Culture worker

Sam Pepys and me

Up and hastened him in despatching some business relating to Tangier, and I away homewards, hearing that my Lord had a bad fit to-night, called at my brother’s, and found him sick in bed, of a pain in the sole of one of his feet, without swelling, knowing not how it came, but it will not suffer him to stand these two days. So to Mr. Moore, and Mr. Lovell, our proctor, being there, discoursed of my law business. Thence to Mr. Grant, to bid him come for money for Mr. Barlow, and he and I to a coffee-house, where Sir J. Cutler was; and in discourse, among other things, he did fully make it out that the trade of England is as great as ever it was, only in more hands; and that of all trades there is a greater number than ever there was, by reason of men taking more ‘prentices, because of their having more money than heretofore. His discourse was well worth hearing.
Coming by Temple Bar I bought “Audley’s Way to be Rich,” a serious pamphlett and some good things worth my minding. Thence homewards, and meeting Sir W. Batten, turned back again to a coffee-house, and there drunk more till I was almost sick, and here much discourse, but little to be learned, but of a design in the north of a rising, which is discovered, among some men of condition, and they sent for up. Thence to the ‘Change, and so home with him by coach, and I to see how my wife do, who is pretty well again, and so to dinner to Sir W. Batten’s to a cod’s head, and so to my office, and after stopping to see Sir W. Pen, where was Sir J. Lawson and his lady and daughter, which is pretty enough, I came back to my office, and there set to business pretty late, finishing the margenting my Navy-Manuscript. So home and to bed.

at night feet know
other things

hands house my head

a pen is finishing
my manuscript


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 23 January 1662/63.

Landscape, with Lake and Pleasure Boats

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
A salt lick, a watering hole, a thumbprint 
embossed on a clearing in the dusty hills. How
did it become this fantasy of paradise, willows
weeping with the weight of untrimmed blooms
as flat-bottomed boats circle the surface of
a manmade lake? At first, only a handful
of them. And then, more tourists clamoring for
a turn. Now there are too many concessions,
crowding the water that merely flows around
and around itself. Concession, from the Latin
con + cedere: the grant of privilege by
a government to individuals to engage
in some enterprise. Or, the act of allowing
or conceding. Who gave the first permission?
They fight among themselves for the right
to the largest fleet. They name ghosts on
business permits as their children intermarry.
They forget the history of ruin, how the most
accurate ledger is the one kept by rain.

Self-Portrait with Glass Squid

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Have you ever wanted to be more 
seen but at the same time blend
into the background, a shadow
capable of erasing itself until all
that's left is a bioluminescent outline,
mercurial tentacles flashing in and out
of the depths? I've learned about things
like camouflage, hiding in plain sight
while carrying a bright orange lantern
in a transparent bell. You'd think darkness
itself was passing through me. But it's
ammonium that fills my body cavity, lighter
and more buoyant than seawater. Threatened,
I retreat: pulling my head and arms into
my own cloud cover, changing into an enigma
the ocean still can't figure out. Does it
pay off to be my own galaxy, sometimes
discoverable and sometimes not?

Afterwarden

Sam Pepys and me

To the office, where Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes are come from Portsmouth. We sat till dinner time. Then home, and Mr. Dixon by agreement came to dine, to give me an account of his success with Mr. Wheatly for his daughter for my brother; and in short it is, that his daughter cannot fancy my brother because of his imperfection in his speech, which I am sorry for, but there the business must die, and we must look out for another.
There came in also Mrs. Lodum, with an answer from her brother Ashwell’s daughter, who is likely to come to me, and with her my wife’s brother, and I carried Commissioner Pett in with me, so I feared want of victuals, but I had a good dinner, and mirth, and so rose and broke up, and with the rest of the officers to Mr. Russell’s buriall, where we had wine and rings, and a great and good company of aldermen and the livery of the Skinners’ Company. We went to St. Dunstan’s in the East church, where a sermon, but I staid not, but went home, and, after writing letters, I took coach to Mr. Povy’s, but he not within I left a letter there of Tangier business, and so to my Lord’s, and there find him not sick, but expecting his fit to-night of an ague. Here was Sir W. Compton, Mr. Povy, Mr. Bland, Mr. Gawden and myself; we were very busy about getting provisions sent forthwith to Tangier, fearing that by Mr. Gawden’s neglect they might want bread. So among other ways thought of to supply them I was empowered by the Commissioners of Tangier that were present to write to Plymouth and direct Mr. Lanyon to take up vessels great or small to the quantity of 150 tons, and fill them with bread of Mr. Gawden’s lying ready there for Tangier, which they undertake to bear me out in, and to see the freight paid. This I did. About 10 o’clock we broke up, and my Lord’s fit was coming upon him, and so we parted, and I with Mr. Creed, Mr. Pierce, Wm. Howe and Captn. Ferrers, who was got almost drunk this afternoon, and was mighty capricious and ready to fall out with any body, supped together in the little chamber that was mine heretofore upon some fowls sent by Mr. Shepley, so we were very merry till 12 at night, and so away, and I lay with Mr. Creed at his lodgings, and slept well.

a mouth can die
for want of mirth

and the skin for want
of a mouth to read it

we part with a capricious body
to be some owl at night


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 22 January 1662/63.

Time-sensitive

Sam Pepys and me

Up early leaving my wife very ill in bed de ses Moi and to my office till eight o’clock, there coming Ch. Pepys to demand his legacy of me, which I denied him upon good reason of his father and brother’s suing us, and so he went away. Then came Commissioner Pett, and he and I by agreement went to Deptford, and after a turn or two in the yard, to Greenwich, and thence walked to Woolwich. Here we did business, and I on board the Tangier-merchant, a ship freighted by us, that has long lain on hand in her despatch to Tangier, but is now ready for sailing. Back, and dined at Mr. Ackworth’s, where a pretty dinner, and she a pretty, modest woman; but above all things we saw her Rocke, which is one of the finest things done by a woman that ever I saw. I must have my wife to see it. After dinner on board the Elias, and found the timber brought by her from the forest of Deane to be exceeding good. The Captain gave each of us two barrels of pickled oysters put up for the Queen mother.
So to the Dock again, and took in Mrs. Ackworth and another gentlewoman, and carried them to London, and at the Globe tavern, in Eastcheap, did give them a glass of wine, and so parted. I home, where I found my wife ill in bed all day, and her face swelled with pain. My Will has received my last two quarters salary, of which I am glad. So to my office till late and then home, and after the barber had done, to bed.

my clock is after me
that long hand

now sailing above
the finest forest

I go for another gentle
glass of pain


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 21January 1662/63.

Sky Ladder

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The moon suspends itself above our cities, 

its seas a romance whose mystery we haven't

plumbed entirely though we've sent men

to leave marks on its deserts, footprints

in its hills of fine lunar dust. We are always

trying to bridge the distance between earth and

heaven, climb out of the nave where we bow

our heads like congregants in supplication.

When we look up, it is toward the apex

of the vault and beyond. Cai Guo-Qiang

built a sixteen hundred forty foot-long Sky

Ladder, wire brushed with fireworks and

gunpowder, held aloft by a helium balloon.

One June dawn at Huiyu Island Harbor, he lit

and watched it blaze, rung by gold rung against

the still indigo sky. Shrimp boats, trawlers,

and skiffs paused where they were. Villagers

emptying their chamberpots caught their breath.

It took only a little over two minutes, but

in that space, the impossible happened.

The universe glowed, opening

the door to every desire.

Hot and cold

Sam Pepys and me

Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning. Dined at home, and Mr. Deane of Woolwich with me, talking about the abuses of the yard. Then to the office about business all the afternoon with great pleasure, seeing myself observed by every body to be the only man of business of us all, but Mr. Coventry. So till late at night, and then home to supper and bed.

the real me talking
about the use of ice

I see myself observed
by every oven


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 20 January 1662/63.

Luxuriant

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Those slow afternoons, she'd lie 
on the couch and rest her head on its arm,

then gesture for me to come pluck out the white
hairs from her head with a pair of tweezers.

Five centavos for each, she winked. Perhaps
I earned twenty-five. Her hair, still thick

and glint-dark then as a tidal pool.
Sheened with a slick of coconut oil,

it needed no other adornment. But
she tried out trends— pixie cuts,

kiss-me curls. Now I'm the same age she was
when she began tinting her hair with henna,

as the shoreline above her forehead slowly
receded. I touch the scalloped curve

on a barette, the crosshatched tuft from
my own hairbrush, look in the mirror

at the part resembling a trail as the moon
raises its tortoiseshell comb into the sky.

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 3

Poetry Blogging Network

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 hell hole, relearning the world, wormy things from the sea bed, a single blue tree, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 3”

Delicacy

Sam Pepys and me

Up and to White Hall, and while the Duke is dressing himself I went to wait on my Lord Sandwich, whom I found not very well, and Dr. Clerke with him. He is feverish, and hath sent for Mr. Pierce to let him blood, but not being in the way he puts it off till night, but he stirs not abroad to-day. Then to the Duke, and in his closett discoursed as we use to do, and then broke up. That done, I singled out Mr. Coventry into the Matted Gallery, and there I told him the complaints I meet every day about our Treasurer’s or his people’s paying no money, but at the goldsmith’s shops, where they are forced to pay fifteen or twenty sometimes per cent. for their money, which is a most horrid shame, and that which must not be suffered. Nor is it likely that the Treasurer (at least his people) will suffer Maynell the Goldsmith to go away with 10,000l. per annum, as he do now get, by making people pay after this manner for their money.
We were interrupted by the Duke, who called Mr. Coventry aside for half an hour, walking with him in the gallery, and then in the garden, and then going away I ended my discourse with Mr. Coventry. But by the way Mr. Coventry was saying that there remained nothing now in our office to be amended but what would do of itself every day better and better, for as much as he that was slowest, Sir W. Batten, do now begin to look about him and to mind business. At which, God forgive me! I was a little moved with envy, but yet I am glad, and ought to be, though it do lessen a little my care to see that the King’s service is like to be better attended than it was heretofore.
Thence by coach to Mr. Povy’s, being invited thither by [him] came a messenger this morning from him, where really he made a most excellent and large dinner, of their variety, even to admiration, he bidding us, in a frolique, to call for what we had a mind, and he would undertake to give it us: and we did for prawns, swan, venison, after I had thought the dinner was quite done, and he did immediately produce it, which I thought great plenty, and he seems to set off his rest in this plenty and the neatness of his house, which he after dinner showed me, from room to room, so beset with delicate pictures, and above all, a piece of perspective in his closett in the low parler; his stable, where was some most delicate horses, and the very-racks painted, and mangers, with a neat leaden painted cistern, and the walls done with Dutch tiles, like my chimnies. But still, above all things, he bid me go down into his wine-cellar, where upon several shelves there stood bottles of all sorts of wine, new and old, with labells pasted upon each bottle, and in the order and plenty as I never saw books in a bookseller’s shop; and herein, I observe, he puts his highest content, and will accordingly commend all that he hath, but still they deserve to be so. Here dined with me Dr. Whore and Mr. Scawen.
Therewith him and Mr. Bland, whom we met by the way, to my Lord Chancellor’s, where the King was to meet my Lord Treasurer, &c., many great men, to settle the revenue of Tangier. I staid talking awhile there, but the King not coming I walked to my brother’s, where I met my cozen Scotts (Tom not being at home) and sent for a glass of wine for them, and having drunk we parted, and I to the Wardrobe talking with Mr. Moore about my law businesses, which I doubt will go ill for want of time for me to attend them.
So home, where I found Mrs. Lodum speaking with my wife about her kinswoman which is offered my wife to come as a woman to her.
So to the office and put things in order, and then home and to bed, it being my great comfort that every day I understand more and more the pleasure of following of business and the credit that a man gets by it, which I hope at last too will end in profit.
This day, by Dr. Clerke, I was told the occasion of my Lord Chesterfield’s going and taking his lady (my Lord Ormond’s daughter) from Court. It seems he not only hath been long jealous of the Duke of York, but did find them two talking together, though there were others in the room, and the lady by all opinions a most good, virtuous woman. He, the next day (of which the Duke was warned by somebody that saw the passion my Lord Chesterfield was in the night before), went and told the Duke how much he did apprehend himself wronged, in his picking out his lady of the whole Court to be the subject of his dishonour; which the Duke did answer with great calmness, not seeming to understand the reason of complaint, and that was all that passed but my Lord did presently pack his lady into the country in Derbyshire, near the Peake; which is become a proverb at Court, to send a man’s wife to the Devil’s arse a’ Peake, when she vexes him.
This noon I did find out Mr. Dixon at Whitehall, and discoursed with him about Mr. Wheatly’s daughter for a wife for my brother Tom, and have committed it to him to enquire the pleasure of her father and mother concerning it. I demanded 300l..

blood in the night
the slowest swan

is dinner in a room beset
with delicate pictures

where delicate horses
painted for war

pass with great calmness
into the devil’s wheat


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 19 January 1662/63.