Medieval Poems

Candle light oscillating
Luxing like amoeba
Silenced to actuate
Jus Primae Noctis
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Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
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At four o'clock
in the gun-metal blue dark
we hear the first crow of the first cock
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A youth in apparel that glittered
Went to walk in a grim forest.
There he met an assassin
Attired all in garb of old days;
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SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
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Primitive

I ate my fill of a whale that died
And stranded after a month at sea. . . .
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PROUD music of the storm!
Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!
Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!
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Today, because I couldn't find the shortcut through,
I had to walk this town's entire inner
perimeter to find
where the medieval walls break open
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Like medieval knights
Armor clad, in fields battle
To reap victory
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.
crimson nights
crimson rains
medieval trees
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A youth in apparel that glittered
Went to walk in a grim forest.
There he met an assassin
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Lay these words into the dead man's grave
next to the almonds and black cherries---
tiny skulls and flowering blood-drops, eyes,
and Thou, O bitterness that pillows his head.
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In the medieval towns there was an increase in people
But if one was in search of a doctor
One had to go to the ghetto and Europe envied Juda.
Dark roads of the ghetto, but bright ways of work!
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POEM
I saw a shoe a' sailing
a' sailing on the sea
The fairies were it a' using
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Anghiari is medieval, a sleeve sloping down
A steep hill, suddenly sweeping out
To the edge of a cliff, and dwindling.
But far up the mountain, behind the town,
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Let not our town be large, remembering
That little Athens was the Muses' home,
That Oxford rules the heart of London still,
That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome.
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Masks prose without links


When last I visited India almost a decade ago
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‘ Masculine Majesty … ’
Medieval Lines # 2

Lo’ and Behold … Thy Masculine Majesty
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Once I had this fanciful idea of recording
the silence in each great cathedral
and marketing these...
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That night, in a strange place
I was like a fly
Circling around a street lamp
Reeling…Reeling!
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Still now they can do it
Going medieval,
Bloody and barbaric
So rude and harsh in meting out
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If I had been a ruler of a hive, I would all the same haf reigned over a stuffy, small, repulsive village. No exit for mundane ambitions. Black breed allows smth, if the skin is porcelaine white alluding at veins within. It is a combination for Victoresn times but even then, it was borrowed. Avtually Medieval times are avfair try to sail off backwards. Attributes for the past do not work. Snowwhite complexion, refined traits, paleness are literally fabulous. Civilization is blotted with verbal deceptions. The Universe knows little of itself, vif it is not alienated of comprehending, cogitating. We are servants of the upper palm. I also chaotically composing an abrupted secular myth, a brief Eliada for myself.2022
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Hilltop town of medieval towers, and beautiful countryside, of cypress trees, we walk through the Piazza Della Cisterna, old ladies in black sell Italian lace, children play and laugh eating ice cream, lovers drink wine in small cafés and steal a kiss in the afternoon sun. It's a feast for the senses and for the soul, the Duomo bells ring and a bride and groom step out a horse and carriage love is in the air.
Michael Cochrane ©
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A medieval proverb comes to mind
While thinking of the head
Who rules the roost,
Too busy, could post,
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Among the cypress trees we picnic in the Tuscan sun a bottle of wine and some bread. Honey coloured village on the hilltop, medieval church bells ring, children play in the fields, oh heavenly is this place of old stones and towers.
Michael Cochrane ©
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Sitting in Lucca surrounded by ancient medieval churches, I listen to a violinist play, old people and children's laughter fills the air as the balloon man ties another animal creation. Church bells ring as people cycle over the town square. Lovers hold hands and kiss drinking each other with their loving eyes.
Michael Cochrane ©
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TRANSLATIONS OF THE OLDEST RHYMING POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE

These are translations of some of the oldest rhyming poems in the English language. While the focus is on early English rhyming poems, there is a section on early rhyming poems from other languages at the bottom of this page. The oldest Old English (i.e., Anglo-Saxon) poems did not rhyme, but were alliterative and used repetition of consonant and vowel sounds to create word-music. For example:
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(A lone voice whispers at 3 am)

There was always something so controversial and medieval about exploring semi-clothed in the dark shadows
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I Have Labored Sore
anonymous medieval lyric (circa the fifteenth century)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
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all along the maypole the green mans face appears;
words and pages woven in pagan practices.
midsummer madness and particoloured fools
Morris and nine men dance bells a jingling
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