Poems begining by M
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My Own Heart Let Me More Have Pity on
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise
You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile
Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room; let joy size
At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile
's not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather - as skies
Betweenpie mountains - lights a lovely mile.
Meeting Of The Alumni Of Harvard College
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I THANK you, MR. PRESIDENT, you've kindly broke the ice;
Virtue should always be the first,--I 'm only SECOND VICE--
(A vice is something with a screw that's made to hold its jaw
Till some old file has played away upon an ancient saw).
My Napoleon
© Victor Marie Hugo
Above all others, everywhere I see
His image cold or burning;
My brain it thrills, and many time sets free
The thoughts within me yearning.
Mrs. Katherines Lantern
© William Makepeace Thackeray
"Coming from a gloomy court,
Place of Israelite resort,
This old lamp I've brought with me.
Madam, on its panes you'll see
The initials K and E."
"My Ain Bonnie Lass O' The Glen."
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Ae blink o' the bonnie new mune,
Ay tinted as sune as she's seen,
Memoirs Of A Spinach-Picker
© Sylvia Plath
They called the place Lookout Farm.
Back then, the sun
Didn't go down in such a hurry. How it
Lit things, that lamp of the Possible!
Milton
© Robert Fuller Murray
with apologies to Lord Tennyson
O swallow-tailed purveyor of college sprees,
O skilled to please the student fraternity,
Most honoured publican of Scotland,
Mother, Washing Dishes by Susan Meyers : American Life in Poetry #267 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate
© Ted Kooser
Here’s a poem by Susan Meyers, of South Carolina, about the most ordinary of activities, washing the dishes, but in this instance remembering this ordinary routine provides an opportunity for speculation about the private pleasures of a lost parent.
Masochistic Baby
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Oh, ever since my Masochistic Baby went and left me
I got nothin to hit but the wall.
She loved me when I beat her,
But I started actin sweeter,
Mignon
© Madison Julius Cawein
Oh, Mignon's mouth is like a rose,
A red, red rose, that half uncurls
My Mother’s Pillow by Cecilia Woloch : American Life in Poetry #228 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laur
© Ted Kooser
I don’t often mention literary forms, but of this lovely poem by Cecilia Woloch I want to suggest that the form, a villanelle, which uses a pattern of repetition, adds to the enchantment I feel in reading it. It has a kind of layering, like memory itself. Woloch lives and teaches in southern California.
My Mother’s Pillow
MacKrimmon's Lament
© Sir Walter Scott
MacLeod's wizard flag from the grey castle sallies,
The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys;
Mindful Of You The Sodden Earth
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,
And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,
Meintjes Kopje
© Francis Ernley Walrond
Meintjes Kopje! Meintjes Kopje!
Do the purple daisies grow
On your rugged slopes in spring-time
As they did in years ago,
Mule Song
© Archie Randolph Ammons
Silver will lie where she lies
sun-out, whatever turning the world does,
longeared in her ashen, earless,
floating world:
Maudlin
© Sylvia Plath
Mud-mattressed under the sign of the hag
In a clench of blood, the sleep-talking virgin
Gibbets with her curse the moon's man,
Faggot-bearing Jack in his crackless egg :
Mary
© Caroline Norton
YES, we were happy once, and care
My jocund heart could ne'er surprise;
My treasures were, her golden hair,
Her ruby lips, her brilliant eyes.
