Boleyn, crowned (the sonnet version)

Triumphantly I draw the gaze of all,
redeemed as regal, trailing cloth of gold,
anointed, te deum repels the cold
that creeps across my fairness – purple pall.

Mark Smeaton, Henry Percy, Norris – thralled –
and brother George, complicit player, bold.
Sweet Wyatt, yours the eyes that ever hold –
betwixt my thighs a humid hum recalled.

Your fingers played my pearls with slurs and rests
composing futures won awhile from him,
yet skin to skin proved insufficient, dimmed,
out-flanked by sceptre, Henry’s manifest.

A ticking stratagem behind my eyes
around my neck a tight’ning self-strung prize.

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This is a sonnet in the form introduced to England and most frequently used by Sir Thomas Wyatt, a 16th century lutenist and companion to Anne Boleyn (abba, abba, cddc, ee). I’m using iambic pentameter. It is a companion piece to one I wrote almost a year ago, with an alternative rhyme scheme (abab,abab,cdcd, ee):

Chanterelle

My fingers play your pearls with slurs and rests,
composing futures won again from him;
I slip the string – it stifled you at best –
free-scattr’ing stones, his cloudy patronym.

Now teardrop-bellied trebles slow expressed
upon my thigh vibrato: subtle hymn
refrains your amber-scented shoulder, pressed
against the shadow memory: Boleyn.

Your regal amorata cost you dear:
one life, archived amidst five discard brides;
one lover, plucking basso from low tides;
a madrigal for two, sole bandolier.

Polyphony’s a song I ache to play
but chanterelle’s a singular bare lai.

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I have also published a free verse interpretation of the same theme, here: http://bit.ly/JDqMte

 

Linking to another galliard-like Open Link Night at http://dversepoets.com/