Poems begining by P
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Primeval my Love for the Woman I Love.
© Walt Whitman
PRIMEVAL my love for the woman I love,
O bride! O wife! more resistless, more enduring than I can tell, the thought of you!
Then separate, as disembodied, the purest born,
The ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,
I ascendI float in the regions of your love, O man,
O sharer of my roving life.
Poem of Remembrance for a Girl or a Boy.
© Walt Whitman
YOU just maturing youth! You male or female!
Remember the organic compact of These States,
Remember the pledge of the Old Thirteen thenceforward to the rights, life, liberty,
equality of
Proud Music of The Storm.
© Walt Whitman
1
PROUD music of the storm!
Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!
Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!
Perfections.
© Walt Whitman
ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls.
Passage to India.
© Walt Whitman
1
SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
Poem of Joys.
© Walt Whitman
1
O TO make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Plutonian Ode
© Allen Ginsberg
IWhat new element before us unborn in nature? Is there
a new thing under the Sun?
At last inquisitive Whitman a modern epic, detonative,
Scientific theme
Psalm IV
© Allen Ginsberg
Now I'll record my secret vision, impossible sight of the face of God:
It was no dream, I lay broad waking on a fabulous couch in Harlem
having masturbated for no love, and read half naked an open book of Blake
on my lap
Please Master
© Allen Ginsberg
Please master can I touch your cheeck
please master can I kneel at your feet
please master can I loosen your blue pants
please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly
Paudeen
© William Butler Yeats
Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
Players Ask For A Blessing On The Psalteries And On Themselves
© William Butler Yeats
First Voice. Maybe they linger by the way.
One gathers up his purple gown;
One leans and mutters by the wall -
He dreads the weight of mortal hours.
Parting
© William Butler Yeats
He. Dear, I must be gone
While night Shuts the eyes
Of the household spies;
That song announces dawn.
Parnell
© William Butler Yeats
Parnell came down the road, he said to a cheering man:
'Ireland shall get her freedom and you still break stone.'
Presences
© William Butler Yeats
This night has been so strange that it seemed
As if the hair stood up on my head.
From going-down of the sun I have dreamed
That women laughing, or timid or wild,
Peace
© William Butler Yeats
Ah, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer's age
Bred to be a hero's wage.
'Were not all her life but storm
Politics
© William Butler Yeats
'In our time the destiny of man prevents its meanings
in political terms.' -- Thomas Mann.
How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
Purposely Ungrammatical Love Song
© Dorothy Parker
There's many and many, and not so far,
Is willing to dry my tears away;
There's many to tell me what you are,
And never a lie to all they say.
Prophetic Soul
© Dorothy Parker
Because your eyes are slant and slow,
Because your hair is sweet to touch,
My heart is high again; but oh,
I doubt if this will get me much.
Prologue to a Saga
© Dorothy Parker
Maidens, gather not the yew,
Leave the glossy myrtle sleeping;
Any lad was born untrue,
Never a one is fit your weeping.
Prayer For a New Mother
© Dorothy Parker
The things she knew, let her forget again-
The voices in the sky, the fear, the cold,
The gaping shepherds, and the queer old men
Piling their clumsy gifts of foreign gold.
