Poems begining by P
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Pussy Has A Whiskered Face
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Pussy has a whiskered face,
Kitty has such pretty ways;
Doggie scampers when I call,
And has a heart to love us all.
Polly In A Porny
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Haha I kissed Polly goodnight haha as we stood at her front door
Now she's quite a proper lady so I didn't ask for anything more
But haha I was feeling oh so groovie that I went down to the movie
And I sat down and guess just what I saw
Prayer For His Ladys Life
© Ezra Pound
FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEGIAE, LIB. III, 26
Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,
Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.
So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus,
Ye might let one remain above with us.
Phryne
© John Donne
Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee,
Only in this, that you both painted be.
Praise Of Creation
© George Moses Horton
Creation fires my tongue!
Nature thy anthems raise;
And spread the universal song
Of thy Creator's praise!
Phantom
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
All look and likeness caught from earth
All accident of kin and birth,
Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Picken O Scroff
© William Barnes
Oh! the wood wer a-vell'd in the copse,
An' the moss-bedded primrwose did blow;
Precedent
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
The poor man went to the rich man's doors,
"I come as Lazarus came," he said.
The rich man turned with humble head,--
"I will send my dogs to lick your sores!"
Put Something In
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-grumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Partant Pour La Scribie
© Andrew Lang
A pleasant land is Scribie, where
The light comes mostly from below,
And seems a sort of symbol rare
Of things at large, and how they go,
In rooms where doors are everywhere
And cupboards shelter friend or foe.
Petals of the mountain rose
© Matsuo Basho
Petals of the mountain rose
Fall now and then,
To the sound of the waterfall?
Primaveral (With English Translation)
© Rubén Dario
Mes de rosas. Van mis rimas
en ronda a la vasta selva
Possession
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone,
A pack on his back and a staff at his knee.
He whistled a tune which he called his own,
"It's a fine new tune, that tune!" said he.
Pan Is Dead
© Ezra Pound
Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.
Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all,
And weave ye him his coronal.
Piere Vidal Old
© Ezra Pound
When I but think upon the great dead days
And turn my mind upon that splendid madness,
Lo! I do curse my strength
And blame the sun his gladness;
For that the one is dead
And the red sun mocks my sadness.
Phantasies
© Emma Lazarus
Rest, beauty, stillness: not a waif of a cloud
From gray-blue east sheer to the yellow west-
No film of mist the utmost slopes to shroud.
