Poems begining by M
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My Orcha'd in Linden Lea
© Ingeborg Bachmann
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded,
By the woak tree's mossy moot,
The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded,
Now do quiver under voot;
Menschenlos
© Ingeborg Bachmann
Verwunschnes Wolkenschloß, in dem wir treiben...
Wer weiß, ob wir nicht schon durch viele Himmel
so ziehen mit verglasten Augen?
Wir, in die Zeit verbannt
und aus dem Raum gestoßen,
wir, Flieger durch die Nacht und Bodenlose.
Mahalia Jackson
© James A. Emanuel
« I sing the LORD'S songs »
(palms once tough to stay alive,
alarm clock on five).
Michael Jackson
© James A. Emanuel
There ain't NO-BO-DY
can dance like THAT, 'cept them twins
Jazzlene and Jazzphat.
My Philosophy of Life
© John Ashbery
Just when I thought there wasn't room enough
for another thought in my head, I had this great idea--
call it a philosophy of life, if you will.Briefly,
it involved living the way philosophers live,
according to a set of principles. OK, but which ones?
Makers And Creatures
© Vernon Scannell
It is a curious experience
And one you"re bound to know, though probably
In other realms than that of literature,
Though I speak of poems now, assuming
Miscarriage
© Jennifer Reeser
Fold this, our daughters grave,
and seal it with your kiss.
For all the love I gave,
you owe me this.
Morning Coffee
© Alec Derwent Hope
Reading the menu at the morning service:
- Iced Venusberg perhaps, or buttered bum -
Orders the usual sex-ersatz, and, nervous,
Glances around - Will she or won't she come?
Meditation on a Bone
© Alec Derwent Hope
Words scored upon a bone,
Scratched in despair or rage --
Nine hundred years have gone;
Now, in another age,
They burn with passion on
A scholar's tranquil page.
Moth Collectors
© Chris Jones
When our moggy brings in moths, she squeaks
through the kitchen, tips between her teeth,and scoots upstairs to scuff under the bed.
If we find these blow-ins theyre usually deadthough a number dust the floor with tatty wings
or unfurl from sheets like pencil shavings,furry woodcuts, a lime-green surprise
Message
© Harold Pinter
Jill. Fred phoned. He can't make tonight.
He said he'd call again, as soon as poss.
I said (on your behalf) OK, no sweat.
He said to tell you he was fine,
Music
© Walter de la Mare
When music sounds, gone is the earth I know,
And all her lovely things even lovelier grow;
Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees
Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies.
