Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
After the floodwaters rose and covered
the plains and valleys all you could see
along what used to be the river's edge —
a cast of trees shrouded in nets
woven by spiders who'd climbed upward
and up to keep from dying
Acacia and neem gnarled sheen
of the tree of heaven Ghostly in returning
light and in the soupy heat
Like smoke or veils made muddy
in suspended bridals Design of panicked
weaving that holds so they've survived
Up pretty betimes, and after a little at my viall to my office, where we sat all the morning, and I got my bill among others for my carved work (which I expected to have paid for myself) signed at the table, and hope to get the money back again, though if the rest had not got it paid by the King, I never intended nor did desire to have him pay for my vanity. At noon to the Exchange, where among many merchants abut provisions for the navy; and so home to dinner, where I met Mr. Hunt, his wife and child, and dined with us very merry. And after dinner I to my office with Captain Hickes, who brought my wife some shells, very pretty. He gives me great informacion against the officers and men at Deptford; I find him a talking fellow, but believe much of what he says is true.
In the evening my brother John coming to me to complain that my wife seems to be discontented at his being here, and shows him great disrespect; so I took and walked with him in the garden, and discoursed long with him about my affairs, and how imprudent it is for my father and mother and him to take exceptions without great cause at my wife, considering how much it concerns them to keep her their friend and for my peace; not that I would ever be led by her to forget or desert them in the main, but yet she deserves to be pleased and complied with a little, considering the manner of life that I keep her to, and how convenient it were for me to have Brampton for her to be sent to when I have a mind or occasion to go abroad to Portsmouth or elsewhere about pleasure or business, when it will not be safe for me to leave her alone. So directed him how to behave himself to her, and gave him other counsel; and so to my office, where late.
one inanity among many
visions of hell
is true in the evening
to an imprudent moth
considering peace a lie
considering a life elsewhere
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 1 September 1663.
to turn against its user. The treadmill
fails to warn you of its desire to speed up.
Because it does, in one spectacular burst.
Perhaps there's a race it always wanted to win,
a record to break? It's now or never. You
were merely practice. You try to hang on
to the bars, but a great wind sweeps you off
the rolling hills that only minutes ago
you were climbing so earnestly—one foot
after the other, your timer a modest promise
that all trials are temporary and come to an end.
The piano player begins as the grainy black and white
film starts— A wedding! The hero walks out of the church
with his sweet bride on his arm. The world, though silent,
seems their oyster. They have a house to put together
(by number, like Ikea) and their love will be the glue
and the finish. But disaster is a spurned, jealous suitor,
switching the plans for doors and windows, tilting
the roof so it sits like a trapezoid opening its mouth
to rain. But our hero is earnest. He believes in ropes
and pulleys, a trusty hammer, a box of nails. He walks
into brick walls, falls from a height, yet he is nothing
but pure conviction. He is unfazed— like a trick
birthday candle that refuses to be put out,
an optimist with a smacked face and likely
many bruises under the jacket and suspenders.
They must have an upright piano in the living room!
A bathtub below a natural skylight—anything
for his love! The train is coming down the tracks
straight at them, its only thought the decimation of whatever
is in its path. The girl still believes in him, the way we believe
goodness is there like a sky which isn't just a painted
backdrop, though the world is full of breakable things.
Up and to my office all the morning, where Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes did pay the short allowance money to the East India companies, and by the assistance of the City Marshall and his men, did lay hold of two or three of the chief of the companies that were in the mutiny the other day, and sent them to prison.
This noon came Jane Gentleman to serve my wife as her chamber mayde. I wish she may prove well.
So ends this month, with my mind pretty well in quiett, and in good disposition of health since my drinking at home of a little wine with my beer; but no where else do I drink any wine at all.
My house in a way to be clean again, the Joyners and all having done; but only we lack a Cooke-maid and Jane our chambermaid is but new come to us this day.
The King and Queene and the Court at the Bath. My Lord Sandwich in the country, newly gone, with my doubts concerning him having been debauched by a slut at his lodgings at Chelsy. My brother John with me, but not to my great content, because I do not see him mind his study or give me so good account thereof as I expected.
My Brother embarqued in building, and I fear in no good condition for it, for he sent to me to borrow more money, which I shall not lend him.
Myself in good condition in the office, and I hope in a good way of saving money at home.
money in prison is quiet
a win with no wine
a way to be clean again
having only sand lodgings
brother give me
my fear money
I shall lend myself hope
money at home
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 31 August 1663.
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: the monstrous head of the red ant, clouds like eyelids, inked islands, the fly-leaf of anxiety, and much more. Enjoy.
Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 35”
a crane fly folds into itself, unmoving in the corner
regulars at the coffee shop, coming in for last-minute orders
rounding shelves stacked with glass noodles, two white boys
check out the Asian candy
we lift grocery bags into the trunk: chicken thighs, eggplant,
okra, onions, potatoes
a woman approaches, points out scratches on the bumper
who even put them there
she asks if we know who did that
she keeps saying she has a camera on her truck
we don't respond
what is that even supposed to mean
Lords Day. Lay long, then up; and Will being ill of the tooth-ake, I stayed at home and made up my accounts; which to my great content arise to 750l. clear Creditor, the most I have had yet. Dined alone with my wife, my brother dining abroad at my uncle Wights I think. To church, I alone, in the afternoon; and there saw Pembleton come in and look up, which put me into a sweat, and seeing not my wife there, went out again. But Lord — how I was afeared that he might, seeing me at church, go home to my wife; so much it is out of my power to preserve myself from jealousy — and so sat impatient all the sermon. Home and find all well and no sign of anybody being there, and so with great content playing and dallying with my wife; and so to my office, doing a little business there among my papers, and home to my wife to talk — supper and bed.
toothache
on a clear afternoon
I look up
and see no ether
see so much
out of my power
my patient body here
among my papers
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 30 August 1663.
Profusion of limbs and leaves as the gardener runs
a hedge trimmer through the jasmine. He follows
the porch contours—cutting away what obscures
the view, leaving what climbs two pillars: what's
allowed to reach toward the edge of the roof.
There are no blooms, just this economy of green.
As if proliferation can be ordained, and every
fragrance bottled as proof. Late summer's boiled
syrup in the South, alternating with drenching rains.
My body moves between these two frequencies,
trying to intuit the measure of what still is possible
amid the wildness of oceans and the deep sorrow
of the earth, the glacier rush overcoming everything
in its path as if to remind us of who or what we
would rush toward in the moment before all is lost.
Up betimes and settled some necessary papers relating to my security in the accounts which I lately passed with my Lord Sandwich; then to the office and there all the morning sitting. So home to dinner and then abroad with my wife by water to Westminster, and there left her at my Lord’s lodgings, talking with Mrs. Harper about her kinswoman’s coming to my wife next week. And I to Jervas the barber’s, and there was trimmed, and did deliver back a periwigg, which he brought by my desire the other day to show me, having some thoughts, though no great desire or resolution yet to wear one, and so I put it off for a while.
Thence to my wife, and calling at both the Exchanges, buying stockings for her and myself, and also at Leadenhall, where she and I, it being candlelight, bought meat for to-morrow, having never a mayde to do it, and I myself bought, while my wife was gone to another shop, a leg of beef, a good one, for six pense, and my wife says is worth my money. So walked home, with a woman carrying our things, and had a very pleasant walk from White-hall home. So to my office and there despatched some business; and so home and to supper and to bed.
We called at Toms as we came by, and saw his new building, which will be very convenient. But I am mightily displeased at a letter he sent me last night, to borrow 20l. more of me, and yet gives me no account, as I have long desired, how matters stand with him in the world. I am troubled also to see how, contrary to my expectation, my brother John neither is the scholler nor minds his studies as I thought would have done, but loiters away his time, so that I must send him soon to Cambridge again.
an account of the morning
sitting at the barber’s
my thoughts wear off
light as thin ice
how matters stand
with the world troubled
how other minds
would loiter
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 29 August 1663.