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Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Worky Work

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
Does assigning a name or title to any function 
seem to make it more real in certain ways? 
For instance, you could be a submarine chef— 
a "Culinary Specialist, Submarines" or CSS, 
and work on Navy submarines to cook meals 
for the crew. When the vessel submerges 
and emits sonar pings, you're reminded of
the little tune the rice cooker plays
to let you know the rice is ready. 
You could be a nail polish namer, 
dreaming up names like Champagne 
Crush for a sparkly pink, or Radio Flyer 
for an enameled red. In seafood processing 
plants, workers who do the tedious and 
repetitive task of extracting crab flesh 
from legs and claws are called meat pickers.  
Once, on a Reddit thread, someone asked 
if restaurants provide utensils for crab
legs. A smartass replied, "No, restaurants 
provide utensils for human hands to eat crab 
legs. The crab legs are dead and frozen 
and cooked and there's no way that they 
could possibly use utensils." There's 
a name for that kind of person as well; 
a name for the one who disappears for longer
than his lunch hour, and the one who's never 
pleased by anything you do on the job.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Redemption arc

Sam Pepys and me

To my office, and by and by to our sitting; where much business. Mr. Coventry took his leave, being to go with the Duke over for the Queen-Mother. I dined at home, and so to my Lord’s, where I presented him with a true state of all his accounts to last Monday, being the 14th of July, which did please him, and to my great joy I continue in his great esteem and opinion. I this day took a general acquittance from my Lord to the same day. So that now I have but very few persons to deal withall for money in the world.
Home and found much business to be upon my hands, and was late at the office writing letters by candle light, which is rare at this time of the year, but I do it with much content and joy, and then I do please me to see that I begin to have people direct themselves to me in all businesses.
Very late I was forced to send for Mr. Turner, Smith, Young, about things to be sent down early to-morrow on board the King’s pleasure boat, and so to bed with my head full of business, but well contented in mind as ever in my life.

where is the mother
of Monday today

I have hands writing
by candle light

I begin to turn about
the pleasure boat of my life


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 17 July 1662.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

After

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
After the snake has swallowed its own tail— 

what then? Does it tuck itself into a scaly 
ball, stitch itself into a leathered sphere 

to be kicked around on a green playing field 

or struck with a bat as people cheer  
in unison from the stands? After the river 

has gorged itself on houses and tractors, 

gas stations and trucks that slid as if without 
protest into its onrushing mouth, did it lie 

back down in its bed, its terrible hunger 

quiet until the next time? It's said some events 
happen about once in a thousand years: planets 

line up in ways that excite astrologers; volcanoes 

wake their oldest fire demons. We think the end 
is the end, that nothing can come after. But who 

are we to know? A bent barbershop pole still twirls 

its stripes of red and blue. A clock chimes the hour. 
There's someone already working on the next prophecy, 

reading the ashen shapes traced by tea leaves in a cup.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Anxiety

Sam Pepys and me

In the morning I found all my ceilings, spoiled with rain last night, so that I fear they must be all new whited when the work is done.
Made me ready and to my office, and by and by came Mr. Moore to me, and so I went home and consulted about drawing up a fair state of all my Lord’s accounts, which being settled, he went away, and I fell to writing of it very neatly, and it was very handsome and concisely done. At noon to my Lord’s with it, but found him at dinner, and some great company with him, Mr. Edward Montagu and his brother, and Mr. Coventry, and after dinner he went out with them, and so I lost my labour; but dined with Mr. Moore and the people below, who after dinner fell to talk of Portugall rings, and Captain Ferrers offered five or six to sell, and I seeming to like a ring made of a coco-nutt with a stone done in it, he did offer and would give it me. By and by we went to Mr. Creed’s lodging, and there got a dish or two of sweetmeats, and I seeing a very neat leaden standish to carry papers, pen, and ink in when one travels I also got that of him, and that done I went home by water and to finish some of my Lord’s business, and so early to bed.
This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine (being quite fallen out with her husband) did yesterday go away from him, with all her plate, jewels, and other best things; and is gone to Richmond to a brother of her’s; which, I am apt to think, was a design to get out of town, that the King might come at her the better. But strange it is how for her beauty I am willing to construe all this to the best and to pity her wherein it is to her hurt, though I know well enough she is a whore.

my fear is ready
to hand and concise

like a stone to carry
when one travels

some way to a brother
but willing to hurt


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 16 July 1662.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Raga

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
In the evenings, in the shadow of the dorms 
during the summer writing conference, a small 
group of women would sit under the chestnut 
tree. We could hear the tones of their quiet 
conversation as night deepened, until the outlines 
of their figures softened. Then one of them would begin 
to sing— what we learned from others at breakfast time 
was a raga: improvised, undulating; a pentatonic 
framework lofting a thread into the atmosphere. 
Trembling with color, it drew us to our windows, 
out of our beds where we were trying to sleep 
in sultry heat uncooled by air conditioning. 
As it receded, it felt as though every hair on my
body exhaled a breath I didn't even know I had been 
holding in. Years later, I still think of that sensation—
to have been brought to the brink of a calm 
as stupendous and as simple as a field of fireflies.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

In a flash

Sam Pepys and me

Up by 4 o’clock, and after doing some business as to settling my papers at home, I went to my office, and there busy till sitting time. So at the office all the morning, where J. Southern, Mr. Coventry’s clerk, did offer me a warrant for an officer to sign which I desired, claiming it for my clerk’s duty, which however did trouble me a little to be put upon it, but I did it. We broke up late, and I to dinner at home, where my brother Tom and Mr. Cooke came and dined with me, but I could not be merry for my business, but to my office again after dinner, and they two and my wife abroad. In the evening comes Mr. Cooper, and I took him by water on purpose to tell me things belonging to ships, which was time well spent, and so home again, and my wife came home and tells me she has been very merry and well pleased with her walk with them. About bedtime it fell a-raining, and the house being all open at top, it vexed me; but there was no help for it.

settling at sitting time
south of however little
but not for us

the road in water
belonging to ships

bedtime rain


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 15 July 1662.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 28

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: resistance training, Bastille Day, the orbweaver’s song, Crusoe in England, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 28”
Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Knowledge Transfer

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
History, before it becomes history,
lives in the realm of the ordinary:
anecdote and family story, photographs, 
postcards, letters in cursive. The news  
—carried on stone tablets, by ship, by 
courier, by decree. Warnings by lantern,
by crier on horseback, by sirens breaking
open the seals of night. From theory 
to praxis, idea to application: how 
the thumb flies into the mouth 
at the instance of a burn; how you 
run away from an impending storm or 
put your car quick in reverse when 
you see the bridge ahead in imminent 
collapse. The body, a repository 
of knowledge collected through history— 
the ache looped like a noose against
the collarbone, pain stippling your joints 
or striping your back as you toss at night 
in bed— not even yours, personally, but 
an archive you've nevertheless inherited.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Horticulture

Sam Pepys and me

Up by 4 o’clock and to my arithmetique, and so to my office till 8, then to Thames Street along with old Mr. Green, among the tarr-men, and did instruct myself in the nature and prices of tarr, but could not get Stockholm for the use of the office under 10l. 15s. per last, which is a great price. So home, and at noon Dr. T. Pepys came to me, and he and I to the Exchequer, and so back to dinner, where by chance comes Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, and then Mr. Battersby, the minister, and then Mr. Dun, and it happened that I had a haunch of venison boiled, and so they were very wellcome and merry; but my simple Dr. do talk so like a fool that I am weary of him. They being gone, to my office again, and there all the afternoon, and at night home and took a few turns with my wife in the garden and so to bed. My house being this day almost quite untiled in order to its rising higher. This night I began to put on my waistcoat also. I found the pageant in Cornhill taken down, which was pretty strange.

I am green among men
my target is so so simple

like the night garden
and its rising corn


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 14 July 1662.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Fire marshall

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day) Having by some mischance hurt my cods. I had my old pain all yesterday and this morning, and so kept my bed all this morning. So up and after dinner and some of my people to church, I set about taking down my books and papers and making my chamber fit against to-morrow to have the people come to work in pulling down the top of my house. In the evening I walked to the garden and sent for Mr. Turner (who yesterday did give me occasion of speaking to him about the difference between him and me), and I told him my whole mind, and how it was in my power to do him a discourtesy about his place of petty purveyance, and at last did make him see (I think) that it was his concernment to be friendly to me and what belongs to me. After speaking my mind to him and he to me, we walked down and took boat at the Tower and to Deptford, on purpose to sign and seal a couple of warrants, as justice of peace in Kent, against one Annis, who is to be tried next Tuesday, at Maidstone assizes, for stealing some lead out of Woolwich Yard. Going and coming I did discourse with Mr. Turner about the faults of our management of the business of our office, of which he is sensible, but I believe is a very knave. Come home I found a rabbit at the fire, and so supped well, and so to my journall and to bed.

yesterday is my church
and tomorrow my hole

I long to speak
my mind to a stone

some discourse of management
in our office of fire


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 13 July 1662.