Poems begining by M
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Maiden Name
© Philip Larkin
Marrying left yor maiden name disused.
Its five light sounds no longer mean your face,
Your voice, and all your variants of grace;
For since you were so thankfully confused
Myxomatosis
© Philip Larkin
Caught in the center of a soundless field
While hot inexplicable hours go by
What trap is this? Where were its teeth concealed?
You seem to ask.
May Morning
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Over all the watered vale
Shadows of the clouds trail:
Then the sun laughs out, and sheen
Runs like joy across the green.
Money
© Philip Larkin
Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me:
'Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex,
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.'
Mcmxiv
© Philip Larkin
Those long uneven lines
Standing as patiently
As if they were stretched outside
The Oval or Villa Park,
Mother, Summer, I
© Philip Larkin
My mother, who hates thunder storms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
Maturity
© Philip Larkin
A stationary sense... as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
Inaccurate, tired;
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful -
Some say, desired.
Mr Bleaney
© Philip Larkin
'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,
Mothers Are a Special Gift
© Faye Diane Kilday
Mothers are a special gift sent from God above, They bless us with their nurturing,And fill us with their love.
They pick us up when we are down,And when we're sad they know,They're always there to lend a hand,And guide us as we go.
And mothers are like special jewels that can't be bought or sold...A mother's love's more precious than the rarest gem or gold.
Yes, mothers are a special gift sent from God above, And we'll be blessed forever with their never ending love!© Faye Kilday 1996
Master Of Music
© Henry Van Dyke
Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard,
Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song, -
Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred,
Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long!
My Honey, My Love
© Joel Chandler Harris
De Bully-Bat fly mighty close ter de groun',
My honey, my love!
Mister Fox, he coax 'er, Do come down!
My honey, my love!
Mercury And Cupid
© Matthew Prior
In sullen Humour one Day Jove
Sent Hermes down to Ida's Grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His Store of Darts, his total Quiver;
That Hermes shou'd the Weapons break,
Or throw 'em into Lethe's Lake.
Music, In A Foreign Language
© Andrew Crumey
In a cafe, once more I heard
Your voice - those sparse and frugal notes.
Do they not say that you spoke your native Greek
With an English accent?
Marriage Bells
© Emma Lazarus
Music and silver chimes and sunlit air,
Freighted with the scent of honeyed orange-flower;
My mother was fortune, my father generosity and bounty
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
My mother was fortune, my father generosity and bounty; I
am joy, son of joy, son of joy, son of joy.
Behold, the Marquis of Glee has attainted felicity; this city and
plain are filled with soldiers and drums and flags.
Mourning
© Andrew Marvell
You, that decipher out the Fate
Of humane Off-springs from the Skies,
What mean these Infants which of late
Spring from the Starrs of Chlora's Eyes?
Moses In The Bulrushes. A Sacred Drama
© Hannah More
Hebrew Woman.
Jochebed, Mother of Moses.
Miriam, his Sister.
Music's Empire
© Andrew Marvell
First was the world as one great cymbal made,
Where jarring winds to infant Nature played.
All music was a solitary sound,
To hollow rocks and murm'ring fountains bound.
Midsummer, Tobago
© Derek Walcott
Broad sun-stoned beaches.White heat.
A green river.A bridge,
scorched yellow palmsfrom the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.Days I have held,
