Poems & poem-like things – Page 936

September 13, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Above and Beyond

(Office day). This noon I expected to have had my cousin Snow and my father come to dine with me, but it being very rainy they did not come.
My brother Tom came to my house with a letter from my brother John, wherein he desires some books: Barthol. Anatom., Rosin. Rom. Antiq., and Gassend. Astronom., the last of which I did give him, and an angel against my father buying of the others.
At home all the afternoon looking after my workmen in my house, whose laziness do much trouble me.
This day the Parliament adjourned.

My cousin snow and my father rain
come with a letter from
my brother the angel:
Buy others a home, look after workmen,
trouble the parliament.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 12 September 1660.

September 13, 2013September 13, 2013 by Dave Bonta

My dream about a flashlight

A black dog wanders into the woods at dusk and comes back with a flashlight sideways between her teeth, its halogen bulb casting a bleary beam. What a good dog, I say. Who lost a flashlight? Nobody, says our host, rattling the ice cubes in his drink. The forest is full of lights this time of year. We go back to talking about the situation in the Middle East.

September 12, 2013September 12, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

In the Ablative

This entry is part 14 of 18 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2013

With care,
with enough sunlight,
with the quiet that transcends
movement when a door hinge cracks like an eggshell—

In the summer,
in the first shallow drifts of autumn,
in the terrible seasons of rotting fruit
when we rush to embalm their sugar in pastry—

Where the assassin bug skates lightly,
where the deer have gone into the thorn,
where the wildness loves what’s
hidden, without shame—

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

September 12, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Diarist

At Sir W. Batten’s with Sir W. Pen we drank our morning draft, and from thence for an hour in the office and dispatch a little business.
Dined at Sir W. Batten’s, and by this time I see that we are like to have a very good correspondence and neighbourhood, but chargeable. All the afternoon at home looking over my carpenters. At night I called Thos. Hater out of the office to my house to sit and talk with me. After he was gone I caused the girl to wash the wainscot of our parlour, which she did very well, which caused my wife and I good sport. Up to my chamber to read a little, and wrote my Diary for three or four days past.
The Duke of York did go to-day by break of day to the Downs. The Duke of Gloucester ill. The House of Parliament was to adjourn to-day. I know not yet whether it be done or no.
To bed.

A rank morning.
I batten on ash—my wife—
and rot—my diary,
break down the day.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 11 September 1660.

September 11, 2013September 11, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Anamnesis

This entry is part 13 of 18 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2013

Axis of smells gathered in the knot of a compass, windmill churning in the absence of wind: if I say panaginip, it means dream split open. It means heat causing a mirage of tender feelings, or rain falling in sixteen hour shifts. So much moisture is good for the soil; and such weather is perfect for a meal of beans. If the insects have had their supper, why are they lined up at the sill? On the continents of yes and no and maybe, there are thresholds that cannot be crossed, and there are those that blur beyond recognition.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

September 11, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Ursus maritimus

(Office day). News brought us of the Duke’s intention to go tomorrow to the fleet for a day or two to meet his sister. Col. Slingsby and I to Whitehall, thinking to proffer our service to the Duke to wait upon him, but meeting with Sir G. Carteret he sent us in all haste back again to hire two Catches for the present use of the Duke. So we returned and landed at the Bear at the Bridge foot, where we saw Southwark Fair (I having not at all seen Bartholomew Fair), and so to the Tower wharf, where we did hire two catches. So to the office and found Sir W. Batten at dinner with some friends upon a good chine of beef, on which I ate heartily, I being very hungry.
Home, where Mr. Snow (whom afterwards we called one another cozen) came to me to see me, and with him and one Shelston, a simple fellow that looks after an employment (that was with me just upon my going to sea last), to a tavern, where till late with them. So home, having drunk too much, and so to bed.

A white bear
catches dinner, very hungry:
snow at sea.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 10 September 1660.

September 11, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Pub Crawler

(Sunday). In the morning with Sir W. Pen to church, and a very good sermon of Mr. Mills.
Home to dinner, and Sir W. Pen with me to such as I had, and it was very handsome, it being the first time that he ever saw my wife or house since we came hither.
Afternoon to church with my wife, and after that home, and there walked with Major Hart, who came to see me, in the garden, who tells me that we are all like to be speedily disbanded; and then I lose the benefit of a muster. After supper to bed.

I go home to din and wit
as sin to church.
Here, walk with me.
Tell me we all like to lose.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 9 September 1660.

September 10, 2013September 10, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Fata Morgana

What is the name of that goddess in the print, her arms full of instruments for music and torture, her mouth beautiful like a flower or the tip of a spear, her red-painted feet flashing across hot coals and a circle of fire? I am not cunning like that, I am not fierce or graceful, and it’s become harder to read more than one book at once. Do you remember when I tried to cook two things at the same time on the two hot plates of the stove? One saucepan was burned so badly we had to throw it away. And as I stood in the yard before I dropped the piece of disfigured metal with its melted plastic handle into the trash, I remembered the way my father looked just hours after his death, laid out on a bed for want of a coffin, arms folded on his chest in the attitude of peaceful sleeping. His skin had not cooled yet, his cheeks had not taken on the hue of those who’ve started walking away from this place and will no longer look at the spill of late flowering blooms by the fence. With my two arms I hugged myself the way another would. With my two hands I gathered up and tied my hair, I walked back to my house of appetites, my house of things, my life of many parts waiting to be wound and folded, mended, counted, found.

In response to Via Negativa: Potent Combination.

September 9, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Intent

What’s turned the leaves to lace, shredded the blooms
on the stalk? Unseen finger, riddling the roses, culling
for what’s unspent among the spray of wilting greens:
my smear of dogged hope, my stubborn longings.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

September 9, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Potent Combination

All day also at home. At night sent for by Sir W. Pen, with whom I sat late drinking a glass of wine and discoursing, and I find him to be a very sociable man, and an able man, and very cunning.

A pen with ink, a lass, wine:
O to be able and cunning!

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 8 September 1660.

These extra-short diary entries are the most challenging, and therefore the most entertaining, to find poems in. Thanks to Rachel (via IM) for helping me to select the best among the seven alternatives I came up with for this entry. Another one I liked was a pure sound poem…

en in in in an
in an in an an
an an an un in

…which may not rise to the level of true poetry, but certainly highlights the poetic quality hidden in ordinary, semi-repetitive prose.