Poems begining by M

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Manhattan Streets I Saunter'd, Pondering

© Walt Whitman

Manhatten's streets I saunter'd, pondering,
On time, space, reality-on such as these, and abreast with them,
prudence.

Magical Mystery Tour

© Charles Bukowski

as we drive up a steep road
the blonde squeezes my leg
and nestles closer
while raven hair
leans across and nibbles my
ear.

Myrtilla

© Washington Allston

"Ah me! how sad," Myrtilla cried,
"To waste alone my years!"
While o'er a streamlet's flow'ry side
She pensive hung, and watch'd the tide
That dimpled with her tears.

Morning Rain

© Du Fu

A slight rain comes, bathed in dawn light.
I hear it among treetop leaves before mist
Arrives. Soon it sprinkles the soil and,
Windblown, follows clouds away. Deepened

Morning At Sea In The Tropics

© George Gordon McCrae

Night waned and wasted, and the fading stars
Died out like lamps that long survived a feast,
And the moon, pale with watching, sank to rest
Behind the cloud-piled ramparts of the main.

My Divine Lysis

© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz

Divina Lysi mía:
perdona si me atrevo
a llamarte así, cuando
aun de ser tuya el nombre no merezco.

Matinee by Patrick Phillips: American Life in Poetry #124 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

Here is a lovely poem about survival by Patrick Phillips of New York. People sometimes ask me "What are poems for?" and "Matinee" is an example of the kind of writing that serves its readers, that shows us a way of carrying on. Matinee

After the biopsy,
after the bone scan,
after the consult and the crying,

Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book II - Swayamvara (The Bride's Choice)

© Romesh Chunder Dutt

The mutual jealousies of the princes increased from day to day, and
when Yudhishthir, the eldest of all the princes and the eldest son of
the late Pandu, was recognised heir-apparent, the anger of Duryodhan
and his brothers knew no bounds. And they formed a dark scheme to
kill the sons of Pandu.

Marjory

© Augusta Davies Webster

Spring Stornelli.

THE RIVULET.

My Play Is Done

© Swami Vivekananda

Ever rising, ever falling with the waves of time, still rolling on I go

From fleeting scene to scene ephemeral, with life's currents' ebb and flow.

Man And Lathe

© Edgar Albert Guest

I'm standing at my lathe all day

And this is what I hear it say:

Mother

© Edgar Albert Guest

OH, mother, why do you spin and weave,

And why do you toil today?

Moonrise in the Rockies

© Ella Higginson

The trembling train clings to the leaning wall
Of solid stone; a thousand feet below
Sinks a black gulf; the sky hangs like a pall
Upon the peaks of everlasting snow.