A wandering tribe, called the Siouxs,
Wear moccasins, having no shiouxs.
They are made of buckskin,
With the fleshy side in,
Embroidered with beads of bright hyiouxs.

When out on the war-path, the Siouxs
March single file–never by tiouxs–
And by “blazing” the trees
Can return at their ease,
And their way through the forests ne’er liouxs.

All new-fashioned boats he eschiouxs,
And uses the birch-bark caniouxs;
These are handy and light,
And, inverted at night,
Give shelter from storms and from dyiouxs.

The principal food of the Siouxs
Is Indian maize, which they briouxs,
And hominy make,
Or mix in a cake,
And eat it with pork, as they chiouxs.

Now, doesn’t this spelling look cyiouxrious?
‘Tis enough to make any one fyiouxrious!
So a word to the wise!
Pray our language revise
With orthography not so injiouxrious.

— Charles Follen Adams

mytacism
n. excessive use of the letter M

My Madeline! my Madeline!
Mark my melodious midnight moans,
Much may my melting music mean,
My modulated monotones.

My mandolin’s mild minstrelsy,
My mental music magazine,
My mouth, my mind, my memory,
Must mingling murmur “Madeline.”

Muster ‘mid midnight masquerade,
Mark Moorish maidens, matrons’ mien;
‘Mongst Murcia’s most majestic maids,
Match me my matchless Madeline.

Mankind’s malevolence may make
Much melancholy musing mine;
Many my motives may mistake,
My modest merits much malign.

My Madeline’s most mirthful mood
Much mollifies my mind’s machine;
My mournfulness’s magnitude
Melts–make me merry, Madeline!

Match-making ma’s may machinate,
Manoeuvring misses me misween;
Mere money may make many mate,
My magic motto’s “Madeline.”

Melt, most mellifluous melody,
‘Midst Murcia’s misty mounts marine;
Meet me ‘mid moonlight–marry me,
Madonna mia! My Madeline!

— Walter Parke, “A Mellifluous Madrigal,” Ballou’s Monthly Magazine, January 1888