Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
open the knives
of my heart to rust
blooming like a sunset
the earth’s stillborn twin
glows with purloined light
dimming the stars
and the midnight creek
has one or two things to say
it shimmers as it should
a freight train
labors up the valley
wailing at every crossroads
I feel a howl
uncurling like a leaf
from its shrink-wrapped fist
almost full will do
for an almost fool
to raise his coyote muzzle
putting my phone away
the plushness of the moss
at its greenest now
at the end of a hard winter
a butterfly dances past
like a lost carnival float
the naked trees sway
gray and weather-eaten
i find a habitable hush
in the shade of a pine
though from time to time
a moan interjects
the sound of friction
with a too-close neighbor
a wild lettuce seed drifts
on a pompon of down
up over the mountain
and out across the valley
where every raw patch
of plowed or scoured earth
calls to the migrant killdeer
as an unclaimed shore
At the office from morning till night putting of papers in order, that so I may have my office in an orderly condition. I took much pains in sorting and folding of papers. Dined at home, and there came Mrs. Goldsborough about her old business, but I did give her a short answer and sent away.
This morning we had news from Mr. Coventry, that Sir G. Downing (like a perfidious rogue, though the action is good and of service to the King, yet he cannot with any good conscience do it) hath taken Okey, Corbet, and Barkestead at Delfe, in Holland, and sent them home in the Blackmore.
Sir W. Pen, talking to me this afternoon of what a strange thing it is for Downing to do this, he told me of a speech he made to the Lords States of Holland, telling them to their faces that he observed that he was not received with the respect and observance now, that he was when he came from the traitor and rebell Cromwell: by whom, I am sure, he hath got all he hath in the world, — and they know it too.
in order that I may
have order I sort
and fold old news
like a king with a black pen
for a speech
made by the world
Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 12 March 1661/62.
When I get high I go low
Tell every bad joke that I know
Submitting to gravity
I succumb to depravity
But at least I’m not doing blow
*
For some reason, this bit of nonsense popped into my head the other morning, and not knowing what else to do with it, I thought I’d inflict it on share it with Via Negativa readers.
At the office all the morning, and all the afternoon rummaging of papers in my chamber, and tearing some and sorting others till late at night, and so to bed, my wife being not well all this day. This afternoon Mrs. Turner and The. came to see me, her mother not having been abroad many a day before, but now is pretty well again and has made me one of the first visits.
rummaging and tearing
sorting the night
into moth or wisp
a mad first visit
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 11 March 1661/62.
A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. 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, a somewhat shorter edition than usual (perhaps the weather was too nice to blog?) with corpses and coffins, stillness and transformation, conglomerates and cigarettes, and a famous poet snacking on small purple carrots. Enjoy.
Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 10”
At the office doing business all the morning, and my wife being gone to buy some things in the city I dined with Sir W. Batten, and in the afternoon met Sir W. Pen at the Treasury Office, and there paid off the Guift, where late at night, and so called in and eat a bit at Sir W. Batten’s again, and so home and to bed, to-morrow being washing day.
doing business all
in one thin city
with no pen
the office of tomorrow
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 10 March 1661/62.
(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.
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.
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.