The Ghost of Anne Boleyn
May. 4th, 2008 06:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladysophiekittyAs some of you may know, I love history. Last October in English we were assigned to write a story poem that was at least 40 lines long. I chose mine on Anne Boleyn. Unfortunately I had lost it for a while and only recently refound it, and so I can always find it if I need to, I decided I'd post it here. So please tell me what you think! Oh, and I apologize for any errors, my Dad's keyboard is rather difficult to type with.
In a village near the London Tower,
It was the night Anne Boleyn regained her power.
For on the night of Halloween,
people say she can be seen.
The ways she comes out to revenge her death,
cause people to shiver with each breath.
One man said "off with her head",
and within seconds she was dead.
All for having an extra finger,
she was the scary fog that would always linger.
People saw things fly in the air,
but when they looked no one was there.
"Whooo" was what Anne said,
people were certain she was not dead.
Those ways were haunting to be sure,
at first she would create a lure.
She made floorboards creak,
causing people to take a peek.
With her six fingers like a gnarled vine she touches a shoulder,
making blood run even colder.
As she was staggering down the street,
a figure caused her to stop her feet.
For there was a girl with flaming red hair,
with so little candy she had none to spare.
Like Elizabeth, her daughter, this girl sure was,
Anne's heart opened up like a mother's does.
Rage grew inside her because Anne was killed,
Now her goal was to have revenge fulfilled.
Whisper she would in children's ears,
Bringing forth their greatest fears.
Horrible shadows she would cast,
sending children scattering fast.
The little girl, too, did not want to be harmed,
so she gave a shriek and ran alarmed.
With a thud she hit the ground.
There was no help to be found.
With one last effort she stood standing tall,
getting up to leave this place once and for all.
Suddenly Anne's heart filled with guilt,
an emotion she has long since felt.
And on that one day a year,
she would no longer fill lives with fear.
In a village near the London Tower,
It was the night Anne Boleyn regained her power.
For on the night of Halloween,
people say she can be seen.
The ways she comes out to revenge her death,
cause people to shiver with each breath.
One man said "off with her head",
and within seconds she was dead.
All for having an extra finger,
she was the scary fog that would always linger.
People saw things fly in the air,
but when they looked no one was there.
"Whooo" was what Anne said,
people were certain she was not dead.
Those ways were haunting to be sure,
at first she would create a lure.
She made floorboards creak,
causing people to take a peek.
With her six fingers like a gnarled vine she touches a shoulder,
making blood run even colder.
As she was staggering down the street,
a figure caused her to stop her feet.
For there was a girl with flaming red hair,
with so little candy she had none to spare.
Like Elizabeth, her daughter, this girl sure was,
Anne's heart opened up like a mother's does.
Rage grew inside her because Anne was killed,
Now her goal was to have revenge fulfilled.
Whisper she would in children's ears,
Bringing forth their greatest fears.
Horrible shadows she would cast,
sending children scattering fast.
The little girl, too, did not want to be harmed,
so she gave a shriek and ran alarmed.
With a thud she hit the ground.
There was no help to be found.
With one last effort she stood standing tall,
getting up to leave this place once and for all.
Suddenly Anne's heart filled with guilt,
an emotion she has long since felt.
And on that one day a year,
she would no longer fill lives with fear.
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-05 03:06 am (UTC)My ONLY complaint would be the pacing of the poem (there's an actual word for it, but I'm so tired I can't think of it at the moment). Like here, "She made floorboards creak,
causing people to take a peek.
With her six fingers like a gnarled vine she touches a shoulder,
making blood run even colder."
I'm not saying you have to make the poem iambic pentameter; you just need to even out the syllable count a bit, so it's easier on the ears when read aloud.
But other than that, I'm in love with this poem. You seriously did an awesome job with the assignment. Many, many props (yes, I'm lame, and I say props).