Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
The drop and the slide
down the hill was real,
and coasting through thick
overgrowth of cogon grass.
When you are a child this is
enough to disappear the world;
to disappear other children
who ran, moments earlier,
noisy through that small
milky patch of wilderness.
Strangely, you felt no panic
through the hours no one
came to look for you. A bird
called high in the outer
world, its cry rippling down
to the bottom of the bowl where
you just floated, not trapped.
This morning come Mr. Lee, Wade, and Evett, intending to have gone upon our new design to the Tower today; but it raining, and the work being to be done in the open garden, we put it off to Friday next. And so I to the office doing business, and then dined at home with my poor wife with great content, and so to the office again and made an end of examining the other of Mr. Holland’s books about the Navy, with which I am much contented, and so to other businesses till night at my office, and so home to supper, and after much dear company and talk with my wife, to bed.
a new day
raining in the garden
next to the office
the poor and the mad
examining books
about the night
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 17 December 1662.
It came upon me by degrees, as my friends drove
down the winding hills. I asked if I could crack
the window open. The fog came in, slipping through
rows of cypress trees along the cliffs. I think
there was a wind, but perhaps it was an illusion
created by the vehicle's speed. In films, a moment
of tension can be depicted through a character
immovable before a window, while the landscape
recedes or advances. I distinctly remember
the taste of egg yolk on my tongue, from breakfast
hours earlier. Two triangles of toast, a melange
of spinach and cream on one side of the plate
that couldn't quite make its way down my throat.
I am reminded that not everything we're given
needs to be swallowed. The trees are shrouded now,
but they're still there. They never surrender.
Up and to the office, and thither came Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, and among other business was Strutt’s the purser, against Captn. Browne, Sir W. Batten’s brother-in-law, but, Lord! though I believe the Captain has played the knave, though I seem to have a good opinion of him and to mean him well, what a most troublesome fellow that Strutt is, such as I never did meet with his fellow in my life. His talking and ours to make him hold his peace set my head off akeing all the afternoon with great pain.
So to dinner, thinking to have had Mr. Coventry, but he could not go with me; and so I took Captn. Murford. Of whom I do hear what the world says of me; that all do conclude Mr. Coventry, and Pett, and me, to be of a knot; and that we do now carry all things before us; and much more in particular of me, and my studiousnesse, &c., to my great content.
After dinner came Mrs. Browne, the Captain’s wife, to see me and my wife, and I showed her a good countenance, and indeed her husband has been civil to us, but though I speak them fair, yet I doubt I shall not be able to do her husband much favour in this business of Strutt’s, whom without doubt he has abused.
So to the office, and hence, having done some business, by coach to White Hall to Secretary Bennet’s, and agreed with Mr. Lee to set upon our new adventure at the Tower to-morrow. Hence to Col. Lovelace in Cannon Row about seeing how Sir R. Ford did report all the officers of the navy to be rated for the Loyal Sufferers, but finding him at the Rhenish wine-house I could not have any answer, but must take another time. Thence to my Lord’s, and having sat talking with Mr. Moore bewailing the vanity and disorders of the age, I went by coach to my brother’s, where I met Sarah, my late mayde, who had a desire to speak with me, and I with her to know what it was, who told me out of good will to me, for she loves me dearly, that I would beware of my wife’s brother, for he is begging or borrowing of her and often, and told me of her Scallop whisk, and her borrowing of 50s. for Will, which she believes was for him and her father. I do observe so much goodness and seriousness in the mayde, that I am again and again sorry that I have parted with her, though it was full against my will then, and if she had anything in the world I would commend her for a wife for my brother Tom. After much discourse and her professions of love to me and all my relations, I bade her good night and did kiss her, and indeed she seemed very well-favoured to me to-night, as she is always.
So by coach home and to my office, did some business, and so home to supper and to bed.
the Lord has played
with my head thinking
to have had a world
that all conclude
to be a knot now
love must take time to age
to know what it loves
wing to wing or in
the artful discourse
of a kiss
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 16 December 1662.
It never ended. It crept slightly
behind, but kept in step. On bright
days, it remembered how you chose
yellow or yellow orange, and with
the crayon in your stubby fingers,
drew a circle with a tiara, larger
than the moon. And when it rained,
you made a hundred slanting lines;
they fell like pins from the sky.
No one really got stung or died but
they made an outline of a roof
and walls and somewhere a door.
I dream of miles of loamy soil
and potatoes in their winter beds,
their eyes still sealed quite shut.
Crows pick through stones for seeds
and nuts. I know sometimes they tear
small animals furtive in the grass,
while in our houses we dunk chunks
of bread in hot soup. Impartial,
stars leak their shine upon us all.
What luck to feel the thumb of sleep
on our lids, the cold a mantle
flung across every form.
A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. Although I tend to quote my favorite bits, please do click through and read the whole posts. You can also browse the blog digest archive at Via Negativa or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack (where the posts might be truncated by some email providers).
This week: glitter on our fingers, the heaven of the moon, Emily Dickinson’s 195th birthday, the buzz of numbness, and much more. Enjoy.
Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 50”
Up and to my Lord’s and thence to the Duke, and followed him into the Park, where, though the ice was broken and dangerous, yet he would go slide upon his scates, which I did not like, but he slides very well. So back and to his closett, whither my Lord Sandwich comes, and there Mr. Coventry and we three had long discourse together about the matters of the Navy; and, indeed, I find myself more and more obliged to Mr. Coventry, who studies to do me all the right he can in every thing to the Duke.
Thence walked a good while up and down the gallerys; and among others, met with Dr. Clerke, who in discourse tells me, that Sir Charles Barkeley’s greatness is only his being pimp to the King, and to my Lady Castlemaine. And yet for all this, that the King is very kind to the Queen; who, he says, is one of the best women in the world. Strange how the King is bewitched to this pretty Castlemaine.
Thence to my Lord’s, and there with Mr. Creed, Moore, and Howe to the Crown and dined, and thence to Whitehall, where I walked up and down the gallerys, spending my time upon the pictures, till the Duke and the Committee for Tangier met (the Duke not staying with us), where the only matter was to discourse with my Lord Rutherford, who is this day made Governor of Tangier, for I know not what reasons; and my Lord of Peterborough to be called home; which, though it is said it is done with kindness, yet all the world may see it is done otherwise, and I am sorry to see a Catholick Governor sent to command there, where all the rest of the officers almost are such already. But God knows what the reason is! and all may see how slippery places all courtiers stand in.
Thence by coach home, in my way calling upon Sir John Berkenheade, to speak about my assessment of 42l. to the Loyal Sufferers; which, I perceive, I cannot help; but he tells me I have been abused by Sir R. Ford, which I shall hereafter make use of when it shall be fit.
Thence called at the Major-General’s, Sir R. Browne, about my being assessed armes to the militia; but he was abroad; and so driving through the backside of the Shambles in Newgate Market, my coach plucked down two pieces of beef into the dirt, upon which the butchers stopped the horses, and a great rout of people in the street, crying that he had done him 40s. and 5l. worth of hurt; but going down, I saw that he had done little or none; and so I give them a shilling for it and they were well contented, and so home.
And there to my Lady Batten’s to see her, who tells me she hath just now a letter from Sir William, how that he and Sir J. Minnes did very narrowly escape drowning on the road, the waters are so high; but is well. But, Lord! what a hypocrite-like face she made to tell it me.
Thence to Sir W. Pen and sat long with him in discourse, I making myself appear one of greater action and resolution as to publique business than I have hitherto done, at which he listens, but I know is a rogue in his heart and likes not, but I perceive I may hold up my head, and the more the better, I minding of my business as I have done, in which God do and will bless me. So home and with great content to bed, and talk and chat with my wife while I was at supper, to our great pleasure.
in a broken world
how bewitched are the slippery
the loyal sufferers
down in the dirt
crying like the public
head of a god
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 15 December 1662.
(Lord’s day). Lay with great content talking with my wife in bed, and so up and to church and then home, and had a neat dinner by ourselves, and after dinner walked to White Hall and my Lord’s, and up and down till chappell time, and then to the King’s chappell, where I heard the service, and so to my Lord’s, and there Mr. Howe and Pagett, the counsellor, an old lover of musique. We sang some Psalms of Mr. Lawes, and played some symphonys between till night, that I was sent for to Mr. Creed’s lodging, and there was Captain Ferrers and his lady and W. Howe and I; we supped very well and good sport in discourse. After supper I was sent for to my Lord, with whom I staid talking about his, and my owne, and the publique affairs, with great content, he advising me as to my owne choosing of Sir R. Bernard for umpire in the businesses between my uncle and us, that I would not trust to him upon his direction, for he did not think him a man to be trusted at all; and so bid him good night, and to Mr. Creed’s again; Mr. Moore, with whom I intended to have lain, lying physically without sheets; and there, after some discourse, to bed, and lay ill, though the bed good, my stomach being sicke all night with my too heavy supper.
talking to ourselves
in time to the music
some night air
between us on thin sheets
some discourse and thou
my stomach
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 14 December 1662.
In front, towering
above the sidewalk edge
and the strip of soil
that all refer to as
city property— two pines
where night herons nest
For compost, for return
to the soil; nutrients
for the fruit tree,
says her daughter
regarding the backyard
unraked for months
With today's wind,
a rain of pine needles
unloosed from every
branch. Tomorrow,
armies of leaf blowers
down the street