Poems begining by M
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Moving Pictures in Cactus Center
© Arthur Chapman
The culture game in Cactus has been boosted quite a spell
By a gent with movin' pictures--and he played the show game well;
But he had himself sure tangled, and the uplift game was messed
When he tried to show a drammer of the palpitatin' West.
My Books
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sadly as some old mediaeval knight
Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield,
Moeurs Contemporaines
© Ezra Pound
And by her left foot, in a basket,
Is an infant, aged about 14 months,
The infant beams at the parent,
The parent re-beams at its offspring.
The basket is lined with satin,
There is a satin-like bow on the harp.
ng shame" by Alfred Austin">"My soul is sunk in all--suffusing shame"
© Alfred Austin
So do I hope to hear the sabres clash
And tumbrils rattle when the snows abate.
Love peace who will-I for mankind prefer,
To dungeon or disgrace, a sepulchre.
Mother of Dreams
© Sri Aurobindo
Goddess supreme, Mother of Dream, by thy ivory doors when thou standest,
Who are they then that come down unto men in thy visions that troop, group upon group, down the path of the shadows slanting?
Dream after dream, they flash and they gleam with the flame of the stars still around them;
Shadows at thy side in a darkness ride where the wild fires dance, stars glow and glance and the random meteor glistens;
There are voices that cry to their kin who reply; voices sweet, at the heart they beat and ravish the soul as it listens.
Miles and miles of here and there
© Augusta Davies Webster
MILES and miles of here and there
Our eager river forced its way,
Bent to be it knew not where.
"Most people have a way of making friends"
© Lesbia Harford
Most people have a way of making friends
That's very queer.
They don't choose whom they like, but anyone
In some way near.
Marginalia by Deborah Warren : American Life in Poetry #219 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
As we all know, getting older isn't hard to do. Time continues on. In this poem, Deborah Warren of Massachusetts asks us to think about the life lived between our past and present selves, as indicated in the marginal comments of an old book. There's something beautiful about books allowing us to talk to who we once were, and this poem captures this beauty.
Marginalia
Milton
© Robert Laurence Binyon
An Ode
Soul of England, dost thou sleep,
Lulled or dulled, thy mighty youth forgotten?
Of the world's wine hast thou drunk too deep?
Midnight Song of Wu
© Li Po
In Chang'an city is the disk of the moon,
The sound of pounding clothes in ten thousand households.
The autumn wind is blowing without cease,
All the time I think of Yuguan pass.
When will we pacify the pillaging Hu,
So my husband can end his long journey?
Manhood's Greeting
© Edgar Albert Guest
I've' felt some little thrills of pride, I've inwardly rejoiced
Along the pleasant lanes of life to hear my praises voiced;
No great distinction have I claimed, but in a humble way
Some satisfactions sweet have come to brighten many a day;
But of the joyous thrills of life the finest that could be
Was mine upon that day when first a stranger "mistered" me.
Matsushima
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O paradise of waters and of isles that gleam,
Dark pines on scarps that flame white in a mirrored sky,
A hundred isles that change like a dissolving dream
From shape to shape for them that with the wind glide by!
My Soul Is Marching On!
© Paramahansa Yogananda
The shining stars are sunk in darkness deep,
The weary sun is dead at night,
The moons soft smile doth fade anon;
But still my soul is marching on!
My Dead Dream
© Sarojini Naidu
HAVE YOU found me, at last, O my Dream? Seven eons ago
You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow.
Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep
And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep?
Mystic
© Arthur Rimbaud
On the slope of the knoll angels
whirl their woolen robes
in pastures of emerald and steel.
Meadows of flame leap up to the summit of the little hill.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
© William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
More With Us Than With Them
© John Newton
Alas! Elisha's servant cried,
When he the Syrian army spied,
But he was soon released from care,
In answer to the prophet's prayer.
My Indian In-laws
© Belinda Subraman
I remember India:
palm trees, monkey families,
fresh lime juice in the streets,
the sensual inundation
Metropolitan Nightmare
© Stephen Vincent Benet
Until, one day, a somnolent city-editor
Gave a new cub the termite yarn to break his teeth on.
The cub was just down from Vermont, so he took the time.
He was serious about it. He went around.
He read all about termites in the Public Library
And it made him sore when they fired him.
