Heat Haibun

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Every weather map these days looks roughly colored in
with only red and orange crayons. In Korea, farmers dig
up potatoes from a field and find them boiled to mush.
Dogs pant, tongues raspy with thirst and sadness. Every
mail box and railing is metallic with the smell of coins left
too long in the sun. Clay pots and veranda tiles crack,
asphalt softens into black puddles on the road. Cicadas
crank up their desperate chorus in the trees, as though
their volume might ignite a breeze. They don't surrender,
though they shake off their jackets.

Is there a lesson?
Is it about lightness, or
what the heart can bear?



Disordered

Sam Pepys and me

Up betimes, and my wife up and about the house, Susan beginning to have her drunken tricks, and put us in mind of her old faults and folly and distractednesse, which we had forgot, so that I became mightily troubled with her. This morning came my joyners to new lay the floors, and begun with the dining room.
I out and see my viall again, and it is very well, and to Mr. Hollyard, and took some pills of him and a note under his hand to drink wine with my beere, without which I was obliged, by my private vowe, to drink none a good while, and have strictly observed it, and by my drinking of small beere and not eating, I am so mightily troubled with wind, that I know not what to do almost.
Thence to White Hall, and there met Mr. Moore, and fell a-talking about my Lord’s folly at Chelsey, and it was our discourse by water to London and to the great coffee house against the Exchange, where we sat a good while talking; and I find that my lord is wholly given up to this wench, who it seems has been reputed a common strumpett. I have little encouragement from Mr. Moore to meddle with it to tell my Lord, for fear it may do him no good, but me hurt.
Thence homewards, taking leave of him, and met Tom Marsh, my old acquaintance at Westminster, who talks mightily of the honour of his place, being Clerke Assistant to the Clerke of the House of Commons, and I take him to be a coxcombe, and so did give him half a pint of wine, but drink none myself, and so got shut of him. So home, and there found my wife almost mad with Susan’s tricks, so as she is forced to let her go and leave the house all in dirt and the clothes all wet, and gets Goody Taylour to do the business for her till another comes. Here came Will Howe, and he and I alone in my chamber talking of my Lord, who drives me out of love to my Lord to tell my Lord of the matter we discoursed of, which tend so much to the ruin of his state, and so I resolved to take a good heart and do whatever comes of it. He gone, we sat down and eat a bit of dinner fetched from the cooke’s, and so up again and to my joyners, who will make my floors very handsome. By and by comes in Pembleton, which begun to make me sweat, but I did give him so little countenance, and declared at one word against dancing any more, and bid him a short (God be with you) myself, and so he took as short a leave of my wife and so went away, and I think without any time of receiving any great satisfaction from my wife or invitation to come again.
To my office till it was dark doing business, and so home by candle light to make up my accounts for my Lord and Mr. Moore. By and by comes Mr. Moore to me, and staid a good while with me making up his accounts and mine, and we did not come to any end therein for want of his papers, and so put it off to another time.
He supped with me in all my dirt and disorder, and so went away and we to bed.
I discoursed with him a great while about my speaking to my Lord of his business, and I apprehend from him that it is likely to prove perhaps of bad effect to me and no good to him, and therefore I shall even let it alone and let God do his will, at least till my Lord is in the country, and then we shall see whether he resolves to come to Chelsey again or no, and so order the stopping of him therein if we can.

distractedness became
my new floor

I took pills
troubled as a trumpet

it hurt to give
myself to the dirt

alone in my love
of ruin

dancing away by candlelight
all my disorder


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 19 August 1663.

Family values

Sam Pepys and me

Up and to my office, where we sat all the morning. And at noon home, and my father came and dined with me, Susan being come and helped my wife to dress dinner. After dinner my father and I talked about our country-matters, and in fine I find that he thinks 50l. per ann. will go near to keep them all, which I am glad of. He having taken his leave of me and my wife without any mention of the differences between them and my wife in the country, I went forth to several places about businesses, and so home again, and after prayers to bed.

dinner after dinner
my father and I talk

out-think them all
without any mention

of the differences
we pray to


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 18 August 1663.

Corpse Flower

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
~ Amorphophallus titanum

The week we were away, we missed
the moment the corpse flower finally
opened at the botanical gardens.
Its signature scent of rotten meat
comes from cadaverine and putrescine,
compounds that attract fruit flies and
beetles. The insects think they've lucked out
on carrion, and will pick up and scatter pollen
on their way out. On our return, almost
everyone we knew had stood in the line
snaking past the orchid displays in the lobby,
out the glass doors and into the parking lot
where someone's child was throwing
a tantrum and begging to go home.
They had bought tickets, of course—
one night only! As though the flower
had agreed to this cabaret, and everyone
was just waiting for the drumroll moment
when the spathe heated up like a microwave
and the spadix pushed out of its ruffled velvet
skirts to spread redolence in the air. Isn't that
how it is, though? We jostle our way through
the crowd, rubberneck at the highway collision,
wanting to know exactly what it looks and smells
like, this mysterious occurrence called death:
hiding in plain sight, inside life's dark mouth.

Loner

Sam Pepys and me

Up, and then fell into discourse, my wife and I to Ashwell, and much against my will I am fain to express a willingness to Ashwell that she should go from us, and yet in my mind I am glad of it, to ease me of the charge. So she is to go to her father this day. And leaving my wife and her talking highly, I went away by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to St. James’s, and there attended of course the Duke. And so to White Hall, where I met Mr. Moore, and he tells me with great sorrow of my lord’s being debauched he fears by this woman at Chelsey, which I am troubled at, and resolve to speak to him of it if I can seasonably.
Thence home, where I dined, and after dinner comes our old mayde Susan to look for a gorgett that she says she has lost by leaving it here, and by many circumstances it being clear to me that Hannah, our present cook-mayde, not only has it, but had it on upon her necke when Susan came in, and shifted it off presently upon her coming in, I did charge her so home with it (having a mind to have her gone from us), that in a huff she told us she would be gone to-night if I would pay her her wages, which I was glad and my wife of, and so fetched her her wages, and though I am doubtful that she may convey some things away with her clothes, my wife searching them, yet we are glad of her being so gone, and so she went away in a quarter of an hour’s time. Being much amused at this to have never a maid but Ashwell, that we do not intend to keep, nor a boy, and my wife and I being left for an hour, till my brother came in, alone in the house, I grew very melancholy, and so my brother being come in I went forth to Mrs. Holden’s, to whom I formerly spoke about a girle to come to me instead of a boy, and the like I did to Mrs. Standing and also to my brother Tom, whom I found at an alehouse in Popinjay ally drinking, and I standing with him at the gate of the ally, Ashwell came by, and so I left Tom and went almost home with her, talking of her going away. I find that she is willing to go, and told her (though behind my back my wife has told her that it was more my desire than hers that she should go, which was not well), that seeing my wife and she could not agree I did choose rather (was she my sister) have her gone, it would be better for us and for her too. To which she willing agreed, and will not tell me anything but that she do believe that my wife would have some body there that might not be so liable to give me information of things as she takes her to be. But, however, I must labour to prevent all that.
I parted with her near home, agreeing to take no notice of my coming along with her, and so by and by came home after her.
Where I find a sad distracted house, which troubles me. However, to supper and prayers and to bed. And while we were getting to bed my wife began to discourse to her, and plainly asked whether she had got a place or no. And the other answered that she could go if we would to one of our own office, to which we agreed if she would. She thereupon said no; she would not go to any but where she might teach children, because of keeping herself in use of what things she had learned, which she do not here nor will there, but only dressing. By which I perceive the wench is cunning, but one very fit for such a place, and accomplished to be woman to any lady in the land. So quietly to sleep, it being a cold night.
But till my house is settled, I do not see that I can mind my business of the office, which grieves me to the heart. But I hope all will over in a little time, and I hope to the best. This day at Mrs. Holden’s I found my new low crowned beaver according to the present fashion made, and will be sent home to-morrow.

in sorrow season
I lost my way

being so much alone
I grew to like it

as with any art
that children learn

a cold settled in my heart
I hold on


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 17 August 1663.

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 33

Poetry Blogging Network

A personal selection of posts from around the Anglophone blogosphere, including Substack, with a commitment to following a somewhat haphazardly chosen selection of poets, poetry lovers, literary critics and publishers over time. 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: a bowl of heat, the musicality of machines, an Emily Dickinson pilgrimage, the slow rebuilding of the world, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 33”

Dividing by Zero

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
"It was the only life I had." ~ Jane Kenyon

Carrots and cabbages
dumped on the side of the mountain
road, because the farmers can't
afford to transport them
to market.

Such overflow of
abundance, in these days
holding mostly rain. This remainder,
not even subtracted from itself,
and still it comes to nought.

No retreat

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). Up and with my wife to church, and finding her desirous to go to church, I did suspect her meeting of Pembleton, but he was not there, and so I thought my jealousy in vain, and treat the sermon with great quiet. And home to dinner very pleasant, only, some angry words my wife could not forbear to give Ashwell, and after dinner to church again, and there, looking up and down, I found Pembleton to stand in the isle against us, he coming too late to get a pew. Which, Lord! into what a sweat did it put me! I do not think my wife did see him, which did a little satisfy me. But it makes me mad to see of what a jealous temper I am and cannot helpe it, though let him do what he can I do not see, as I am going to reduce my family, what hurt he can do me, there being no more occasion now for my wife to learn of him.
Here preached a confident young coxcomb. So home, and I staid a while with Sir J. Minnes, at Mrs. Turner’s, hearing his parrat talk, laugh, and crow, which it do to admiration. So home and with my wife to see Sir W. Pen, and thence to my uncle Wight, and took him at supper and sat down, where methinks my uncle is more kind than he used to be both to me now, and my father tell me to him also, which I am glad at.
After supper home, it being extraordinary dark, and by chance a lanthorn came by, and so we hired it to light us home, otherwise were we no sooner within doors but a great showre fell that had doused us cruelly if we had not been within, it being as dark as pitch.
So to prayers and to bed.

finding quiet on some isle
to reduce hurt into ache
is parrot talk

a crow is more kind
to be both dark
and a horn

ditto with a great shower
that doused us
in prayer


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 16 August 1663.

Idol

Sam Pepys and me

Lay pretty long in bed, being a little troubled with some pain got by wind and cold, and so up with good peace of mind, hoping that my wife will mind her house and servants, and so to the office, and being too soon to sit walked to my viall, which is well nigh done, and I believe I may have it home to my mind next week. So back to my office, and there we sat all the morning, I till 2 o’clock before I could go to dinner again.
After dinner walked forth to my instrument maker, and there had my rule he made me lay now so perfected, that I think in all points I have never need or desire a better, or think that any man yet had one so good in all the several points of it for my use. So by water down to Deptford, taking into my boat with me Mr. Palmer, one whom I knew and his wife when I was first married, being an acquaintance of my wife’s and her friends lodging at Charing Cross during our differences. He joyed me in my condition, and himself it seems is forced to follow the law in a common ordinary way, but seems to do well, and is a sober man, enough by his discourse. He landed with me at Deptford, where he saw by the officers’ respect to me a piece of my command, and took notice of it, though God knows I hope I shall not be elated with that, but rather desire to be known for serving the King well, and doing my duty.
He gone I walked up and down the yard a while discoursing with the officers, and so by water home meditating on my new Rule with great pleasure. So to my office, and there by candle light doing business, and so home to supper and to bed.

a little ingot of mind
I believe
may have a maker

I never desire better
for water or a boat

an ordinary piece of God
to go off
to light up


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 15 August 1663.

Witness

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

~ after Who Opened the Window,” Jessica Damen


It looks like an ordinary room. Perhaps a summer
house. No gilt decor, just walls of dirty-looking cream

bordered with green. The humid air moves like an animal
through the trees. You would need to crack a window open

though it would probably not make a difference. A man
in a merino sweater, hand on hip, stands behind a woman

in a chair. She is in middle age, perhaps farther along, but she
wears the look of what some might call good breeding.

Her hand cups her cheek so we can see the diamond
on one finger. This means she is taken. Was taken. Did he

do the taking? His face, turned toward the fourth wall between
us, is bored or indifferent. He’s the kind who takes easily, and

after having taken, runs his fingers through his hair, moving
on to the calculation of the next conquest. On the dinner table,

a pewter samovar and cup; a weighted object in the shape
of a horned, eyeless head. I see another woman there—

but there are two. Just girls, actually. They seem to almost
have the same body, though the one who sits upright has a face

still mostly unshadowed. Her head turns away; she can’t bear
to look too closely. The other has gone pale and limp as the beast

forces his girth into her. From what labyrinth has he fled
extradition, tired of the game of winding thread and waiting for

periodic delivery of sacrifices? A small, yellow-feathered marionette,
mouth agape, is the only seeming witness. Yet it’s enough, isn’t it—

a start? A record is being made here. Not everything can be
erased, though it will take time for their voices to be heard.