He Wrote To Her A Letter That She Might Know

On the beheading of St. Thomas More under the reign of King Henry VIII

 

 

While fixing my thoughts on February

and snow-feathered boughs of evergreen chain,

I follow the moonlight’s tributary

across a clouded sky that portends rain.

The town is sleeping in the palm of night,

in winter’s malaise and layers of snow,

whose basket is brimming with fluffs of white

where dark shadows fall and fire flickers glow.

 

Dreams are echoed in the valley of sleep,

twilight tangled in a glittering swirl;

and soaked in memory, the passions keep

as the nacre of the moon or a pearl.

I listen in silence and sip the sound

softly flaking off the lips of the sky

that fall in a hush upon sacred ground

of yesteryears and the times now gone by.

 

The past glides over the whispering stones,

in the moonlight pulse of a woman’s wrist,

whose passion bleeds into the ghost of bones

that arise in a white sarong of mist.

Others see her and think nothing of it

as she drifts up and down the Roper aisle.

The wind murmurs, "Margaret, Margaret;"

and there are tears imbedded in her smile.

 

She has waited all these long, lonely years

with her eyes toward Saint Peter in chains.

Her father’s last words in a backwash of tears,

his mortal assembly yet there remains.

She lovingly strokes the top of his head.

His sweet face she kissed that day in July!

His charcoal letter, she read and re-read

and read it once more before she did die.

 

London Bridge crumbles into River Thames,

into the blue mood of reflective steel.

The crown is tarnished and bereaved of gems

with each head that sharpens against the wheel.

Poor Thomas can no longer touch his brow.

He cannot lay his head down for a nap.

As snow cloaks Canterbury and each bough,

his head lies smiling in Margaret’s lap.

 

 

Author's Note

This poem is about St. Thomas More, who was beheaded on July 6, 1535, for refusing to acknowledge King Henry VIII as the head of the church of England.

His body was given to his family, and laid in the tomb he had already prepared in Chelsea Church; but the head was set up on a pole on London Bridge. His daughter Margaret owned that she had taken away and cherished the head of the man whom they had slain as a traitor. She caused it to be embalmed, kept it with her wherever she went, and when, nine years afterwards, she died (in the year 1544), it was laid in her coffin in the "Roper aisle" of St. Dunstan's Church, at Canterbury.

Reviews

[Blogger]

Well done! A nice bit of history and how it still effects us.

[Edward Lancheister]

amazing another great poem that you written

[Chris]

You always "pause" me... and always will.

[Dean]

I can always count on you to give history a fresh breath in me. And of course, to do it beautifully!

[Adam Whitworth]

obviously a lot of effort has gone into this poem, and it is good, so well done there. it's just a bit comical in places for me: "Poor Thomas can no longer touch his brow. He cannot lay his head down for a nap."
for example

[00000000000000000000000..]

Wow it may sound dumb of me but that was beautiful I never heard anything like this. I see and hear within it all. I have no idea who your talking about but wow is all I can say:) This was very profound dear friend:)

[Gleb Zavlanov]

It's such a shame that such a influential person was killed just for speaking his beliefs. I find this poem to be captivating, and rimmed with despair, sorrow, and a fine grasp of language. Marvelously done!

[Dean]

what an appropriate subject for an as usual beautiful poem! This took a great deal of scholarship (if not at the time of writing, certainly your life of study, which shows in nearly everything you write. I am so grateful to you for this...and for your formidable art. Indeed, a man worth the tracing, and the look back. You bring him--and his ghost--to life.

Two nits: Why not just say "died" at the end of the penultimate stanza. And your closing line of the poem should be "lay" or "lies" since the verb "lays" is transitive.

-Dean

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I think Thomas More was such a principled man; and while he was loyal to the King, he was a servant of God's first. There was no compromise in that for him. For all his years of loyalty, he was beheaded.

You are correct about the closing line, and I have made that correction. Thank you very much.

As for the other, it would interfere with the fluidity of the poem and would require a great deal of rewriting to change it; but I'm happy with that stanza as it is.

[Dean]

He was, indeed--and a positive influence upon developing
Anglicanism. I was an Anglican for over 50 years, and there are still facets of it that I love---especially the liturgy and the music

[:o]

This is simply amazing...I think it is one of the best I've read here. I have some poems I would like to put into my favorites and this must be one of them.