[My song died,
a note gone to ash.
My flageolette got an ague.
My shot harp sat
in a bed of nails.]
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 30 January 1659/60.
Dave Bonta (bio) often suffers from imposter syndrome, but not in a bad way — more like some kind of flower-breathing dragon, pot-bellied and igneous. Be that as it may, all of his writing here is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
Just realized you are following him through the year. What a rich mine is Pepys: great choice for an erasure subject.
Yes, so he’s turning out to be. Whether I can keep this going for a whole year (much less ten years), who knows. I’ve given myself permission to skip entries if I can’t find poems in them, but so far I haven’t had to.