Poems begining by P
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Pascal's Wager
© Hall Kate
'If God does not exist, one will lose nothing by believing in him, whileif he does exist, one will lose everything by not believing.'-- Blaise Pascal
Poetical Epistle to Mrs. Green
© Grose Francis
Hoping no offence, my dear Madam Green,You're surely the strangest gentlewoman that ever was seen;Didn't you say you'd come and see my drawings, and eat some of my plumb cake,Here I've kept it above a week, and all for your sake,And now it's as hard as a stone, and not worth a pin,To waste so fine a cake is I'm sure both a shame and a sin
Philosophers
© Greene Richard
Lonely outposts of the mindWhere armistice is undeclared,And men in ragged putteesKeep watch over the islandsClutching spindly riflesAnd their long rusted swords
Palliative Care
© Greene Richard
The journey goes past healing to placeslike this, where Demerol and morphineseparate the last of our consciousnessfrom a body shrinking away to pain
Pachelbel’s Canon
© Greene Richard
Is there a word or the fading of a noteas it leaves the string and nothing follows
Plainte sur la mort de Sylvie
© Girard Sieur de Saint-Amant Saint-Amant
Ruisseau qui cours après toy-mesme, Et qui te fuis toy-mesme aussi, Arreste un peu ton onde ici Pour escouter mon dueil extresme;Puis, quand tu l'auras sceu, va-t'en dire à la mer Qu'elle n'a rien de plus amer
Primroses
© William Gay
They shine upon my table there, A constellation mimic, sweet,No stars in Heaven could shine more fair, Nor Earth has beauty more complete;And on my table there they shine, And speak to me of things Divine
Passionata
© Crosbie Lynn
Clinches in the storeroombetween fifty pound bags of flour,barrels of oil and lard;
Poetry
© Cooke Edmund Vance
To deftly do what many dimly think; To fund a feeling for the world to borrow;To turn a tear to printer's ink; To make a sonnet of a sorrow.
Post-Mortem
© Colombo John Robert
DEAD AGAIN.Thus the Distinguished Author'sHeadline -- and deadline.
Presentiment
© Hartley Coleridge
Something has my heart to saySomething on my brest does weighThat when I would full fain be gay Still pulls me back.
Poem
© Caudwell Christopher
High on a bough beneath the moonlight paleThat over-rated bird the nightingaleSang and sang on
Poem by a Perfectly Furious Academician
© Brooks Shirley
I takes and paints,Hears no complaints,And sells before I'm dry;Till savage RuskinHe sticks his tusk in,Then nobody will buy.
