plight;
3,000 years she'd lived, but not known why;
but now she lived in glory of his light.
It wasn't right that one so beautiful
should go unwinged, and have the shortest life
while she, a fairy with the eras full
should fly, uncaring, though she was his wife.
The rose would only work a single time;
she had to act to give him many years,
for why should he, a creature so sublime
feel rough, raw age, or know a dying fear?
She loved him true; and after final soar,
her fairy dust she stripped from very core.


Her fairy dust she stripped from very core;
her light went out, her wings both dried and snapped,
she pulled and pulled until there was no more,
then carried dust to where her husband napped.
She knelt beside him while her tears fell thick,
and rubbed the dust into his human skin,
she paused, head spinning, dizzy now and sick
but forced herself to rub him down again.
The dust sank in through muscle and his bone,
he woke while she was kneading his broad back;
he said, “Oh no! Oh no! This was your own!”
He looked at her, and saw her magic's lack.
He felt his blood begin a heady roar;
he spread his wings and loved her then no more.

He spread his wings and loved her then no more;
her magic gone, she was a human queen;
the fairy king had loved her fairy core,
he'd loved her for her wings and fairy sheen,
and when she gave it all for love of him,
his love failed fast; without her flitting wings
and popping off to chase her varied whims,
her way was not a pleasure to the king.
She loved him well, as fairy and as girl,
her heart was his; they reined and ruled, and yet,
she'd once had wings; she'd hide behind her curls
and weep for flights that she could not forget.
She loved the king far more than light or flight
his glory then became her heart's delight.

The fairy princess chose him for a king;
the man was fragile, born of clay and dust;
her fairy eyes took in the joy he'd bring;
her fairy heart knew better than to trust.
He sought through her the secret rose of youth
some blooms are balms and heal men from life's pain;
she sought in him an echo of her truth;
she lay with him and all his griefs were slain.
He held her close; she placed rose in his breast,
his heart grew young, and yet he still could die;
her fairy heart would never give her rest
she longed for day that he could rise and fly;
her fairy dust she stripped from very core
he spread his wings and loved her then no more.

© Streambed.  Feb. 2014

This is the most beautiful such composition I have ever read.  _Larry Eberhart

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England (Sonnet Redoubled)

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England I

Born Catalina, regal child of Spain,
to two joint sovereigns of great renown,
she'd study various subjects and would train
in household arts where she could hold her own.

Her father Ferdinand by stroke of fate
inherited the crown of Aragon.
Her mother Isabel, an equal mate,
was ruling queen of Castile and Leon.
This union started Spanish unity.
Iberian Moors and Jews were then expelled.
Columbus sailed to famed discovery.
The empire burgeoned while its coffers swelled.
But Spain was never meant for Catherine.
She was destined to be the English queen.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England II

She was destined to be the English queen.
A treaty signed when she was only three
pledged the infanta to the Englishmen:
to wed Prince Arthur, heir and king-to-be.
Stuck four days in Corunna, weather struck;
the ships were damaged badly, one was lost.
Repairs for six weeks: what a stressful luck!
They sailed for three months to the British coast.
And now the English people were rejoiced.
The quay was teeming when they were to land.
The church bells chimed; felicities were voiced
by locals and by foreigners on hand.
The people loved the princess out of Spain.
All England cheered the prospect of her reign.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England III

All England cheered the prospect of her reign. 
She traveled through the English countryside.
A Negro trumpeter among her train 
announced her presence, quite a novel ride.
To Dogmersfield King Henry VII went
to see the princess earlier than he should.
So did Prince Arthur; everybody spent
the night in dancing, all in festive mood.
In London, trumpet blares and cannon booms
marked royally the couple's wedding day.
The king dispatched to Wales both groom and groom's 
enchanting bride -- the people's hearts to sway.
The princess stirred and charmed, whenever seen,
that strange new land she reached at age fifteen.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England IV

That strange new land she reached at age fifteen
was suddenly transformed from joy to gloom.
A sweating sickness fell upon the scene
and took the Prince of Wales in youthful bloom.
The princess too was ailed but she survived.
Her illness kept her bound to bed for weeks.
With special care she later on revived,
The rosy hue refound upon her cheeks.
Her marriage ended in a luckless lurch,
a teenage widow left without a child.
She was so true to God and to the church:
why was she now deprived as though exiled?
The king would marry her, which Spain denied.
First Arthur's, she became his brother's bride.

*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England V

First Arthur's, she became his brother's bride.
But first a papal bull should be secured.
"A man", a canon law specified,
"can't wed his brother's widow" -- in a word.
It was argued that Catherine remained
a virgin through her marriage, quickly ceased.
This meant it was not valid; she retained
the right to marry Henry, this was stressed.
The pope's decision was favorable;
She was now free to be young Henry's wife.
Till then her household stayed miserable
with not enough funds in support of life.
Old Henry journeyed to the Great Unknown.
Young Henry just ascended to the throne.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England VI

Young Henry just ascended to the throne.
Reforms enacted made him most revered.
He freed the jailed; officials of his own
replaced the ones whom folks abhorred and feared.
His father left a hefty treasury.
The gifted son had varied interests:
Sports, music, writing, arts and industry. 
The English navy bloomed and faced its tests.
It was their happy time of married life:
A dozen years or so of mutual love.
The king was as religious as his wife;
Their partnership seemed blessed by God above.
Her royal pedigree was Europe-wide.
The Tudors' right to rule solidified.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England VII

The Tudors' right to rule solidified,
Helped to a great extent by Catherine.
She was blue-blooded through and through beside
Her skills and virtues, fitting for a queen.
She even acted as ambassador 
Of Spain to England -- five successful years.
Each winter she provided for the poor:
Clothes, fuel, money, food and goodly cheers.
To her the king confided, at the start.
There was no sign of any stress or threat.
He proudly jousted as Sir Loyal Heart:
He wore her scarf, his trophies at her feet.
The queen herself had claim upon the throne
Through her superior bloodline, little known.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England VIII

Through her superior bloodline, widely known,
Queen Catherine had royal English root.
From John of Gaunt she came down, on her own,
through two unquestioned royal lines to boot.
Her offspring then would have a solid lock
upon the English throne by right of birth.
Thus when a son was born, the land would rock
with celebrations, full of joy and mirth.
Alas, the Prince of Wales was not destined
to bring about a lasting happiness.
Child Henry died ere two months passed, unsinned:
a brief bliss, then an era of distress.
That she was luckless couldn't be so true.
She gave birth to six children, quite a few.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸
 

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England IX

She gave birth to six children, quite a few. 
On her third pregnancy, King Henry sailed
to fight a war in France; and to pursue
his claim upon the French throne, but he failed.
He won some battles though and thereby seized
some cities -- thus regaining English pride.
But while away French allied Scotsmen squeezed
upon the border, movement quickly spied.
The queen was left as regent, so as head
she readied England for the looming fight.
At Flodden Field, the Earl of Surrey led
the English troops and put the Scots to flight.
With her six children, Tudor blood should thrive.
But three sons died, a daughter would survive.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England X

But three sons died, a daughter would survive.
That could well serve as fitting epithet
for Catherine whom Fate would soon deprive
of happiness despite her queenly feat.
To further establish the Tudor line,
The king was greatly anxious for a son.
Though rival claims had ceased or in decline,
New trouble might erupt if he were gone.
The king began to treat her dismally;
with people though, she kept her love affair.
The queen engrossed herself with charity
and raising daughter Mary as an heir.
For all her worth, she didn't get her due.
The king diminished her in public view.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸ 

 

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England XI

The king diminished her in public view
but Catherine remained quite popular.
He sought a male heir (with somebody new)
as to avert another civil war.
Since England never had a ruling queen,
so Mary's prospect was a risky thing.
He asked annulment but then Catherine
rejected such proposal by the king.
His envoys now scoured Europe for support,
the pope's assent most crucial to obtain.
And then the queen was banished from the court,
her old rooms occupied by Anne Boleyn.
'Twas sad how so low would her fortunes dive.
But she behaved quite queenly while alive.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England XII

But she behaved quite queenly while alive
though fate and fortune shook her up and down.
In gracious times her queenly traits would thrive;
the bad times showed that she deserved her crown.
The people faithfully supported her
(while Anne Boleyn was vilified and mocked).
When riding out, the crowds would wildly cheer
that left the king and privy council shocked.
"Inciting to rebellion!" she was warned
with threats to move from London and her child.
The king had willed, the people's wish be darned,
to void their tie through forceful means or mild.
She wouldn't give up for material gain.
One final painful blow would yet remain.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England XIII

One final painful blow would yet remain.
She couldn't just renounce her legal right
and that of Mary -- oh, the mother's pain!
Her means constricted, she pursued the fight.
Those siding with the king received rewards:
appointments, money and the monarch's grace.
Those siding with the queen soon afterwards
were jailed, dismissed or barred to see her face.
The king's "great matter" reached its peak at home
when Anne got pregnant, an affair of state.
The Church of England broke away from Rome
so that the child be born legitimate.
But ere the break,a secret wedded twain:
The king in secret married Anne Boleyn.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England XIV

The king in secret married Anne Boleyn,
his powers soon would span religion's scope.
And thus began Britannia's willful reign
that answered to no overlord nor pope.
But Catherine was just as quick and tough:
she'd writ both pope and holy emperor
that no war should be waged on her behalf.
She wrote not after schism -- but before!
Her health declined with her diminished lot:
she'd moved to lesser castles, seldom seen.
Though she was buried in an abby plot,
the people still regarded her as queen.
The height of queenliness she did attain.
Born Catalina, regal child of Spain.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

 Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England XV

Born Catalina, regal child of Spain,

She was destined to be the English queen.

All England cheered the prospect of her reign. 

That strange new land she reached at age fifteen

First Arthur's, she became his brother's bride.

Young Henry just ascended to the throne.

The Tudors' right to rule solidified,

Through her superior bloodline, widely known,

She gave birth to six children, quite a few. 

But three sons died, ONE daughter would survive.

The king diminished her in public view

But she behaved quite queenly while alive

One final painful blow would yet remain.

The king in secret married Anne Boleyn.

¨*•.¸¸¸¸.•*¨*•☆ .｡.•*»✿ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸

(c) Lawrence R. Eberhart and Jose M. Rizal Reyes -November 2013

Pasted from <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catherine_of_Aragon

Bardic Sonnet

Form introduce by William Kenneth Keller, aka Shades of Bill on Allpoetry
Uses the Shakespearean sonnet form.  (iambic pentameter: ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme scheme)
However the form is constrained and enhanced with the following requirements:
1.)The rhyme is to be INTERNAL CROSS RHYME,  not end rhyme. 
This is formally know as INTERLACED RHYME.
The interlaced rhymes should occur within the first 3 feet of the line.
2.)Rather than end rhyme, I would like you to employ a type of alliteration used by Irish poets – 
Which is strict CONSONANT RHYME.
Keep EACH consonant sound the same. (you can ignore the letter, ‘N’.) 
For example: carnage and carpet would NOT alliterate, but carnage and carriage would: 
the ‘K’ sound and ‘R’ sound and ‘G’ sound in ‘carnage’ is reproduced in order with the ‘K’ sound and ‘R’ sound and ‘G’ sound in ‘carriage’ (the letter ‘N’ in ‘carnage’ is ignored.)
3.)The Rhyme scheme is for both cross rhyme and alliteration.

Restated Specifications:
Uses Shakespearian Sonnet format with end-rhyme being replaced by strict consonant rhyme.
Requires Iambic Pentameter.
Requires Interlaced rhyme.

End-Rhyme scheme:     abab cdcd efef gg
Cross-rhyme scheme: abab cdcd efef gg

My failed example:

You Ask Too Much

A poet asked the wizard for some rhyme
and for a metronomic type of mind.
"Just why am I now tasked to let rimes roam
where they'd not roamed before, to just what end?"
"For sake of sex as Miller* postulates,"
the poet answered back.  And rhyme was there. 
A metric text removes the irritants.
"I know it," the Wizard said, "You'll find it's here. 
"Can you make me more consonant aware?"
I cried,  "So Welsh and Irish I might write?"
Then he did grumble, "You keep wanting more.
If you decide that skill is worth your vote
I think you'll earn it. Go away, be gone."
I’ll try to learn it. Here I go again.

© Lawrencealot - July 6, 2013

*Evolutionary psychologist Geoffrey Miller hypothesizes that rhyme is a form of sexually selected handicap imposed on communication making poetry harder and more reliable as a signal of verbal intelligence and overall fitness.[2]
From Wikipedia


This was supposed to be a Bardic Sonnet, but failed to use all of the consonant sounds in the end-rhyme.  I post it merely to show how you can go astray on this complex if your attention waivers as mine so frequently does.

This was the contest winner.   Not only does it have perfect compliance with all of the requirements, but those who pay attention will notice that is is also an acrostic.

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