Via Negativa

August 9, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Giving earth

(Lord’s day). Up, and leaving my brother John to go somewhere else, I to church, and heard Mr. Mills (who is lately returned out of the country, and it seems was fetched in by many of the parishioners, with great state,) preach upon the authority of the ministers, upon these words, “We are therefore embassadors of Christ.” Wherein, among other high expressions, he said, that such a learned man used to say, that if a minister of the word and an angell should meet him together, he would salute the minister first; which methought was a little too high. This day I begun to make use of the silver pen (Mr. Coventry did give me) in writing of this sermon, taking only the heads of it in Latin, which I shall, I think, continue to do. So home and at my office reading my vowes, and so to Sir W. Batten to dinner, being invited and sent for, and being willing to hear how they left things at Portsmouth, which I found but ill enough, and are mightily for a Commissioner to be at seat there to keep the yard in order.
Thence in the afternoon with my Lady Batten, leading her through the streets by the hand to St. Dunstan’s Church, hard by us (where by Mrs. Russell’s means we were set well), and heard an excellent sermon of one Mr. Gifford, the parson there, upon “Remember Lot’s wife.” So from thence walked back to Mrs. Russell’s, and there drank and sat talking a great while. Among other things talked of young Dawes that married the great fortune, who it seems has a Baronet’s patent given him, and is now Sir Thos. Dawes, and a very fine bred man they say he is. Thence home, and my brother being abroad I walked to my uncle Wight’s and there staid, though with little pleasure, and supped, there being the husband of Mrs. Anne Wight, who it seems is lately married to one Mr. Bentley, a Norwich factor. Home, and staid up a good while examining Will in his Latin below, and my brother along with him in his Greeke, and so to prayers and to bed.
This afternoon I was amused at the tune set to the Psalm by the Clerke of the parish, and thought at first that he was out, but I find him to be a good songster, and the parish could sing it very well, and was a good tune. But I wonder that there should be a tune in the Psalms that I never heard of.

if an angel should get
a little too high

I shall lead her through
the streets by the hand

and remember Lot’s wife
who stayed married to wonder

her Psalm
never heard

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 9 August 1663.

August 9, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Agnostic

Up and to my office, whither I search for Brown the mathematical instrument maker, who now brought me a ruler for measuring timber and other things so well done and in all things to my mind that I do set up my trust upon it that I cannot have a better, nor any man else have so good for this purpose, this being of my own ordering. By and by we sat all the morning dispatching of business, and then at noon rose, and I with Mr. Coventry down to the water-side, talking, wherein I see so much goodness and endeavours of doing the King service, that I do more and more admire him. It being the greatest trouble to me, he says, in the world to see not only in the Navy, but in the greatest matters of State, where he can lay his finger upon the soare (meaning this man’s faults, and this man’s office the fault lies in), and yet dare or can not remedy matters.
Thence to the Exchange about several businesses, and so home to dinner, and in the afternoon took my brother John and Will down to Woolwich by water, and after being there a good while, and eating of fruit in Sheldon’s garden, we began our walk back again, I asking many things in physiques of my brother John, to which he gives me so bad or no answer at all, as in the regions of the ayre he told me that he knew of no such thing, for he never read Aristotle’s philosophy and Des Cartes ownes no such thing, which vexed me to hear him say. But I shall call him to task, and see what it is that he has studied since his going to the University.
It was late before we could get from Greenwich to London by water, the tide being against us and almost past, so that to save time and to be clear of anchors I landed at Wapping, and so walked home weary enough, walking over the stones.
This night Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes returned [from] Portsmouth, but I did not go see them.

I search for a maker
no ruler in my mind

no man for a king
to lay his finger on

in all the regions of the air
nothing owns nothing

see what it is to be clear
walking over stones

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 8 August 1663.

August 9, 2026August 9, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Sarabo

August 8, 2026August 9, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Terra Madre

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

~ after Katrina Bello


First country, last sea— How light 
knits a borderless shawl to throw 

on the backs of hills, across sheaths 
of grain, across cities recovering from

fire or flood or some recent disaster. We too 
are sown and re-sown in the world, as seeds 

pushing through soil,  as water traveling through 
veins, unfazed by mineral shadows. At daybreak, 

fishermen shake scales of silver from their nets. 
At dusk, furtive light burnishes the soles of their feet.  

I want to believe we are cupped like this—held 
like warm knobs of bread cradled in brown paper

and borne through the still sleeping streets, held 
like a quiet clapper inside the cast iron mouth 

of a great bell. What fell out of the skies, 
and from such a great distance? When islands 

quake and leaves shrivel, it is from the hands 
of the Mother. Peel the dry papyrus husk 

of a garlic clove, salt a plate of java plums. Sit 
at the edge of the harbor watching ships

haul their mixed inventory of treasure and waste. 
In time, we will die where we are. First sea, last country.

August 7, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Shed

Up and to my office a little, and then to Brown’s for my measuring rule, which is made, and is certainly the best and the most commodious for carrying in one’s pocket, and most useful that ever was made, and myself have the honour of being as it were the inventor of this form of it. Here I staid discoursing an hour with him and then home, and thither came Dr Fairbrother to me, and we walked a while together in the garden and then abroad into the cittie, and then we parted for a while and I to my Viall, which I find done and once varnished, and it will please me very well when it is quite varnished.
Thence home and to study my new rule till my head aked cruelly. So by and by to dinner and the Doctor and Mr. Creed came to me.
The Doctor’s discourse, which (though he be a very good-natured man) is but simple, was some sport to me and Creed, though my head akeing I took no great pleasure in it.
We parted after dinner, and I walked to Deptford and there found Sir W. Pen, and I fell to measuring of some planks that was serving into the yard, which the people took notice of, and the measurer himself was amused at, for I did it much more ready than he, and I believe Sir W. Pen would be glad I could have done less or he more.
By and by he went away and I staid walking up and down, discoursing with the officers of the yard of several things, and so walked back again, and on my way young Bagwell and his wife waylayd me to desire my favour about getting him a better ship, which I shall pretend to be willing to do for them, but my mind is to know his wife a little better.
They being parted I went with Cadbury the mast maker to view a parcel of good masts which I think it were good to buy, and resolve to speak to the board about it.
So home, and my brother John and I up and I to my musique, and then to discourse with him, and I find him not so thorough a philosopher, at least in Aristotle, as I took him for, he not being able to tell me the definition of final nor which of the 4 Qualitys belonged to each of the 4 Elements.
So to prayers, and to bed, among other things being much satisfied with my new rule.

in the most commodious
garden shed
I shed my headache

a doctor’s discourse is simple
measuring people
up and down

I get better at being
able to belong
to each other thing

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 7 August 1663.

August 7, 2026August 7, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Evidence in the Undercurrent

~ after “It is Rumored: Bloody Point,” Jessica Damen

There is more water now, not less,
from climate change and subsidence.

Ghost-glints on the surface, bright
as bayonets on the ends of muskets.

The past may be rumor,
though much of it is true.

The past roils with the tides, crashing
on rocks at the point of Kent island.

Saltgrass and seagrass still line
the estuaries where ships passed,

bearing their cargo of bodies. Glimpsed through
paper the color of tea, bodies chained

in pairs tumble backward into the depths.
Their bones land on liquid beds, notes

of a dirge that lingers. History is a haunting that winds
through fret-boards of coral and crab pots.

You have to press it onto a scroll and hold it up
to the light, to see what soaks through;

how the colors of blood mute with salt
into indigo and siena but never fade.

August 6, 2026August 7, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Lupain

~ Lu-pa-ÍN; land, lands (Tagalog/Filipino);
after Katrina Bello

Mud and mangroves, canvases of green.

Paths of dust kicked up by the feet of running 
children. O lumbering water buffalo in the field, 

steered by egrets' white flags. Under the sun, we

all yield to the present. What is it to survive
one season, when the next is uncertain? 

On the city's margins, what we reclaimed 

from the sea eats away at the edges. 
Storms churn their sickles, bent on conquest. 

We gather wet earth to shape into forms.

This is how we are told islands are born. This
is how our bodies learned their color, having been

made porous by the memory of what returns.

August 6, 2026August 6, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Development

Up and was angry with my maid Hannah for keeping the house no better, it being more dirty now-a-days than ever it was while my whole family was together.
So to my office, whither Mr. Coventry came and Sir William Pen, and we sat all the morning. This day Mr. Coventry borrowed of me my manuscript of the Navy.
At noon I to the ‘Change, and meeting with Sir W. Warren, to a coffee-house, and there finished a contract with him for the office, and so parted, and I to my cozen Mary Joyce’s at a gossiping, where much company and good cheer. There was the King’s Falconer, that lives by Paul’s, and his wife, an ugly pusse, but brought him money. He speaking of the strength of hawkes, which will strike a fowle to the ground with that force that shall make the fowle rebound a great way from ground, which no force of man or art can do, but it was very pleasant to hear what reasons he and another, one Ballard, a rich man of the same Company of Leathersellers of which the Joyces are, did give for this. Ballard’s wife, a pretty and a very well-bred woman, I took occasion to kiss several times, and she to carve, drink, and show me great respect. After dinner to talk and laugh. I drank no wine, but sent for some water; the beer not being good. A fiddler was sent for, and there one Mrs. Lurkin, a neighbour, a good, and merry poor woman, but a very tall woman, did dance and show such tricks that made us all merry, but above all a daughter of Mr. Brumfield’s, black, but well-shaped and modest, did dance very well, which pleased me mightily. I begun the Duchess with her, but could not do it; but, however, I came off well enough, and made mighty much of her, kissing and leading her home, with her cozen Anthony and Kate Joyce (Kate being very handsome and well, that is, handsomely dressed to-day, and I grew mighty kind and familiar with her, and kissed her soundly, which she takes very well) to their house, and there I left them, having in our way, though nine o’clock at night, carried them into a puppet play in Lincolnes Inn Fields, where there was the story of Holofernes, and other clockwork, well done.
There was at this house today Mr. Lawrence, who did give the name, it seems, to my cozen Joyce’s child, Samuel, who is a very civil gentleman, and his wife a pretty woman, who, with Kate Joyce, were stewards of the feast to-day, and a double share cost for a man and a woman came to 16s., which I also would pay, though they would not by any means have had me do so. I walked home very well contented with this afternoon’s work, I thinking it convenient to keep in with the Joyces against a bad day, if I should have occasion to make use of them. So I walked home, and after a letter to my wife by the post and my father, I home to supper, and after a little talk with my brother to bed.

keep the dirt
in the ground
for another time

no wine but water
made all
well enough

so I grew
in the fields
as a child

ward of the day
a man and a woman
had to make up

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 6 August 1663.

August 5, 2026August 7, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Subterranean

~ after “Leaping Into Eel’s Death Colors,” Jessica Damen

From the underworld of dreams and origins,

it cleaves the darkness with its amber breath,
scattering roots, ground beetles, sand, silt.

It only needs an opening. A fissure in the earth,

a wound, a well choked with the residue
of time. We say depth, but we can hardly imagine

the measure of what can’t be fathomed.

Scientists call soil layers horizons—topsoil,
subsoil, and between these, clay, metal, rock.

The sun, rising and setting in caverns.

Whoever drinks the water in these pools,
talks to the dead and the drowned.

The eel hoists its silver spine and gleaming

banners up, and you know you’ll run to meet it
where the currents of life and death dissolve

the salt of all our longings, and the self

can no longer tell green from grave or garden,
and whether it is ending or just beginning.

August 5, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Uncommitted

All the morning at the office, whither Deane of Woolwich came to me and discoursed of the body of ships, which I am now going about to understand, and then I took him to the coffee-house, where he was very earnest against Mr. Grant’s report in favour of Sir W. Petty’s vessel, even to some passion on both sides almost.
So to the Exchange, and thence home to dinner with my brother, and in the afternoon to Westminster hall, and there found Mrs. Lane, and by and by by agreement we met at the Parliament stairs (in my way down to the boat who should meet us but my lady Jemimah, who saw me lead her but said nothing to me of her, though I ought to speak to her to see whether she would take notice of it or no) and off to Stangate and so to the King’s Head at Lambeth marsh, and had variety of meats and drinks, but I did so towse her and handled her, but could get nothing more from her though I was very near it; but as wanton and bucksome as she is she dares not adventure upon the business, in which I very much commend and like her.
Staid pretty late, and so over with her by water, and being in a great sweat with my towsing of her durst not go home by water, but took coach, and at home my brother and I fell upon Des Cartes, and I perceive he has studied him well, and I cannot find but he has minded his book, and do love it.
This evening came a letter about business from Mr. Coventry, and with it a silver pen he promised me to carry inke in, which is very necessary. So to prayers and to bed.

whither the body
which I am now

to coffee or to passion
I almost change into stairs

down to the taken hand
or up to sing

my love is a silver pen
promised to prayer

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 5 August 1663.