Poems begining by P
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Pleasant Thought For The Morning
© Arthur Rimbaud
At four o'clock on a summer morning,
The Sleep of love still lasts.
Under the spinneys the dawn disperses scents
Of the festive night.
Paradise Lost : Book V.
© John Milton
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
'Possum' A Lay of New Chumland
© Henry Lawson
SO YER travlin for yer pleasure while yer writin for the press?
An yer huntin arter copy?well, Ive heerd o that. I guess
Past One OClock ...
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
Past one oclock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
Im in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
Poemes Saturniens - Prologue
© Paul Verlaine
The Sages of old time, well worth our own,
Believed--and it has been disproved by none--
Prospect NSW (For Anita Cobby)
© Dale Harcombe
The hushed dark hugs the streets.
Somewhere a cat snaps the silence.
Dogs begin to bark, like a pack
moving in for the kill.
Plowmen
© Robert Frost
A plow, they say, to plow the snow.
They cannot mean to plant it, no--
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.
Place for a Third
© Robert Frost
She gave it through the screen door closed between them:
"No, not with John. There wouldn't be no sense.
Eliza's had too many other men."
Pea Brush
© Robert Frost
I WALKED down alone Sunday after church
To the place where John has been cutting trees
To see for myself about the birch
He said I could have to bush my peas.
Paul's Wife
© Robert Frost
To drive Paul out of any lumber camp
All that was needed was to say to him,
"How is the wife, Paul?"--and he'd disappear.
Some said it was because be bad no wife,
Pan with Us
© Robert Frost
Pan came out of the woods one day,--
His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray,
The gray of the moss of walls were they,--
And stood in the sun and looked his fill
At wooded valley and wooded hill.
Passing The Night At Headquarters
© Du Fu
The endless dust-storm of troubles
cuts off news and letters;
the frontier passes are perilous,
travel nearly impossible.
Provide, Provide
© Robert Frost
The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,
Putting in the Seed
© Robert Frost
You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper's on the table, and we'll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
Poetry
© Don Paterson
In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
Prisoner
© Dorothy Parker
Long I fought the driving lists,
Plume a-stream and armor clanging;
Link on link, between my wrists,
Now my heavy freedom's hanging.
Picture Puzzle Piece
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
One picture puzzle piece
Lyin' on the sidewalk,
One picture puzzle piece
Soakin' in the rain.
