Poems begining by P

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Poem

© Katha Pollitt

I lived in the first century of world wars.

Most mornings I would be more or less insane,

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Peripheries

© Ruth Stone

This circle holding the afternoon sky is a lake


For summer business measured in stacked pairs

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Power

© Elizabeth Daryush

The difference between poetry and rhetoric
is being ready to kill
yourself
instead of your children.

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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:

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Paradise Lost: Book VII (1674)

© Patrick Kavanagh

DEscend from Heav'n Urania, by that name

If rightly thou art call'd, whose Voice divine

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Photo of Miles Davis at Lennies-on-the-Turnpike, 1968

© Cornelius Eady

New York grows 
Slimmer
In his absence. 
I suppose

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Psalm 150

© Mary Sidney Herbert

Oh, laud the Lord, the God of hosts commend,

  Exalt his pow’r, advance his holiness:

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Prodigal

© Richard Jones

You could drive out of this country

and attack the world with your ambition,

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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.

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Prodigy

© Charles Simic

It was a small house
near a Roman graveyard. 
Planes and tanks
shook its windowpanes.

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Perspectives

© Ronald Stuart Thomas

They were bearded
like the sea they came
from; rang stone bells
for their stone hearers.

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Psalm 55

© Mary Sidney Herbert

My God, most glad to look, most prone to hear,

  An open ear, oh, let my prayer find,

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Parable of the Hostages

© Louise Gluck

The Greeks are sitting on the beach

wondering what to do when the war ends. No one

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pantoum: landing, 1976

© Evie Shockley

dreaming the lives of the ancestors,

you awake, justly terrified of this world:

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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.

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Parable of the Swans

© Louise Gluck

On a small lake off

the map of the world, two

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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?’

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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.

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Providence

© Natasha Trethewey

What's left is footage: the hours before
  Camille, 1969—hurricane
  parties, palm trees leaning
in the wind,
 fronds blown back,

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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