Poems begining by P
/ page 45 of 110 /Poem
© Katha Pollitt
I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
Peripheries
© Ruth Stone
This circle holding the afternoon sky is a lake
For summer business measured in stacked pairs
Power
© Elizabeth Daryush
The difference between poetry and rhetoric
is being ready to kill
yourself
instead of your children.
Paradise Lost: Book I
© Patrick Kavanagh
So spake th' apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep despair.
And him thus answer'd soon his bold compeer:
Paradise Lost: Book VII (1674)
© Patrick Kavanagh
DEscend from Heav'n Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art call'd, whose Voice divine
Photo of Miles Davis at Lennies-on-the-Turnpike, 1968
© Cornelius Eady
New York grows
Slimmer
In his absence.
I suppose
Psalm 150
© Mary Sidney Herbert
Oh, laud the Lord, the God of hosts commend,
Exalt his pow’r, advance his holiness:
Prodigal
© Richard Jones
You could drive out of this country
and attack the world with your ambition,
Playthings
© Anselm Hollo
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
Prodigy
© Charles Simic
It was a small house
near a Roman graveyard.
Planes and tanks
shook its windowpanes.
Perspectives
© Ronald Stuart Thomas
They were bearded
like the sea they came
from; rang stone bells
for their stone hearers.
Psalm 55
© Mary Sidney Herbert
My God, most glad to look, most prone to hear,
An open ear, oh, let my prayer find,
Parable of the Hostages
© Louise Gluck
The Greeks are sitting on the beach
wondering what to do when the war ends. No one
pantoum: landing, 1976
© Evie Shockley
dreaming the lives of the ancestors,
you awake, justly terrified of this world:
Paradoxes and Oxymorons
© John Ashbery
This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level.
Look at it talking to you. You look out a window
Or pretend to fidget. You have it but you don’t have it.
You miss it, it misses you. You miss each other.
Pillow Talk
© John Fuller
Wondered Knob-Cracker at Stout-Heart:
‘Are you timed by your will, does your pulse
List credit, ready to slam like a till?
Can you keep it up?’
Private Beach
© Jane Kenyon
It is always the dispossessed—
someone driving a huge rusted Dodge
that’s burning oil, and must cost
twenty-five dollars to fill.
Providence
© Natasha Trethewey
What's left is footage: the hours before
Camille, 1969—hurricane
parties, palm trees leaning
in the wind,
fronds blown back,
Philosopher Orders Crispy Pork
© Heather McHugh
I love him so, this creature I do pray
was treated kindly. I will pay
as much as pig-lovers see fit