There are 285 Poems that have a first line beginning with "m"

Many in aftertimes will say of you
"Many in aftertimes will say of you"
By Christina Rossetti

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary"
By Anonymous

May it please Lord Elgin, Earl of Kincardine,
1801: Among the Papers of the Envoy to Constantinople
By Richard Howard

May I never be afraid
30th Birthday
By Alice Notley

Master Hirano came from Japan together with a priest from the Kegon sect and the two of them drank beer all night at the Avia Hotel next to Ben Gurion airport.
from Curriculum Vitae
By Yoel Hoffmann

Meanwhile the heinous and despiteful act
Paradise Lost: Book X
By John Milton

Men drop so fast, ere Life’s mid Stage we tread,
V Mon. July [1747] hath xxxi days.
By Benjamin Franklin

Man’s rich with little, were his Judgment true,
XII Mon. February [1746] hath xxviii days.
By Benjamin Franklin

My heart is like a singing bird
A Birthday
By Christina Rossetti

Muses that sing love's sensual empery,
A Coronet for his Mistress, Philosophy
By George Chapman

My dog has died.
A Dog Has Died
By Pablo Neruda

May the Babylonish curse,
A Farewell to Tobacco
By Charles Lamb

Man, looking into the sea—
A Graveyard
By Marianne Moore

My mother stands at the screen door, laughing.
A Happy Childhood
By William Matthews

My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my life, nay more,
A Letter to Her Husband, Absent Upon Public Employment
By Anne Bradstreet

Moonmoth and grasshopper that flee our page
A Name for All
By Hart Crane

Men of England, wherefore plough
A Song: “Men of England”
By Percy Bysshe Shelley

My lady
A Token
By Robert Creeley

Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
A Vision upon the Fairy Queen
By Sir Walter Ralegh

Moon marked and touched by sun
A Woman Speaks
By Audre Lorde

My mind’s eye opens before
Adding It Up
By Philip Booth

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
After Apple Picking
By Robert Frost

my mother's son
afterblues
By Lucille Clifton

Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day,
Amoretti LXVIII: Most Glorious Lord of Life
By Edmund Spenser

Most happy letters, fram'd by skilful trade,
Amoretti LXXIV: Most Happy Letters
By Edmund Spenser

Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
Amoretti LXXIX: Men Call you Fair
By Edmund Spenser

More then most faire, full of the living fire,
Amoretti VIII: More then most faire, full of the living fire
By Edmund Spenser

My Love is like to ice, and I to fire:
Amoretti XXX: My Love is like to ice, and I to fire
By Edmund Spenser

My mother died one summer—
And Soul
By Eavan Boland

My body, laid out on a marble slab.
And Then I Saw
By Alfred Corn

My dear, you are the high-speed car chase, and I,
Another Plot Cliché
By Rebecca Hoogs

Mail-day, and over the world in a thousand drag-nets
Aside
By Karl Shapiro

Mothers of America
Ave Maria
By Frank O'Hara

Most afternoons, I’d run laps through Parc Brassens
“Embrace Them All”
By Katy Didden

My mother’s mother, widowed very young
“Find Work”
By Rhina P. Espaillat

My mother is a fish
“My Mother is a Fish”
By Peter Balakian

My reading is extremely deep and wide;
Ballade of Modest Confession
By Hilaire Belloc

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
Battle Hymn of the Republic
By Julia Ward Howe

Morning glories, pale as a mist drying,
Bees and Morning Glories
By John Ciardi

Minutes before the rain begins
Before the Rain
By Lianne Spidel

Mother said to call her if the H-bomb exploded
Belief
By Josephine Miles

My father liked them separate, one there,
Bilingual/Bilingüe
By Rhina P. Espaillat

My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled ,
Binsey Poplars
By Gerard Manley Hopkins

my story is
Blues Chant Hoodoo Revival
By Yusef Komunyakaa

Map of terror and pleasure,
Body
By Alissa Leigh

My first week in Cambridge a car full of white boys
Boston Year
By Elizabeth Alexander

My desk is cleared of the litter of ages;
Bricks and Straw
By Franklin Pierce Adams

My mother loves butter more than I do,
Butter
By Elizabeth Alexander

My first day leading the prison writing workshop: Carlos
complimented my choosing the chair nearest the door.
Carlos
By Theodore Deppe

My mind is shuffling its deck tonight,
Casino
By Joyce Sutphen

My mother in her dress of red Viyella, teetering like a tiny idol
Chinoisserie
By Lynn Emanuel

My mother was not impressed with her beauty;
Christmas Eve: My Mother Dressing
By Toi Derricotte

Maybe it was jet lag, maybe not,
Coda
By Marilyn Hacker

Man, the egregious egoist,
Cold Blooded Creatures
By Elinor Wylie

More than the beetles turned russet,
Colophon
By Dean Young

My ghostly fader, I me confess,
Confession of a Stolen Kiss
By Charles d'Orleans

Mist clogs the sunshine.
Consolation
By Matthew Arnold

my puppet-strings are the
Contempt
By Elfriede Jelinek

Miss Nancy Ellicott
Cousin Nancy
By T. S. Eliot

My friend from Asia has powers and magic, he plucks a blue leaf from the young blue-gum
Credo
By Robinson Jeffers

My son's been learning time: big hand
Crossing the Days
By James Scruton

My father drummed darkness
Descent
By Samuel Menashe

My mind’s a map. A mad sea-captain drew it
Difference
By Stephen Vincent Benét

More discontents I never had
Discontents in Devon
By Robert Herrick

Maybe you’ve heard about this. Maybe not.
Domestic Situation
By Ernest Hilbert

My dear children, do you remember the morning
Driving West in 1970
By Robert Bly

Metal giraffes march up the bluff
Durban, South Africa—Some Notations of Value
By Chris Abani

May no gentle seedling settle
Epitaph
By Janet Loxley Lewis

Mount Olympus held nothing for them.
Estrangement in Athens
By Brian Culhane

Man-dirt and stomachs that the sea unloads; rockets
Eve of St. Agony or The Middleclass Was Sitting on Its Fat
By Kenneth Patchen

My black face fades,
Facing It
By Yusef Komunyakaa

Maybe you need to write a poem about grace.
Faint Music
By Robert Hass

My butterfly sits
Fake Tattoo
By Nikki Grimes

My father scolded us all for refusing his liquor.
Family Reunion
By Catherine Barnett

My father knows the proper way
Father
By Edgar Albert Guest

Matilde, years or days
Finale
By Pablo Neruda

more the idea of the flame than the flame,
fire
By Nick Flynn

Maybe a sin, indecent for sure—dope,
First Coca-Cola
By Rodney Jones

Men who have hardly uncurled
Forest Dwellers
By R. S. Thomas

Most of the things you made for me—blanket-
Frame, An Epistle
By Claudia Emerson

My last Sabbath,
From Her Notes
By Nomi Stone

My mother had two faces and a frying pot
From the House of Yemanjá
By Audre Lorde

Mother is drinking to forget a man
Frying Trout While Drunk
By Lynn Emanuel

My bands of silk and miniver
Full Moon
By Elinor Wylie

Morning and evening
Goblin Market
By Christina Rossetti

More than a third of a century later,
Going to Connecticut
By Sandra M. Gilbert

Miss Murphy in first grade
Halley’s Comet
By Stanley Kunitz

My mare, when she was in heat,
Heat
By Jane Hirshfield

Mistress Adrienne, I have been given a bed with a pink dresser
Her Monologue of Dark Crepe with Edges of Light:
By Norman Dubie

my sister Josephine
here rests
By Lucille Clifton

Make me, O Lord, thy Spining Wheele compleate.
Huswifery
By Edward Taylor

My life is the gardener of my body. The brain—a hothouse closed tight
I Wasn’t One of the Six Million: And What Is My Life Span? Open Closed Open
By Yehuda Amichai

Miss Bliss, once I thought I was endless
Immortality Ode
By Bruce Smith

Mown meadows skirt the standing wheat;
In Harvest
By Sophie Jewett

my wife’s bare footprints on these rocks after
in the Catskills again
By Dick Lourie

my mother put down her knife and fork,
In the Middle of Dinner
By Chris Abani

Moving from day into day,
In the Tunnel of Summers
By Anne Stevenson

Mid-October, Massachusetts. We drive
Incident
By Eamon Grennan

My mother groan'd! my father wept.
Infant Sorrow
By William Blake

Moment. Moment. Moment.
Instant Glimpsable Only for an Instant
By Jane Hirshfield

Moments of great calm,
Kneeling
By R. S. Thomas

My wife tells me she hears a beetle
Late at Night in Bed
By Gregory Djanikian

Manic-depressive Lincoln, national hero!
Lincoln
By Delmore Schwartz

Many a green isle needs must be
Lines Written among the Euganean Hills
By Percy Bysshe Shelley

My sister rises from our bed hours before dawn.
Listen Carefully
By Philip Levine

My whole life I was swimming listening
Listening
By Jean Valentine

My father’s dying
Living Here Now
By Eloise Klein Healy

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
London, 1802
By William Wordsworth

My own dear love, he is strong and bold
Love Song
By Dorothy Parker

My monkey-wrench man is my sweet patootie;
Love Song for Alex, 1979
By Margaret Walker

Master of the murmuring courts
Love's Nocturn
By Dante Gabriel Rossetti

My little lack-of-light, my swaddled soul,
Lullaby
By Amanda Jernigan

My name is Johnson—
Madam’s Past History
By Langston Hughes

Madam, withouten many words
Madam, withouten many Words
By Thomas Wyatt

My mother does not trust
Makeup
By Dora Malech

Matisse, too, when the fingers ceased to work,
Matisse, Too
By Alicia Ostriker

Mayor. Worldman. Historyman.
Mayor Harold Washington
By Gwendolyn Brooks

Men at forty
Men at Forty
By Donald Justice

Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
By John Milton

Michael O’Toole hated going to school,
Michael O’Toole
By Phil Bolsta

Mild is the parting year, and sweet
Mild is the Parting Year
By Walter Savage Landor

Mine own John Poynz, since ye delight to know
Mine own John Poynz
By Thomas Wyatt

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Miniver Cheevy
By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
Modern Love: XXXIV
By George Meredith

Momus is the name men give your face,
Momus
By Carl Sandburg

Moo, moo, brown cow
Moo, Moo, Brown Cow
By Anonymous

Morning arrives
Morning Arrives
By Franz Wright

Most like an arch—an entrance which upholds
Most Like an Arch This Marriage
By John Ciardi

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
Most Sweet it is
By William Wordsworth

Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;
Mother, I cannot Mind my Wheel
By Walter Savage Landor

Mr. Kessler, you know, was in the army,
Mrs. Kessler
By Edgar Lee Masters

Much Madness is divinest Sense —
Much Madness is divinest Sense -
By Emily Dickinson

My body holds its shape. The genius is intact.
Mummy of a Lady Named Jemutesonekh
By Thomas James

My brother’s worth about two cents,
My Brother
By Marci Ridlon

My baby brother has a bear
My Brother’s Bear
By Bruce Lansky

My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day
My Dearest Dust
By Catherine Dyer

mary is an old woman without shoes.
my dream about the second coming
By Lucille Clifton

My father was a tall man and yet the ripened rye
My Father
By Jessie B. Rittenhouse

My father in the night commanding No
My Father in the Night Commanding No
By Louis Simpson

My first best friend is Awful Ann—
My First Best Friend
By Jack Prelutsky

My frog is a frog that is hopelessly hoarse,
My Frog Is a Frog
By Jack Prelutsky

My galley, chargèd with forgetfulness,
My Galley, Charged with Forgetfulness
By Thomas Wyatt

My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun (764)
By Emily Dickinson

My lover gave me green leaves
My Lover Gave Me Green Leaves
By Josephine Dickinson

My lute awake! perform the last
My Lute Awake
By Thomas Wyatt

My mind hovered over my baby, like
My Raptor
By Annie Finch

My sin is
My Sin
By Chungmi Kim

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,
My Sweetest Lesbia
By Thomas Campion

My mom brought home a violin
My Violin
By Bruce Lansky

Monks of the Years for Zodiacal Ears
Mya Calendar
By Colette Inez

Moving from Cheer to Joy, from Joy to All,
Next Day
By Randall Jarrell

Midmorning like a deserted room, apparition
Nine-Panel Yaak River Screen
By Charles Wright

more of a red heart
No Difference I Know They Are
By Donald Revell

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
Ode to a Nightingale
By John Keats

Muzzle and jowl and beastly brow,
from Odes: 13. Fearful Symmetry
By Basil Bunting

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
By John Keats

My father in the aluminum stern, cursing
On Munsungun
By Ethan Stebbins

My spirit is too weak—mortality
On Seeing the Elgin Marbles
By John Keats

Mourn, mourn, ye Muses, all your loss deplore,
On the Death of the Late Earl of Rochester
By Aphra Behn

My name is Edgar Poe and I was born
On the Edge
By Philip Levine

Mountains rise above us like ideas
On This Rock
By Daryl Hine

Mine was a Midwest home—you can keep your world.
One Home
By William E. Stafford

My father cinched the rope,
Out
By Andrew Hudgins

Most of it’s too dreary
Outsider Art
By Kay Ryan

My poems are my children, and I swear
Paideia
By George Bradley

MEan while the new-baptiz'd, who yet remain'd
Paradise Regain'd: Book II (1671)
By John Milton

My Soul, there is a country
Peace
By Henry Vaughan

My beloved little billiard balls,
Poem to Some of My Recent Poems
By James Tate

Morn on her rosy couch awoke,
Poetry
By Lydia Huntley Sigourney

My chin is stained with the dark-red
Pomegranates
By Hilda Morley

My shoulders ache beneath my pack
Prayer of a Soldier in France
By Joyce Kilmer

Mittens are drying on the radiator,
Radiator
By Connie Wanek

Millpoint throaty guzzler, wishful
Rain Gauge
By John Kinsella

My gentle friend! I hold no creed so false
Retirement
By Henry Timrod

My father-in-law writes from Umbria (where peasants eat songbirds
Rintrah Roars
By James Galvin

My father and I lie down together.
Riverlight
By Frank Stanford

My love said take
Romantic
By Dara Wier

Maud went to college.
Sadie and Maud
By Gwendolyn Brooks

Minutes ago those quick cleft hoofs
Safari, Rift Valley
By Roy Jacobstein

Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree.
Sarah Brown
By Edgar Lee Masters

My mother’s lamp once out,
Scenes of Childhood
By James Merrill

Must Sean Penn always look like he’s squeezing
Sean Penn Anti-Ode
By Dean Young

Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts,
Seventh Street
By Jean Toomer

My father has a pair of shoes
Shoes
By Anonymous

My wife wears headphones as she plays
Silent Music
By Floyd Skloot

My ancestor, a man
Snowmen
By Agha Shahid Ali

My heart, my dove, my snail, my sail, my
Song
By Cynthia Zarin

My true-love hath my heart and I have his,
Song from Arcadia: “My True Love Hath My Heart”
By Philip Sidney

Maybe my soul’s all right.
Song of the Little Cripple at the Street Corner
By Rainer Maria Rilke

Mine, said the stone,
Song of the Powers
By David Mason

Memory, hither come,
Song: Memory, hither come
By William Blake

My silks and fine array,
Song: My silks and fine array
By William Blake

Mac. Were I laid on Greenland’s coast,
Songs from The Beggar’s Opera: Air XVI-“Over the Hills, and Far Away”
By John Gay

My heart be brave, and do not falter so,
Sonnet
By James Weldon Johnson

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Sonnet CXXX: My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing like the Sun
By William Shakespeare

Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Sonnet XXIII: Methought I Saw my Late Espoused Saint
By John Milton

My letters! all dead paper, ... mute and white ! —
Sonnets from the Portuguese 28: My Letters!
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My roots are deep in southern life;
Sorrow Home
By Margaret Walker

My father paces the upstairs hall
Spree
By Maxine W. Kumin

Margaret, are you grieving
Spring and Fall
By Gerard Manley Hopkins

My sweet did sweetly sleep,
Stolen Pleasure
By William Drummond of Hawthornden

My hands are murder-red. Many a plump head
Strawberrying
By May Swenson

Methought a sweet sound from the street uprose,—
Street Music
By Elizabeth Akers Allen

My father at the dictionary-stand
Supernatural Love
By Gjertrud Schnackenberg

My cat washes
Superstition
By Marin Sorescu

My brother, in his small white bed,
Supple Cord
By Naomi Shihab Nye

Melissa and I were sitting
Swapping Minds
By James Laughlin

Most of the past is lost,
Switchblade
By Michael Ryan

My fingertips marveled at the silvery shimmer,
Swordfish
By Andrew Hudgins

My family’s very talented,
Talented Family
By Kenn Nesbitt

My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,
Tam Glen
By Robert Burns

My chalk is no longer than a chip of fingernail,
Teaching English from an Old Composition Book
By Gary Soto

My bonsai teacher says to quit doing it like a girl.
Tech Help
By Chase Twichell

My love looks like a girl to-night,
The Bride
By D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence

Matches among other things that were not allowed
The Burnt Child
By W. S. Merwin

Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness.
The cat’s song
By Marge Piercy

marches in uniform down the traffic stripe
The City's Oldest Known Survivor of the Great War
By James Doyle

Men late at night cook coffee in rusty cans,
The County Jail
By Jimmy Santiago Baca

Maybe no one can distinguish which voice
The Creation of the Inaudible
By Pattiann Rogers

Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
The Death of the Hired Man
By Robert Frost

My love is of a birth as rare
The Definition of Love
By Andrew Marvell

My friends,
The Empty Dance Shoes
By Cornelius Eady

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
The Eolian Harp
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Men, brother men, that after us yet live,
The Epitaph in Form of a Ballad which Villon Made for Himself and his Comrades, Expecting to be Hanged along with Them
By Algernon Charles Swinburne

Merchants have multiplied more than the stars of heaven.
The Executive’s Death
By Robert Bly

My father’s farm is an apple blossomer.
The Farm
By Joyce Sutphen

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
The Flea
By John Donne

Myths of the landscape—
The Foundry Garden
By Stanley Plumly

Men of the Twenty-first
The Guards Came Through
By Arthur Conan Doyle

My mother—preferring the strange to the tame:
The Intruder
By Carolyn Kizer

Moses, from whose loins I sprung,
The Jew
By Isaac Rosenberg

My sister rubs the doll’s face in mud,
The Kid
By Ai

My breasts are small and my eyes round.
The Kiss
By Kirmen Uribe

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
The Little Black Boy
By William Blake

My mind is like a clamorous market-place.
The Market-Place
By Walter De La Mare

My cuticles are a mess. Oh honey, by the way,
The Motorcyclists
By James Tate

My mind was once the true survey
The Mower’s Song
By Andrew Marvell

My sister in her well-tailored silk blouse hands me
The Photos
By Diane Wakoski

My husband was in the CIA. That’s the kind
The Phyllis
By R. T. Smith

My youth? I hear it mostly in the long, volleying
The Poet at Seventeen
By Larry Levis

My embarrassment at his nakedness,
The Pool
By Robert Creeley

My mother weeping
The Rain Poured Down
By Dan Gerber

Majesty is incompatible truly with love; they cohabit
The Rape of Europa
By Ovid

Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit,
The Real and True and Sure
By Robert Browning

May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
The Seafarer
By Ezra Pound

Moth-force a small town always has,
The Strength of Fields
By James L. Dickey

Money and fame break in the room
The Strife between the Poet and Ambition
By Thomas James Merton

Me, when I think of you I see
The Tapestry
By Forrest Gander

Mountains, a moment’s earth-waves rising and hollowing; the earth too’s an ephemerid; the stars—
The Treasure
By Robinson Jeffers

My garden is the wild
The Untamed
By R. S. Thomas

Mrs. Coley’s three-flat brick
the vacant lot
By Gwendolyn Brooks

Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
The Virgin
By William Wordsworth

My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes,
The Words Under the Words
By Naomi Shihab Nye

Mamua, when our laughter ends,
Tiare Tahiti
By Rupert Brooke

munching a plum on
To a Poor Old Woman
By William Carlos Williams

Morning quivers in the thorns; above the budded snowdrops
To Autumn
By Louise Glück

My dear, I wonder if before the end
To D-, Dead by Her Own Hand
By Howard Nemerov

My Love? alas! I must not call you Mine,
To J.G. On the News of His Marriage
By Ephelia

Margaret, in happy hour
To Margaret W------
By Charles Lamb

Midway the hill of science, after steep
To Mr. [S.T.] C[oleridge]
By Anna Lætitia Barbauld

Mute is thy wild harp, now, O Bard sublime!
To the Shade of Burns
By Charlotte Smith

My deaf cousin had a hand in designing the Tomahawk Missile.
Tomahawk
By Mark Rudman

Making his advances
Tortoise Gallantry
By D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence

Minnesota
Tricyclist and a Turtle
By Molly McQuade

My grandmother was eighty-nine and blind
United Jewish Appeal
By n/a

My grandmother was eighty-nine and blind
United Jewish Appeal
By Michael C. Blumenthal

Mind led body
Vertigo
By Anne Stevenson

My husband has a crush on Myrna Loy,
Video Blues
By Mary Jo Salter

Maybe because I was married and felt secure and dead
Visiting My Gravesite: Talbott Churchyard, West Virginia
By Irene McKinney

My parents argued over wallpaper. Would stripes
Wallpapering
By Sue Ellen Thompson

man, he said, sitting on the steps
wax job
By Charles Bukowski

My heart is a fancy place
We Eat Out Together
By Bernadette Mayer

My grandmother said when she was young
Weariness of Men
By Frank Stanford

My wedding-ring lies in a basket
Wedding-Ring
By Denise Levertov

more than the black
White hair does not weigh
By Samuel Menashe

My head knocks against the stars.
Who Am I?
By Carl Sandburg

My pale stepdaughter, just off the school bus,
Who Steals My Good Name
By W. D. Snodgrass

Mass hysteria, wave after breaking wave
Willowware Cup
By James Merrill

Much suspected by me,
Written with a Diamond on her Window at Woodstock
By Elizabeth I

My brother comes home from work
You Can Have It
By Philip Levine

Man is so afraid, he look down at cock, long ago many
["Man is so afraid..."]
By Frank Stanford

marry at a hotel, annul ’em
[marry at a hotel, annul ’em]
By Harryette Mullen

morning green through ivy
[morning green through ivy]
By Dan Beachy-Quick

Mr. Van Ess bought 14 washcloths?
[Mr. Van Ess bought 14 washcloths?]
By Lorine Niedecker

My mother saw the green tree toad
[My mother saw the green tree toad]
By Lorine Niedecker