Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
How much can it hold in This body
To be free of blemish free of stutter
and limp Blaze fire forged by the god
of cunning of craftsmanship
If only there was a way to seal the perforated
A bolus to slip under skin A tincture bathing
the heart and its retinue worn down organs
Unclasped over decades Asterisms Necklaces
(Lord’s day). Lay long talking with my wife, then Mr. Holliard came to me and let me blood, about sixteen ounces, I being exceedingly full of blood and very good. I begun to be sick; but lying upon my back I was presently well again, and did give him 5s. for his pains, and so we parted, and I, to my chamber to write down my journall from the beginning of my late journey to this house.
Dined well, and after dinner, my arm tied up with a black ribbon, I walked with my wife to my brother Tom’s; our boy waiting on us with his sword, which this day he begins to wear, to outdo Sir W. Pen’s boy, who this day, and Sir W. Batten’s too, begin to wear new livery; but I do take mine to be the neatest of them all.
I led my wife to Mrs. Turner’s pew, and the church being full, it being to hear a Doctor who is to preach a probacion sermon, I went out to the Temple and there walked, and so when church was done went to Mrs. Turner’s, and after a stay there, my wife and I walked to Grays Inn, to observe fashions of the ladies, because of my wife’s making some clothes. Thence homewards, and called in at Antony Joyce’s, where we found his wife brought home sick from church, and was in a convulsion fit. So home and to Sir W. Pen’s and there supped, and so to prayers at home and to bed.
in the full-of-blood
journal of my journey
arm tied
with black ribbon
a word begins
to live in my ear
as a gray ash brought
home from prayer
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 4 May 1662.
Look at our shiny foreheads,
our cheeks
that haven't yet
lost all trace of softness from
youth. And look
at the way we
stand, our toes either pointing
awkwardly toward each other or
fanned out
the way dancers' do;
at the indentations on our shoes
where a bone out of joint pressed
against leather,
where an insole
cushioned uncertain tread.
But there's still
so much we
can't fathom, can't know
enough to prepare for—
What weather
ahead, what state
of being in the world; how to gather
wishes
to make our will known.
Sir W. Pen and I by coach to St. James’s, and there to the Duke’s Chamber, who had been a-hunting this morning and is come back again. Thence to Westminster, where I met Mr. Moore, and hear that Mr. Watkins is suddenly dead since my going. To dinner to my Lady Sandwich, and Sir Thomas Crew’s children coming thither, I took them and all my Ladys to the Tower and showed them the lions and all that was to be shown, and so took them to my house, and there made much of them, and so saw them back to my Lady’s. Sir Thomas Crew’s children being as pretty and the best behaved that ever I saw of their age.
Thence, at the goldsmith’s, took my picture in little, which is now done, home with me, and pleases me exceedingly and my wife. So to supper and to bed, it being exceeding hot.
I am he who had been hunting
and is come back dead
to my house and children
in a pretty picture
which is now
done with me
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 3 May 1662.
That place to which our loves
have been consigned after perishing
from snake bite— To which they've been
abducted and exiled after a crack
in the earth opened— A lustful god
tore them off the sidewalk or out of the fields
like flowers— It's characterized
as a place from which there's no hope
of return; still, stories of negotiation
abound— Throw sweet breads to the dog
with three snarling heads— Appeal
the terms of passage— A mother says, trade you
six months of the year for six kernels
of crimson fruit the girl
couldn't help put in her mouth, so desperate
was her hunger— Play heart-rendingly
on your instrument so as to move
the coldest juror and melt the prison bars— Blindness
and the long road back— A shorn head, loosened
cuffs; chains snapped for a body restored—
Early to coach again and to Kingston, where we baited a little, and presently to coach again and got early to London, and I found all well at home, and Mr. Hunt and his wife had dined with my wife to-day, and been very kind to my wife in my absence. After I had washed myself, it having been the hottest day that has been this year, I took them all by coach to Mrs. Hunt’s, and I to Dr. Clerke’s lady, and gave her her letter and token. She is a very fine woman, and what with her person and the number of fine ladies that were with her, I was much out of countenance, and could hardly carry myself like a man among them; but however, I staid till my courage was up again, and talked to them, and viewed her house, which is most pleasant, and so drank and good-night. And so to my Lord’s lodgings, where by chance I spied my Lady’s coach, and found her and my Lady Wright there, and so I spoke to them, and they being gone went to Mr. Hunt’s for my wife, and so home and to bed.
present in my absence
having been a number
I count myself a man
among lodgings
where I hunt for a home
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 2 May 1662.
At least twice in the recent past, the man
I love said he felt like he'd just been
struck by lightning; both times, he walked
in the door, holding a piece of paper
with bad news. Approximately 90% of people
struck by lightning survive. The first time
was a job loss no one saw coming. The second,
a medical diagnosis— and we still have no
idea how it will play out. And I don't know
anyone actually struck by lightning, whether
or not they survived. I used to wonder, if you
keep thinking of something, will it happen?
Some people call it coincidence. Some call it
foresight or premonition. Others say that's
bullshit; but if you believe it,
it may turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.
When lightning strikes a person or object,
electrical current either zaps the body
with such speed, it may not even leave a mark. Or,
in something called a flashover, it moves
just across and over the skin's
moist surface— in this instance, there's a higher
chance of survival. In the late 1700s,
Lichtenberg kept scrapbooks of branching,
fern-like patterns in the wake of lightning
strikes— Pictures that, keranographists beieve,
resemble objects in the vicinity—
a towering pine, lamp-post, or ship's mast;
the jagged silhouette of rocks and scrub.
The spine of a half-eaten fish.
Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen, and myself, with our clerks, set out this morning from Portsmouth very early, and got by noon to Petersfield; several officers of the Yard accompanying us so far. Here we dined and were merry.
At dinner comes my Lord Carlingford from London, going to Portsmouth: tells us that the Duchess of York is brought to bed of a girl, at which I find nobody pleased; and that Prince Rupert and the Duke of Buckingham are sworn of the Privy Councell.
He himself made a dish with eggs of the butter of the Sparagus, which is very fine meat, which I will practise hereafter.
To horse again after dinner, and got to Gilford, where after supper I to bed, having this day been offended by Sir W. Pen’s foolish talk, and I offending him with my answers. Among others he in discourse complaining of want of confidence, did ask me to lend him a grain or two, which I told him I thought he was better stored with than myself, before Sir George. So that I see I must keep a greater distance than I have done, and I hope I may do it because of the interest which I am making with Sir George.
To bed all alone, and my Will in the truckle bed.
noon field
I find nobody and a horse
after foolish talk
the discourse of rain
I told myself I must keep
a greater distance
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 1 May 1662.
This morning Sir G. Carteret came down to the yard, and there we mustered over all the men and determined of some regulations in the yard, and then to dinner, all the officers of the yard with us, and after dinner walk to Portsmouth, there to pay off the Success, which we did pretty early, and so I took leave of Sir W. Pen, he desiring to know whither I went, but I would not tell him. I went to the ladies, and there took them and walked to the Mayor’s to show them the present, and then to the Dock, where Mr. Tippets made much of them, and thence back again, the Doctor being come to us to their lodgings, whither came our supper by my appointment, and we very merry, playing at cards and laughing very merry till 12 o’clock at night, and so having staid so long (which we had resolved to stay till they bade us be gone), which yet they did not do but by consent, we bade them good night, and so past the guards, and went to the Doctor’s lodgings, and there lay with him, our discourse being much about the quality of the lady with Mrs. Pierce, she being somewhat old and handsome, and painted and fine, and had a very handsome maid with her, which we take to be the marks of a bawd. But Mrs. Pierce says she is a stranger to her and met by chance in the coach, and pretends to be a dresser. Her name is Eastwood. So to sleep in a bad bed about one o’clock in the morning.
This afternoon after dinner comes Mr. Stephenson, one of the burgesses of the town, to tell me that the Mayor and burgesses did desire my acceptance of a burgess-ship, and were ready at the Mayor’s to make me one. So I went, and there they were all ready, and did with much civility give me my oath, and after the oath, did by custom shake me all by the hand. So I took them to a tavern and made them drink, and paying the reckoning, went away. They having first in the tavern made Mr. Waith also a burgess, he coming in while we were drinking. It cost me a piece in gold to the Town Clerk, and 10s. to the Bayliffes, and spent 6s.
how to play cards
hand in hand
with chance
pretend to be woods
and shake all hands
having gold
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 30 April 1662.
Closer to thought
than to sense or even
sensation— the idea
that what was rent
may never piece
together again.
Gold is
used for certain
kinds of mending—
malleable and
moldable, precious
commodity. In war-
time, you'd bury it
beside a tree or
swallow it
whole to make
it part
of you.