Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
(Lord’s day). Church in the morning: dined at home, then to Church again and heard Mr. Naylor, whom I knew formerly of Keye’s College, make a most eloquent sermon. Thence to Sir W. Batten’s to see how he did, then to walk an hour with Sir W. Pen in the garden: then he in to supper with me at my house, and so to prayers and to bed.
urchin at church
new eyes eloquent
with the supper prayer
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 9 March 1661/62.
Sometimes I am a sieve; I sift the day
into smaller pieces that can fall
more softly onto the clay. At times
I am a raucous cawing, staking
territory in the trees. Today I am an ivory
handkerchief edged in lace, beautiful
heirloom stained with tears. Hand wash,
cold water only; lightly iron.
By coach with both Sir Williams to Westminster; this being a great day there in the House to pass the business for chimney-money, which was done.
In the Hall I met with Serjeant Pierce; and he and I to drink a cup of ale at the Swan, and there he told me how my Lady Monk hath disposed of all the places which Mr. Edwd. Montagu hoped to have had, as he was Master of the Horse to the Queen; which I am afraid will undo him, because he depended much upon the profit of what he should make by these places. He told me, also, many more scurvy stories of him and his brother Ralph, which troubles me to hear of persons of honour as they are.
About one o’clock with both Sir Williams and another, one Sir Rich. Branes, to the Trinity House, but came after they had dined, so we had something got ready for us. Here Sir W. Batten was taken with a fit of coughing that lasted a great while and made him very ill, and so he went home sick upon it.
Sir W. Pen. and I to the office, whither afterward came Sir G. Carteret; and we sent for Sir Thos. Allen, one of the Aldermen of the City, about the business of one Colonel Appesley, whom we had taken counterfeiting of bills with all our hands and the officers of the yards, so well counterfeited that I should never have mistrusted them. We staid about this business at the office till ten at night, and at last did send him with a constable to the Counter; and did give warrants for the seizing of a complice of his, one Blinkinsopp.
So home and wrote to my father, and so to bed.
into the drink
a swan places hope
which I am afraid
will undo me
I hear the clock
will take our hands
we should never have
trusted it to count
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 8 March 1661/62.
"The Great Wave off Kanagawa," Hokusai, 1831;
on a dishcloth from Maruyama Fiber Industry, Japan
How slender the boats beneath the cresting
waves; how bent over the oars the people
in them must be. What they do is more
necessity than recklessness— bring in
the daily catch, plow a path through ebb
and flow; avoid the treachery of rocks
and undertow. Wave upon wave upon wave
breaks against the mountain's solemn
shape. Where do they get the courage to say
goodbye, when no one knows if evening
brings them back unscathed? I think of tiny
lantern lights in windows on the shore;
and above, dark sapphire sweep gathering
the spill and swirl of fractured light.
~ with thanks to Nini Teves Lapuz
Early to White Hall to the chappell, where by Mr. Blagrave’s means I got into his pew, and heard Dr. Creeton, the great Scotchman, preach before the King, and Duke and Duchess, upon the words of Micah:— “Roule yourselves in dust.” He made a most learned sermon upon the words; but, in his application, the most comical man that ever I heard in my life. Just such a man as Hugh Peters; saying that it had been better for the poor Cavalier never to have come with the King into England again; for he that hath the impudence to deny obedience to the lawful magistrate, and to swear to the oath of allegiance, &c., was better treated now-a-days in Newgate, than a poor Royalist, that hath suffered all his life for the King, is at White Hall among his friends. He discoursed much against a man’s lying with his wife in Lent, saying that he might be as incontinent during that time with his own wife as at another time in another man’s bed.
Thence with Mr. Moore to Whitehall and walked a little, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and so home to the office about business till late at night by myself, and so home and to bed.
the grave heard
words of dust
a most learned sermon
on obedience and a new life
white lying
with another man’s war
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 7 March 1661/62.
She was the type of woman who'd slip
an entire block of butter into a pot
of spaghetti sauce. She was the type
who laughingly said, as you ate forkful
after forkful: You should think of marrying
an Italian when you grow up. She would say,
with neither hint of irony nor malice,
That's where, if you're a beautiful woman,
they'll pinch your behind. She never forgot
to put blush where it would most emphasize
her high cheekbones, never forgot scoop
necklines best showed off her Audrey
Hepburn neck, her chiseled clavicle.
Though you had the same shoe size,
you could never fit your wide, flat feet
into her pointy-toe kitten heels. Your calves,
shapely as yams; but your fingers, not shying
away from her lessons— scaling and gutting
fish, severing the joints and vertebra of fowl.
Up early, my mind full of business, then to the office, where the two Sir Williams and I spent the morning passing the victualler’s accounts, the first I have had to do withal. Then home, where my Uncle Thomas (by promise and his son Tom) were come to give me his answer whether he would have me go to law or arbitracon with him, but he is unprovided to answer me, and desires two days more.
I left them to dine with my wife, and myself to Mr. Gauden and the two knights at dinner at the Dolphin, and thence after dinner to the office back again till night, we having been these four or five days very full of business, and I thank God I am well pleased with it, and hope I shall continue of that temper, which God grant.
So after a little being at Sir W. Batten’s with Sir G. Carteret talking, I went home, and so to my chamber, and then to bed, my mind somewhat troubled about Brampton affairs. This night my new camelott riding coat to my coloured cloth suit came home. More news to-day of our losses at Brampton by the late storm.
full of desire
my inner dolphin
full of hope
my camel in a storm
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 6 March 1661/62.
We like sausage and maple syrup
so we had pancakes for supper
yesterday, which was Shrove
Tuesday. I didn't have
a miniature plaster figure
of a baby to bury
in a pan of king cake,
but I said why not, let's
fry up some eggs too,
though eggs (the kind that come
a dozen to a tray) are almost
like the new caviar. This
is our life these days—
there seems no other choice
but live it, until the invisible
pendulum swings the other way.
The famous poet who used to be
a banker wrote, Teach us to care
and not to care Teach us to sit
still. Here too, an old man
drivels beyond repair.
Lies and spite among
the roses. Cruelties
in the very sand.
How many times did we hear
the words gold and golden
on the radio?
So we spread the butter
on the pancakes, spear
the little fingers
of meat. The dust is upon us,
but we will lick the sweetness
until our tongues grow numb.
In the morning to the Painter’s about my little picture. Thence to Tom’s about business, and so to the pewterer’s, to buy a poore’s-box to put my forfeits in, upon breach of my late vows. So to the Wardrobe and dined, and thence home and to my office, and there sat looking over my papers of my voyage, when we fetched over the King, and tore so many of these that were worth nothing, as filled my closet as high as my knees. I staid doing this till 10 at night, and so home and to bed.
I paint a little box
to put the war in
and then home
to my ice age
into that nothing
as close as night
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 5 March 1661/62.
"Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws..."
~ Sonnet 19, William Shakespeare
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws
if you can, or the equally fierce teeth from geese.
Perishing at sea, you'd be identified by your teeth
if your bones were gathered. An eyetooth jutting out
reminds you: there's a garden of teeth fixed in statues'
mouths, in Finland. Each toothy grin is a pearled set
of dentures, molded from human mouths. They gape
and pose and writhe amid the sawtoothed bramble,
or circle under trees hung with tooth-shaped pennants.
Their teeth shine in the evening light. They're slightly
menacing, but also a bit familiar: toothed expressions
you yourself might make, flossing your teeth in front
of the bathroom mirror. You used to have a rootless tooth,
chip of bone above your incisors. Gone, ghost of a tooth now.