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.
Haircut
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.
Birthday Song
"...Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?" ~ The Beatles
Back in Liverpool when he was only 14, Paul
McCartney plunked out a melody that would go on
to become When I'm Sixty-Four. I can't remember
what I was doing when I was 14—perhaps hiding
in my room reading novels or the latest issue of Jingle
Songbook, lip syncing to Pers Lab on the radio.
Now I'm 64, on Thursday I'll turn 65. Evenings,
when I come home, all these moths with glitter
on their wings crowd around the porch light. They
obviously have a better night life than I do. I still have
most of my hair. I can't mend a fuse, but I installed
a bidet all by myself during the pandemic, when everyone
was worried about toilet paper shortages. In my head
I'm still in my thirties, much of my life ahead of me.
Time to sing a few more songs around a bonfire,
remember what it's like to be young and bright
and reckless, though by now I have a bed I'm always
being told I should lie in because I made it. I've lost
more than one of a pair of earrings, and many of those
I love are gone. There are days I feel every bit of hard-
earned knowledge wrapped around my bones—
a kind of armor it won't be easy to shrug off
even if I tried, but I am still tender enough
to want and ask for more.
Long haul
At the office betimes (it being cold all night and this morning, and a very great frost they say abroad, which is much, having had no summer at all almost), where we sat, and in the afternoon also about settling the establishment of the number of men borne on ships, &c., till the evening, and after that in my closet till late, and quite tired with business, home to supper and to bed.
all-night road
the numb men borne on it
tire
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 28 August 1663.
Veteran
Up, after much pleasant talke with my wife and a little that vexes me, for I see that she is confirmed in it that all that I do is by design, and that my very keeping of the house in dirt, and the doing of this and any thing else in the house, is but to find her employment to keep her within and from minding of her pleasure, in which, though I am sorry to see she minds it, is true enough in a great degree.
To my office, and there we sat and despatched much business. Home and dined with my wife well, and then up and made clean my closet of books, and had my chamber a third time made very clean, so that it is now in a very fine condition.
Thence down to see some good plank in the river with Sir W. Batten and back again, it being a very cold day and a cold wind. Home again, and after seeing Sir W. Pen, to my office, and there till late doing of business, being mightily encouraged by every body that I meet withal upon the ‘Change and every where else, that I am taken notice of for a man that do the King’s business wholly and well. For which the Lord be praised, for I know no honour I desire more.
Home to supper, where I find my house very clean from top to bottom again to my great content. I found a feacho (as he calls it) of fine sugar and a case of orange-flower water come from Mr. Cocke, of Lisbon, the fruits of my last year’s service to him, which I did in great justice to the man, a perfect stranger. He sends it me desiring that I would not let Sir J. Minnes know it, from whom he expected to have found the service done that he had from me, from whom he could expect nothing, and the other failed him, and would have done I am sure to this day had not I brought it to some end.
After supper to bed.
from the river
a cold body
from each flower
a fruit
a perfect stranger
from the service
no one I ought to be
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 27 August 1663.
Nouveau riche
Up, and after doing something in order to the putting of my house in order now the joynery is done, I went by water to White Hall, where the Court full of waggons and horses, the King and Court going this day out towards the Bath, and I to St. James’s, where I spent an hour or more talking of many things to my great content with Mr. Coventry in his chamber, he being ready to set forth too with the Duke to-day, and so left him, and I meeting Mr. Gauden, with him to our offices and in Sir W. Pen’s chamber did discourse by a meeting on purpose with Mr. Waith about the victualling business and came to some issue in it.
So home to dinner, and Mr. Moore came and dined with me, and after dinner I paid him some money which evened all reckonings between him and me to this day, and for my Lord also I paid him some money, so that now my Lord owes me, for which I have his bond, just 700l..
After long discourse with him of the fitness of his giving me a receipt for this money, which I for my security think necessary and he otherwise do not think so, at last, after being a little angry, and I resolving not to let go my money without it, he did give me one.
Thence I took him, and he and I took a pleasant walk to Deptford and back again, I doing much business there. He went home and I home also, indoors to supper, being very glad to see my house begin to look like itself again, hoping after this is over not to be in any dirt a great while again, but it is very handsome, and will be more when the floors come to be of one colour.
So weary to bed.
Pleased this day to see Captain Hickes come to me with a list of all the officers of Deptford Yard, wherein he, being a high old Cavalier, do give me an account of every one of them to their reproach in all respects, and discovers many of their knaverys; and tells me, and so I thank God I hear every where, that my name is up for a good husband for the King, and a good man, for which I bless God; and that he did this by particular direction of Mr. Coventry.
a house full of horse discourse
meeting about business
money giving me
money for my money
like hands of one color
for every knavery
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 26 August 1663.
Devotion
Every night for a week now,
some creature digs through the soil
in the largest planter on the deck, flinging sod,
trailing earth. What it's looking for, we're not
quite sure. But it comes back to the same scene,
bringing the energy of its need like an offering.
Nothing gets left or buried there. Only the traces
of a small frenzy of overturning, which a trowel
gathers up and returns in the morning. Clearly,
whatever it seeks has not been found. This
may not be a kind of love, but it looks like
devotion. A prayer, which is what it is despite
(or because of) the absence of an answer.
And me? I've held out my love like a lamp
in loamy darkness, hoping it's bright enough
to be seen. If I have a face that looks as if
it could not be moved, it's only because
I'm holding my breath, waiting for what
has not yet broken through, believing
it should only be a matter of time.
Returning to the Body
Allow yourself time to return to that
borrowed house, your body—
crumpling into itself if not now then
decades ahead. Pull the shades down,
ease into the interregnum between
faith and despair: just a quiet
giving no more to one than to the other.
Harbor no grief that isn’t yours to keep, or
isn’t anyone’s judgment to give. Is it possible to feel
joy without paying for it with coin or
kingdom, without giving up the texture of
laughter pearling in the mouth? Your
many avatars are known to pursue light equally.
Normally shy, they’ve learned hunger is not
opposite to need, nor agency to hesitation.
People stand in loose circles in a room, dis-
quiet soothed by chatter, wine, crackers with cheese.
Remember you’re all here by chance, even if
summoned by invitation. Far away, glacial
torrents sweep through villages, markets, homes.
Under the rubble, how many hearts and singing bowls?
Vast is the universe, and you are in it: rejoicing or
weeping, bending toward what bends to you
exactly as it should, as the light flickers no or maybe or
yes. The body remembers both the sweetness and the ache,
zones of seeming emptiness filled with ordinary awe.
My Life as a Talker
what does the wind
have to say to me
as much as I let it
out of my voice box
it takes things too far
as a matter of course
blows things all
out of proportion
and nothing it says can
ever be taken back
An old poem I just found on my phone to test out the new WordPress plugin Lineate – Poetry Blocks by Johnathan Williams, former editor of Linebreak.
Employees
Up very early and removed the things out of my chamber into the dining room, it being to be new floored this day. So the workmen being come and falling to work there, I to the office, and thence down to Lymehouse to Phin. Pett’s about masts, and so back to the office, where we sat; and being rose, and Mr. Coventry being gone, taking his leave, for that he is to go to the Bath with the Duke to-morrow, I to the ‘Change and there spoke with several persons, and lastly with Sir W. Warren, and with him to a Coffee House, and there sat two hours talking of office business and Mr. Wood’s knavery, which I verily believe, and lastly he tells me that he hears that Captain Cocke is like to become a principal officer, either a Controller or a Surveyor, at which I am not sorry so either of the other may be gone, and I think it probable enough that it may be so.
So home at 2 o’clock, and there I found Ashwell gone, and her wages come to 50s., and my wife, by a mistake from me, did give her 20s. more; but I am glad that she is gone and the charge saved.
After dinner among my joyners, and with them till dark night, and this night they made an end of all; and so having paid them 40s. for their six days’ work, I am glad they have ended and are gone, for I am weary and my wife too of this dirt.
My wife growing peevish at night, being weary, and I a little vexed to see that she do not retain things in her memory that belong to the house as she ought and I myself do, I went out in a little seeming discontent to the office, and after being there a while, home to supper and to bed.
To-morrow they say the King and the Duke set out for the Bath.
This noon going to the Exchange, I met a fine fellow with trumpets before him in Leadenhall-street, and upon enquiry I find that he is the clerk of the City Market; and three or four men carried each of them an arrow of a pound weight in their hands. It seems this Lord Mayor begins again an old custome, that upon the three first days of Bartholomew Fayre, the first, there is a match of wrestling, which was done, and the Lord Mayor there and Aldermen in Moorefields yesterday: to-day, shooting: and to-morrow, hunting. And this officer of course is to perform this ceremony of riding through the city, I think to proclaim or challenge any to shoot. It seems that the people of the fayre cry out upon it as a great hindrance to them.
in an office of ice
we sat with coffee
in an age gone dark
the end of all work
I went out into
the leaden street
men carried the weight of the fields
through the city
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 25 August 1663.

