Poems begining by M
/ page 117 of 130 /
Matthew VIII,28 ff.
© Richard Wilbur
Rabbi, we Gadarenes
Are not ascetics; we are fond of wealth and possessions.
Love, as You call it, we obviate by means
Of the planned release of aggressions.
March 26, 1974
© Richard Wilbur
R.Frost 100th B'dayThe air was soft, the ground still cold.
In wet dull pastures where I strolled
Was something I could not believe.
Dead grass appeared to slide and heave,
Museum Piece
© Richard Wilbur
The good gray guardians of art
Patrol the halls on spongy shoes,
Impartially protective, though
Perhaps suspicious of Toulouse.
My Love Is in a Light Attire
© James Joyce
My love is in a light attire
Among the apple-trees,
Where the gay winds do most desire
To run in companies.
My Dove, My Beautiful One
© James Joyce
My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.
My Bed is Covered Yellow
© Peter Orlovsky
My bed is covered yellow - Oh Sun, I sit on you
Oh golden field I lay on you
Oh money I dream of you
More, More, cried the bed - talk to me more -
My Longshore Lass
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Far in the mellow western sky,
Above the restless harbor bar,
A beacon on the coast of night,
Shines out a calm, white evening star;
But your deep eyes, my 'longshore lass,
Are brighter, clearer far.
My Legacy
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
My friend has gone away from me
From shadow into perfect light,
But leaving a sweet legacy.
Morning along Shore
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Hark, oh hark the elfin laughter
All the little waves along,
As if echoes speeding after
Mocked a merry merman's song!
Midnight in Camp
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Night in the unslumbering forest! From the free,
Vast pinelands by the foot of man untrod,
Blows the wild wind, roaming rejoicingly
This wilderness of God;
Memory Pictures
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
I A wide-spring meadow in a rosy dawn
Bedropt with virgin buds; an orient sky
Fleeced with a dappled cloud but half withdrawn;
A mad wind blowing by,
Market days
© Jonas Mekas
Mondays, way before dawn,
before even the first hint of blue in the windows,
we'd hear it start, off the road past our place,
over on the highway nearby,
in a clatter of market-bound traffic.
Mayakovsky In New York: A Found Poem
© Annie Dillard
For many hours the train flies along the banks
of the Hudson about two feet from the water. At the stops,
passengers run out, buy up bunches of celery,
and run back in, chewing the stalks as they go.
Mirth
© Robert Herrick
True mirth resides not in the smiling skin;
The sweetest solace is to act no sin.
Men Mind No State In Sickness
© Robert Herrick
That flow of gallants which approach
To kiss thy hand from out the coach;
That fleet of lackeys which do run
Before thy swift postilion;
Mrs Eliz: Wheeler, Under The Name Of Thelost Shepherdess
© Robert Herrick
Among the myrtles as I walk'd
Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my Shepherdess?
Matins, Or Morning Prayer
© Robert Herrick
When with the virgin morning thou dost rise,
Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice;
First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing.
Man's Dying-place Uncertain
© Robert Herrick
Man knows where first he ships himself; but he
Never can tell where shall his landing be.
Miseries
© Robert Herrick
Though hourly comforts from the gods we see,
No life is yet life-proof from misery.
Money Makes The Mirth
© Robert Herrick
When all birds else do of their music fail,
Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale!
