Poems begining by P
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Psalm XXIII
© Christopher Smart
The shepherd Christ from heav'n arriv'd,
My flesh and spirit feeds;
I shall not therefore be depriv'd
Of all my nature needs.
Poems, Potatoes
© Sylvia Plath
The word, defining, muzzles; the drawn line
Ousts mistier peers and thrives, murderous,
In establishments which imagined lines
Poem
© Ernest Hemingway
The only man I ever loved
Said good bye
And went away
He was killed in Picardy
On a sunny day.
Poetry, A Natural Thing
© Robert Duncan
Neither our vices nor our virtues
further the poem. They came up
and died
just like they do every year
on the rocks.
Paradise Lost : Book XII.
© John Milton
As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
Psalm Concerning The Castle
© Denise Levertov
Let me be at the place of the castle.
Let the castle be within me.
Psalm 19: Coeli Enarrant
© Sir Philip Sidney
The heavenly frame sets forth the fame
Of him that only thunders;
The firmament, so strangely bent,
Shows his handworking wonders.
Philomela
© Sir Philip Sidney
O Philomela fair, O take some gladness,
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
Poetry Readings
© Charles Bukowski
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
Poem
© Louise Gluck
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending
over his writing table.
Slowly he lifts his head; a woman
appears, carrying roses.
Her face floats to the surface of the mirror,
marked with the green spokes of rose stems.
Parable Of Faith
© Louise Gluck
He is not
duplicitous; he has tried to be
true to the moment; is there another way of being
true to the self?
Portrait
© Louise Gluck
A child draws the outline of a body.
She draws what she can, but it is white all through,
she cannot fill in what she knows is there.
Within the unsupported line, she knows
Prayer
© George MacDonald
We doubt the word that tells us: Ask,
And ye shall have your prayer;
We turn our thoughts as to a task,
With will constrained and rare.
Parable Of The Dove
© Louise Gluck
A dove lived in a village.
When it opened its mouth
sweetness came out, sound
like a silver light around
the cherry bough. But
the dove wasn't satisfied.
Penelope's Song
© Louise Gluck
Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like
Ploughman Singing
© John Clare
Here morning in the ploughman's songs is met
Ere yet one footstep shows in all the sky,
