(Sorry Friends, for posting educational type of poems, I know Haiku are easier to read & comment! But if you happen to like this true story, kindly recommend it to your other friends! Thanks, -Raj)

STORY OF EUROPEAN RENAISSANCE: PART TWO

THE CITY-STATE OF FLORENCE :
The city of Florence lies in the historic valley of Tuscany ,
Along the banks of the Arno river, surrounded by hills
of scenic beauty !
Here during the first century BC , the conquering Romans
established their ‘Colonia Florentina’,
To settle the war veterans of Caesar’s army in Northern
Italia !
But later after the fall of Rome , it became a battleground
for the Holy Roman Empire and the Pope ;
But the independent nature of its people refused foreign
yolk !
They preferred commune rule led by a powerful leader –
called the Signore ,
Just like the city-states of ancient Greece, in those days of
yore !
But unlike Greece , Florence saw no Democracy ,
Since the Medici family finally usurped power in this
city of Northern Italy !
Unlike Venice , Florence is landlocked and not a port
city ;
Relying on banking and trade to prosper economically .
Their gold coin florin became the standard coinage
throughout Europe ;
While through the export of its quality textile and woolen
goods, great wealth got secured !
But to become patrons of art and letters mere wealth is
not enough ,
One must have a refined taste to become a true lover of
letters and art !
And here the Medici carved out a niche for themselves
under the Florentine sun !
Writers like Francesco Petrarca , Dante, and Boccaccio ;
And artists such as Giotto , Lippi, Dontello, Leonardo ,
and Michelangelo , were all born Florentines !
Even classical Athens couldn’t boast of such a vast
galaxy ,
Of artistic talents within such a limited time frame of
History !
These artists embellished their city with their literary
works, sculptures, architectures and paintings ;
Made Florence to reawaken, dazzle, and shine ;
Carving out a proud moment in history for the
Florentines !

CONTRIBUTION OF MEDICI FAMILY OF
FLORENCE :
Giovanni de Medici (1360-1429) :
This Medici family became the Godfather for the Italian
Renaissance ,
And I feel obliged to narrate their story tracing their
historical source !
In those early days Art was considered a lowly craft ,
There were no art galleries, and one couldn’t make a
living out of Art !
Without patronage the artist and his art couldn’t survive ,
So I speak of the Medics, who had originated from the
Tuscan countryside !
Gaining power through wealth and political astuteness,
And not through military force for dominance !
The founder of family’s fortunes was Giovanni de
Medici ,
An educated man with a simple life style , who
traveled on a donkey !
A humble man who had never aroused any enmity .
He established the Medici Bank with innovations
in ledger accounting system ;
And became a pioneers in tracking credits and debits
through a double entry system !
He opened branches of the Bank in Rome and Northern
Italy ,
Facilitated bills of exchange and credit bills, to multiply
his money !
After the return of the Papacy from Avignon to Rome ,
The Medici Bank was made the official bankers of the
Pope ;
And Giovanni became the wealthiest man in Italy , if
not in entire Europe !
In 1421 Giovanni was made the Chief Executive of his
city ,
And he commissioned its leading architect Brunelleschi , -
to glorify Florence city .
The challenging task for Brunelleschi was to build the dome
of the Cathedral of his city .
This was the first octagonal dome in history , a breakaway
from the earlier Gothic structures ,
And even surpassing the Roman Pantheon as a marvel of
Florentine architecture !
It took sixteen long years to complete this huge dome ,
And stands today as an icon of Renaissance Europe !
Giovanni had taught his son Cosimo to follow a simple
life style ,
To patronize art and letters, and to his people be kind !

COSIMO De MEDICI (1389-1464) :
After Giovanni’s death , Cosimo the Elder built upon
his father’s inherited wealth ;
Absorbed most of the 39 Florentine Banks, operating its
branches in London and Bruges as well !
The greatest rival of the Medici fortunes were the Albizzi ,
They plotted against Cosimo and the Medics ;
And in 1433, exiled Cosimo and his family out of jealousy !
But after a year the Medics were recalled back as heroes ,
Since the Florentine coffers without the Medici Bank , -
had become almost zero !
But both peace and prosperity are needed for flourishing
of art and culture ,
So Cosimo engineered the Peace of Lodi (1454) with Milan
and Venice , -
To prevent future wars and misadventure !
Scholars were made to collect precious manuscripts from
the East, and the churches and vaults of Europe ;
And an ensured period of stability , contributed to Early
Renaissance’s growth !
Sculptor Donatello’s bronze **** David stood up as an
unique art form ,
And with paintings of Fra Angelico, and Filippo Lippi , -
the style of art itself began to reform !
Architect Michalozzo built the famous Medici Palace ,
And Cosimo opened the Medici Library for the spread of
classical knowledge !
After the fall of Constantinople in 1453 , the Greek scholars
with their classical manuscripts fled to Italy .
They flocked to Florence where Cosimo established a
Platonic Academy !
Renowned Humanist Marsilio Ficino became its President ,
And complete works of Plato got translated from Greek
to Latin !
Thus the growth of Early Renaissance owed much to
Cosimo’s patronage ,
And the Florentines inscribed “Pater Patriae” on his tomb , –
(‘Father of His Country’) after his death !

LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT (1449-1492) :
Cosimo’s son Piero the Gouty died within five years ,
Never achieved anything spectacular worthy of tears !
The Medici Bank had loaned large sums of money to
King Edward IV of England and Charles the Bold of
Burgandy,
Failed to recover getting into bad debts and insolvency !
So when Cosimo’s grandson Lorenzo succeeded at
the age of twenty one ,
He focused on other areas of creativity, and the period
of High Renaissance begun !
Lorenzo , a genuine lover of arts, also wrote poetry in the
dialect of his native Tuscany ;
Following the footsteps of Tuscan born poets Donzella ,
Davanzati , and Dante the author of ‘Divine Comedy’ !
On 26th April 1478 , the Pazzi family in connivance with
the Archbishop of Pisa and backing of Pope Sixtus IV ,
Tried to assassinate the Medics during the High Mass, -
in the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore !
Younger brother Giuliano was fatally stabbed , but they
failed to **** Lorenzo .
All the conspirators were hanged including Pisa’s
Archbishop !
Ecclesiastic censure was issued against Florence ,
And Lorenzo was excommunicated by the Pope !
But Lorenzo worked out a treaty of peace with the King
of Naples ,
And became the undisputed ruler of the Republic of
Florence !
Unfortunately , Lorenzo died young at the age of forty-
three ,
At the dawn of the great Age of Exploration and
adventures by sea !
During his rule Renaissance reached its Golden Age ,
And literature, art, and architecture blossomed with
Lorenzo’s patronage !
It earned him the title of ‘Magnifico’, now know to
us as Lorenzo the Magnificent !
Leonardo da Vinci , Michelangelo , Raphel , Giovanni
Bellini ,Titan, Veronese, Correggio , Tintoretto ;
All became superstars of the Renaissance era ;
Their works are cherished, valued and treasured to
this day of our Modern era !
In the year 1492 with Lorenzo’s death , Italy entered
a period of turmoil and instability,
And the Renaissance saw a period of decline in Italy !
But the flames of the Renaissance spread to other
parts of Northern Europe ,
And in the 16th century reached England’s shores !
The Medici Family had also provided three Popes to
Italy, and three Queens to France ;
Besides patronizing the growth of the famous Italian
Renaissance !
Now dear readers, to do justice to Renaissance art ,
architecture, and literature briefly ,
I propose to narrate its story in Part Three !
-- By Raj Nandy of New Delhi .
*ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR

Zeus is ****** tonight.

Maybe he was having conflict with Hera. Maybe Apollo or Athena or Artemis accidentally attempted to rain art or astuteness or animals down upon Earth, respectively.

Maybe he drank too much wine.

Whatever the reason is, it's quite a light show.

There are no stars, only the
chemiluminescence
on my shirt and my shorts
that were poured upon me by
intoxicated partiers who thought it would be entertaining
to shower the combination of peroxide and phenyl oxalate ester
upon the party guests.

A map of the universe
is splattered across my hands.

It's as if Zeus
threw away the sky,
in an inebriated gesture,
and it landed around me.

Cronus should have swallowed the father of gods and of men whole.

They had not seen, for ages, such beautiful gifts in Delphi
as these that had been sent by the two brothers,
the rival Ptolemaic kings. After they had received them
however, the priests were uneasy about the oracle. They will need
all their experience to compose it with astuteness,
which of the two, which of such two will be displeased.
And they hold secret councils at night
and discuss the family affairs of the Lagidae.

But see, the envoys have returned. They are bidding farewell.
They are returning to Alexandria, they say. And they do not ask
for any oracle. And the priests hear this with joy
(of course they will keep the marvellous gifts),
but they also are utterly perplexed,
not understanding what this sudden indifference means.
For they are unaware that yesterday the envoys received grave news.
The oracle was given in Rome; the division took place there.

The rain fell backed by a mist almost as dense as fog most of the time car lights offend glaring from the
Water but in this rain they seemed amber and filled your eyes with a diffused softness that was middle
Enthralling to drive by a friend’s house everything seemed trimmed the house the windows the lights
Shining it was this comforting glow that seemed to be frozen and they were the center piece presents
Unseen were laying at their feet memories made the sheer net swirl all about them I was no longer in
My car I wasn’t in my body but I was pure soul I touched and held the fabric of their life it was golden
We run through life and miss the deeper meaning the glory the unveiled story the real the fabulous
Leave your home and the tap water that runs so freely but go to the prince of waters “the Poseidon the
Great Olympian god of the sea the Mediterranean he is the god of fluid element” see in these terms I
Look I see them in their elemental state the fleshly house is a barrier get beyond that common
Rudiments of creation but see them as they truly are spirit’s capable of grace astuteness that astounds
You enter a tempest driven by immortal winds that carry the shadow that clothes the true person on the
Inside no wonder the boredom men and women are masters not the brute and bound that betray them
Selves when they build hovels out of sticks I will insert this for clarification I wrote in my piece river of
Time that I was seventeen sleeping and this dream streamed through my mind the great stars started
Moving from their natural place they formed these great wheels in space it was without the element of
Being over whelmed as I looked two great white transparent hands started pulling the wheels down
When they stopped I knew time was no more God was bringing the world to an end and then these two
Hands reached to the corners of darkness took hold and started to pull the natural world as a great
Curtain was pulled away to reveal the brightness of the spiritual world he started to fold and put away
This former meaningful but now replaced with the superior the real we are going to rule angels in the
Future I know your getting it my wife is fretting about the election would kings and queens concern
Themselves with trifles of truth we behave ourselves as persons of this natural life but there is no law
That says you can’t respectively look on the glory that is your promised heritage a lot of dark forbidding
Should be overturned by the glimmering pulses as I leave my friends my face is glowing the natural face
Shines with great brightness when it tiptoes through the real verses the temporary so truthfully by this
Piece I have visited you also to hang your head is to deny your birthright to speak of these things now
Seems strange but just in a little while they will be the norm so face life with the power of this
Knowledge you’re on a far flung frontier and you’re not home yet

I met Lori at a beer pong table. She was tall. A trash talker. Beach blonde hair. Eyes blue, blue as the sky on an afternoon in July, when the weather was cool from a light rain. This was post-college—a house party, for young adults who wanted more from life than the typical 9-5. She wasn’t from NOVA. She was from Weston, FL. Her teammate was a guy she was with at the time—they ended up breaking it off and for a while she was dating Cam, a pro-bass fisher, a long distance relationship, but they loved each other. But at the table, I was competing with her teammate, later on I ended up mentally competing with Cam, which didn’t do any good except to make me chain-smoke jacks and drink bourbon. I had a girlfriend at the time—let’s just call her Voldy. My teammate was Lori’s best friend Erica. This girl had swagger; played beer pong like Dr. J, always got us roll backs. I was tall as **** for a Vietnamese American—still am tall as **** for a Vietnamese American (Don’t worry my guys, my family’s from the Southside)—and in college we had built a beer pong table, at a spot called the pink house. “We,” meaning my roommates and I: CJ, Trevor, and Samuel. The U.N. I had practiced daily, playing before class, playing after class. Height made a difference; some great basketball player once said you need to have game on and off the court. I wasn’t sure what court I was on when I was in that moment. Lori was more than appearance; more body language; more eye contact; more southern twang; and more astuteness, than a TED Talk combined with NPR, combined with The New Yorker, combined with Al-Jazeera and linked with Wikipedia on a ***** binge. I could talk all day about how she looked, how she dressed. But I told you what you need to know. She shot first, her right arm shaped like a swan, the type of swan that sits on a lake in the middle of a spring morning, the type of morning when the sky is blue with the eyes of a girl who has seen too much, been through too much, and has heard too much. She sank the shot. Her teammate roared. But all I could hear was Lori’s voice; soft as the piano notes played by Sakamoto’s right hand, loud as the piano notes played by Sakamoto’s left hand. Blu was not how I was feeling. Or maybe I was.
Because at this table I had to either take a loss,
or seal a win. I didn’t know what I wanted. But I wanted her. Wanted her, like how you wanted a postcard
from Santa when you were 5 years old, and it was opposite day. So you got the address wrong,
and the letter was never received. And your parents told
you to keep trying so you did, you did, and you did,
but you were young and naïve. You didn’t know
what was real and what was not real. And now I was
at a place in time, when the setting didn’t matter,
and the alcohol didn’t matter, and the drugs didn’t matter.
All that mattered was her.
Because when I shot that orange ping-pong ball,
I kept eye-contact with her eyes.
Blue, much more blue
than the water in the red solo cups we were playing with.
I wish it were water from the beaches in Florida,
beaches I could read a Salinger story on,
beaches I could rest on
beaches I could lay on,
lay and take in the sun
that rises above my soul
that aches for something more.
But Lori wasn’t Brett Ashley,
she was more Daisy Buchanan
than anything.
But does that make me Tom or Jay?
Jimmy or Nick?
I didn’t know and I still don’t know.
What I do know, is this;
the ball sank into the
first cup of the triangle.
Lori’s face went from cocky,
to frustrated, from frustrated
to relaxed,
from that
to a smile.
One that I remember, and one,
I won’t forget.
Because all I want to do is forget,
Take my memory and squeeze
the bad **** out,
twist the living **** out of it,
and burn it with a match.
Because she thinks I’m the one,
Who did her wrong, but it wasn’t me.
I put that on my integrity, even if my words don’t mean much to your ears: please listen.
I was inebriated, 3/4ths of the time we chilled.
So I didn’t know what was false and what was real.
You can check my temperature,
Because when you’re in my thoughts I get a fever
And hey, I shouldn’t have made a pass on your roomie
I should have thought before I texted, because now your trust in me has been affected.
We’re not talking. I can keep apologizing for what happened, but you don’t want to listen to a broken record.
I wish the bad memories would pass away and I guess they’re all in the past today.
Look, I don’t have a time machine
strong enough to change all the mistakes that I’ve made.
But take this as a time capsule,
this piece that I’m sharing. Like that piece we were sharing. The one that belonged to you.
The one I wish I could kiss again,
Because your lips touched it,
And mine never touched yours.

Where do I begin?

Should it be at the height of fog hours,
doping up infallible images of affection,
among sifting smugness,
end over end in my sun-stroke mind?

Should it be it all tore down from closed doors,
every imperfection, every cyst, reworked by
some sort of Mortician,
consumed by grandeur for his practice?

Or should it be at the exact
moment
that all was realized– astuteness to
how fragile every meter of my unused offal really is?

Second to sick second, and day to well day,
all woven itself into a tapestry thats harder and harder to recall

Sew the squares, and caress the texture with tips of printless fingers
Each inch calls– no, howls –out into the basin where I sit

Howls of pain
                                 howls of stone
howls of criticism
                               howls of analysis
ripping through the brail that's sung to the bone

Tell to beg, where do I begin?

Sectors of time

I walk this road each mile is a section is it me or is the timber changing to beams that strut up on both
Sides and close over the top my vision my reality now cube like I see the vistas beyond the crown of
The mountains they are contrary cusses to the sky poking making holes in the blue then they gather the
Clouds about in a mist of garland do I not hunger for your heights of wonder break out of this square
Feel and know the free liberation of exhilaration from drawing breath from clean boisterous air you
Have plenty to spare I would rise from the ashes as the phoenix to new life whatever it takes I must
Break free my blood burns with passion for new experiences I have accepted this square I have seen
Others in similar shapes the familiar the comfortable all too often becomes a trap when just beyond
Their limitations boundless borders exist your masterful game awaits your participation you hold the
Keys that can unlock doors that have been tightly shut a burgeoning knowing has been the cause of
Much restlessness a different and true angle of vision gives you the impetuous to strike out at your
Confinement the old saying comes to mind a square peg in a round hole the freeing the running
That never tires only brings you to the finest quality of life you have ever known it takes you to question
The norm draw truth by astuteness when it reveals itself even if it is just small glimpses this is the crack
That works unseen by each impulse and strain you have made the inner knowing never accepts second
Best you were a divine dream created in perfection then through small thinking lack of courage and faith
That wavered instead of pressing on you end up in a wilderness instead of your part of paradise its not
To late pick up the pieces now wiser place the pieces together from the joy they release take the stand
that will break the remaining restraints your ideal life awaits your choice will decide you have the proof
now win the test go out from all restrictions and fill the world with your particular freedom and blessing
so many are still enslaved they need your voice

Sectors of time

I walk this road each mile is a section is it me or is the timber changing to beams that strut up on both
Sides and close over the top my vision my reality now cube like I see the vistas beyond the crown of
The mountains they are contrary cusses to the sky poking making holes in the blue then they gather the
Clouds about in a mist of garland do I not hunger for your heights of wonder break out of this square
Feel and know the free liberation of exhilaration from drawing breath from clean boisterous air you
Have plenty to spare I would rise from the ashes as the phoenix to new life whatever it takes I must
Break free my blood burns with passion for new experiences I have accepted this square I have seen
Others in similar shapes the familiar the comfortable all too often becomes a trap when just beyond
Their limitations boundless borders exist your masterful game awaits your participation you hold the
Keys that can unlock doors that have been tightly shut a burgeoning knowing has been the cause of
Much restlessness a different and true angle of vision gives you the impetuous to strike out at your
Confinement the old saying comes to mind a square peg in a round hole the freeing the running
That never tires only brings you to the finest quality of life you have ever known it takes you to question
The norm draw truth by astuteness when it reveals itself even if it is just small glimpses this is the crack
That works unseen by each impulse and strain you have made the inner knowing never accepts second
Best you were a divine dream created in perfection then through small thinking lack of courage and faith
That wavered instead of pressing on you end up in a wilderness instead of your part of paradise its not
To late pick up the pieces now wiser place the pieces together from the joy they release take the stand
that will break the remaining restraints your ideal life awaits your choice will decide you have the proof
now win the test go out from all restrictions and fill the world with your particular freedom and blessing
so many are still enslaved they need your voice

I look at your work and see
an array of strokes in-between
The smiles and tears that piles
Isolated brushes in small rooms

I peep on your life and portraits
On the aisles of temptation and love
The misery of the human formations
Inside a three dimensional canvas

I think of you from symbolism realism
On the island where nature was proud
Landscapes of greenish violet spoke
Soaked romantic tinges in spiky pokes

I see your blue lonely bubble episodes
On the earth's doleful daunted pasture
Culminates of gloom, isolation suicide
Dark and blue composite of blindness

I love the painted roses of orange tosses
On the eve where mistresses and lovers
Speak accents of lust with naked bodies
Paraded games of the heart captured on ice

I seek your open mind and astuteness
On the soil of Africa celebrating souls
Dancing at the rhythm of the drum beats
Shaping,hunting,pacing, tracing, painting

I like the way you wandered and hoped
On the excitement of something a new
When cubism of browny monochrome
Shaded neutrals in fragmented collages

I long to figure you out and your gems
On that dynamic cased experimentation
Crystal periods of pipes, guitars and glass
The passion that brought you riches and fame

I love to romantasise you Pablo Picasso
On my search you were a dreamer and a doer
Falled and failed, waited and won it all
From surrealism, abstraction to classical

Whosoever doubts you
will be dumbfounded
by your astuteness.
They will never
understand the way
of the wind
or the way
the river flows.
The way of
the honey bees
will confound them.
Neither will they
understand the pleasure
of a man
who has lost
his direction in
the wilderness and
to suddenly find
his way out
of the middle
of nowhere.
Keep your whole
life low keyed
and let people
assume incorrectly
about you.
It will keep
them busy in
advertising you.
The strength of
silence over
catastrophic indexes
are infinitely infectious.
No kind of force,
and absolutely nothing
can withstand anything
whose time has come.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

Found in a poem?
Silken marvel to hear a passion
Let among sour, the tale of a questioning home
Livid and its almost friend, of rascals and wondering

Light in the tree's, so confirmed for a glades wish
Through and through, the idea of love
Halts, and savor's a granted moment we relish
And prove is just same, as a home to wander about a covenant

Singing our praises, a bird of hardy exception, will take note
Look and see the imagination we prophecy
Is a clarity in reach, of cloud, sunshine and a breeze to devote
Itself and privilege is, the guarantee of another day

When we are simply the might
Today has seen the better of a sore truth
Welcome us to a legend in the habit, we sigh is a further right
To acceptance, and cares, we still define as a callous youth

Play? and see a marvel become the irony of earning us
In solitude we know no better, than to take the our, for offering
A shrewdness in the lend, and scatter for beckoning another thus
To a decidedly odd, but merciful clamor that has a soul to seek

Worth? and see a miracle know the spare to divine astuteness
Share and be, dare and lead, a willful eye to gall's redeemed
Time in its eternal march to wisdom and order in heed, that has a bless
To share, and keep intrinsic, a shadow of a changing thought for what we were, another's whim