On Google Earth

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
What I see on the fence
is the sign Transient House

But aren't all homes
temporary? It is no longer

connected to me or to mine,
by virtue of deed or sale

or transfer. Still, the contours
are familiar: the double arches

above the front windows, the eaves
and soffits; the east-facing porch

where my father used to sit in his
bathrobe in the mornings. Now,

the front looks a little like
a scrapyard, the tin mailbox

something a bird's heart might have
burst through. The shadow of old vines

on the outer walls: whether herald or
lament, it's hard to tell the difference.

Of Course

Sam Pepys and me

My mind, though out of trouble, yet intent upon my journey home, being desirous to know how all my matters go there, I could hardly sleep, but waked very early; and, when it was time, did call up Will, and we rose, and musique (with a bandore for the base) did give me a levett; and so we got ready; and while breakfast was providing, I went forth (by the way finding Mr. George Mountagu and his Lady, whom I saluted, going to take their coach thus early to proceed on their journey, they having lodged in the chamber just under me all this night) and showed Mr. Cooke King’s College Chapel, Trinity College, and St. John’s College Library; and that being done, to our inn again: where I met Dr. Fairbrother brought thither by my brother Tom, and he did breakfast with us, a very good-natured man he is, and told us how the room we were in was the room where Cromwell and his associated officers did begin to plot and act their mischiefs in these counties.
Having eat well, only our oysters proving bad, we mounted, having a pair of boots that I borrowed and carried with me from Impington, my own to be sent from Cambridge to London, and took leave of all, and begun our journey about nine o’clock. After we had rode about 10 miles we got out of our way into Royston road, which did vex me cruelly, and the worst for that my brother’s horse, which was lame yesterday, grows worse to-day, that he could not keep pace with us. At last with much ado we got into the road again, having misguided also a gentleman’s man who had lost his master and thought us to be going the same way did follow us, but coming into the road again we met with his master, by his coat a divine, but I perceiving Tom’s horse not able to keep with us, I desired Mr. Cooke and him to take their own time, and Will and I we rode before them keeping a good pace, and came to Ware about three o’clock in the afternoon, the ways being every where but bad. Here I fell into acquaintance and eat and drank with the divine, but know not who he is, and after an hour’s bait to myself and horses he, though resolved to have lodged there, yet for company would out again, and so we remounted at four o’clock, and he went with me as far almost as Tibbald’s and there parted with us, taking up there for all night, but finding our horses in good case and the night being pretty light, though by reason of clouds the moon did not shine out, we even made shift from one place to another to reach London, though both of us very weary. And having left our horses at their masters, walked home, found all things well, and with full joy, though very weary, came home and went to bed, there happening nothing since our going to my discontent in the least degree; which do so please me, that I cannot but bless God for my journey, observing a whole course of success from the beginning to the end of it, and I do find it to be the reward of my diligence, which all along in this has been extraordinary, for I have not had the least kind of divertisement imaginable since my going forth, but merely carrying on my business which God has been pleased to bless.
So to bed very hot and feverish by being weary, but early morning the fever was over.

how hard a break
with nature is the road

thought to be going
the same way as us

ways being everywhere
horses in the night

finding the moon shift
from one place to another

each thing is a whole course
in the imaginable


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 15 October 1662.

Aftershocks

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Though caffeine has a diuretic effect, I drink it
throughout the day.

It does not seem to make much difference if I drink
coffee at midnight; I am sleepy no matter what.

But when I slip into bed, thoughts race
in my head, jolting me awake.

I will try to write in declarative sentences,
in defiance of all that merely masquerades as true.

Five earthquakes were recorded in different
Philippine cities over the last twenty-four hours.

A plume of hot steam rose nine hundred feet
into the air above Taal volcano.

More than landscape changes
in the aftermath of extremity.

There is sorrow in the aftermath; there is
also anticipatory grief.

In 1990, after earthquakes nearly leveled my city,
a telecom company set up emergency hotlines.

People lined up to call someone— anyone—
to let them know.

Father died. Grandmother died. The house
collapsed. A bus lay at the bottom of the ravine.

There was water in the lake. The grocer handed out
bread and cans of beans through a hole in the wall.

The children were afraid
to take off their shoes at night.

The takers

Sam Pepys and me

Up, and did digest into a method all I could say in our defence, in case there should be occasion, for I hear he will have counsel to plead for him in the Court, and so about nine o’clock to the court at the Lordshipp where the jury was called; and there being vacancies, they would have had my father, in respect to him, have been one of the Homage, but he thought fit to refuse it, he not knowing enough the customs of the town. They being sworn and the charge given them, they fell to our business, finding the heir-at-law to be my uncle Thomas; but Sir Robert did tell them that he had seen how the estate was devised to my father by my uncle’s will, according to the custom of the manour, which they would have denied, first, that it was not according to the custom of the manour, proposing some difficulty about the half-acre of land which is given the heir-at-law according to custom, which did put me into great fear lest it might not be in my uncle’s possession at his death, but mortgaged with other to T. Trice (who was there, and was with my good will admitted to Taylor’s house mortgaged to him if not being worth the money for which it was mortgaged, which I perceive he now, although he lately bragged the contrary, yet is now sensible of, and would have us to redeem it with money, and he would now resurrender it to us rather than the heir-at-law) or else that it was part of Goody Gorum’s in which she has a life, and so might not be capable of being according to the custom given to the heir-at-law, but Will Stanks tells me we are sure enough against all that.
Then they fell to talk of Piggott’s land mortgaged to my uncle, but he never admitted to it, which they now as heir would have admitted to. But the steward, as he promised me, did find pretensions very kindly and readily to put off their admittance, by which I find they are much defeated, and if ever, I hope, will now listen to a treaty and agreement with us, at our meeting at London. So they took their leaves of the steward and Court, and went away, and by and by, after other business many brought in, they broke up to dinner. So my father and I home with great content to dinner; my mind now as full against the afternoon business, which we sat upon after dinner at the Court, and did sue out a recovery, and cut off the intayle; and my brothers there, to join therein. And my father and I admitted to all the lands; he for life, and I for myself and my heirs in reversion, and then did surrender according to bargain to Prior, Greene, and Shepheard the three cottages with their appurtenances that they have bought of us, and that being done and taken leave of the steward, I did with most compleat joy of mind go from the Court with my father home, and in a quarter of an hour did get on horseback, with my brother Tom, Cooke, and Will, all mounted, and without eating or drinking, take leave of father, mother, Pall, to whom I did give 10s., but have shown no kindness since I come, for I find her so very ill-natured that I cannot love her, and she so cruel a hypocrite that she can cry when she pleases, and John and I away, calling in at Hinchingbroke, and taking leave in three words of my Lady, and the young ladies; and so by moonlight most bravely all the way to Cambridge, with great pleasure, whither we come at about nine o’clock, and took up at the Bear, but the house being full of guests we had very ill lodging, which troubled me, but had a supper, and my mind at good ease, and so to bed. Will in another bed in my chamber.

in defence of a thought
given to the state

they would have our half-acre
given to death

but who would redeem it
money might not be enough

and they took the leaves
green appurtenances of light


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 14 October 1662.

Family Trees

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

~ Candidatus Sukunaarchaeum mirabile


Scientists have found a tiny microbe
which isn't a virus, yet acts like one
because it seemingly has only one purpose:
to make more copies of itself by stealing
what it needs from its host. A picture
on a slide looks like delicate
embroidery— peach-colored French knots
inside a sac of gauze. Its name points
to the marvelous, to the kind of mystery reserved
for gods and ancient fossils. Scientists
say it straddles the line between life and not-
life
— which is not the same as saying everyone
who doesn't look like us or talk like us is a kind of
non-life, which then might make it possible
to round them up like animals and pack them off
to Uzbekistan or Eswatini. What do labels
even mean— legal, illegal, alien, documented— if
life on earth had to begin somewhere and in all
likelihood we have one universal common ancestor.

Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 41

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: intruding in Eden, remembering how to dream, the angel of history, a museum or diaspora of things, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 41”

Surveilled

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

Up to Hinchingbroke, and there with Mr. Sheply did look all over the house, and I do, I confess, like well of the alteracions, and do like the staircase, but there being nothing to make the outside more regular and modern, I am not satisfied with it, but do think it to be too much to be laid out upon it. Thence with Sheply to Huntingdon to the Crown, and there did sit and talk, and eat a breakfast of cold roast beef, and so he to St. Ives Market, and I to Sir Robert Bernard’s for council, having a letter from my Lord Sandwich to that end. He do give it me with much kindness in appearance, and upon my desire do promise to put off my uncle’s admittance, if he can fairly, and upon the whole do make my case appear better to me than my cozen Roger did, but not so but that we are liable to much trouble, and that it will be best to come to an agreement if possible. With my mind here also pretty well to see things proceed so well I returned to Brampton, and spent the morning in looking over papers and getting my copies ready against to-morrow. So to dinner, and then to walk with my father and other business, when by and by comes in my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas to see us, and very calm they were and we to them. And after a short How do you, and drinking a cup of beer, they went away again, and so by and by my father and I to Mr. Phillips, and there discoursed with him in order to to-morrow’s business of the Court and getting several papers ready, when presently comes in my uncle Thomas and his son thither also, but finding us there I believe they were disappointed and so went forth again, and went to the house that Prior has lately bought of us (which was Barton’s) and there did make entry and forbade paying rent to us, as now I hear they have done everywhere else, and that that was their intent in coming to see us this day. I perceive most of the people that do deal with us begin to be afraid that their title to what they buy will not be good. Which troubled me also I confess a little, but I endeavoured to remove all as well as I could. Among other things they make me afraid that Barton was never admitted to that that my uncle bought of him, but I hope the contrary.
Thence home, and with my father took a melancholy walk to Portholme, seeing the country-maids milking their cows there, they being there now at grass, and to see with what mirth they come all home together in pomp with their milk, and sometimes they have musique go before them.
So back home again, and to supper, and in comes Piggott with a counterfeit bond which by agreement between us (though it be very just in itself) he has made, by which I shall lay claim to the interest of the mortgage money, and so waiting with much impatience and doubt the issue of to-morrow’s Court, I to bed, but hardly slept half an hour the whole night, my mind did so run with fears of to-morrow.

inching all over
the house oh crow

oh Lord looking in
on us and our sin

our papers everywhere
our melancholy milk

see what comes
to rest in doubt


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 13 October 1662.

Wellness

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). Made myself fine with Captain Ferrers’s lace band, being lothe to wear my own new scallop, it is so fine; and, after the barber had done with us, to church, where I saw most of the gentry of the parish; among others, Mrs. Hanbury, a proper lady, and Mr. Bernard and his Lady, with her father, my late Lord St. John, who looks now like a very plain grave man. Mr. Wells preached a pretty good sermon, and they say he is pretty well in his witts again.
So home to dinner, and so to walk in the garden, and then to Church again, and so home, there coming several people about business, and among others Mr. Piggott, who gives me good assurance of his truth to me and our business, in which I am very much pleased, and tells me what my uncle Thomas said to him and what he designs, which (in fine) is to be admitted to the estate as well as we, which I must endeavour to oppose as well as I can.
So to supper, but my mind is so full of our business that I am no company at all, and then their drink do not please me, till I did send to Goody Stanks for some of her’s which is very small and fresh, with a little taste of wormewood, which ever after did please me very well. So after supper to bed, thinking of business, but every night getting my brother John to go up with me for discourse sake, while I was making unready.

made myself fine
like a grave in the garden

and I am as well
as a well

with a little taste
of wormwood


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 12 October 1662.

Fables for these Times

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
I am amazed by the story where a man pulls 
two ships weighing over a thousand pounds
across the water and to the shore. Granted,

the distance is only fifteen meters and not
the length of the Suez Canal— but not a single
tooth bursts from his mouth. He backs away

from the edge of the pier, hands rowing
air on both sides of his body as the ropes
gradually give up their slack. He’s done

other hard things like this before: pulled
a train thirty-three feet across the rails
also with his teeth, and twenty cars

with a harness strapped to his back.
Besides the weight, do the ships, trains,
and cars have symbolic value, does he

do this for a reason other than to break
a world record? I'm also in awe when I
hear of grandmothers forming patrols

on the periphery of schools, of random
strangers rushing to the aid of humans
pulled out from behind counters

as they flip burgers and fill orders
for soda and fries. I want to hear about
happy endings where the trickster

rabbit outwits fox and greedy wolf, where
the spider weaves threads and carries cruise
ship workers across the ocean to safety.

The Last Judgment

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
~ after Hieronymus Bosch


This world near the end of the world
is meat-grinder, is bridge buckling

under the weight of souls impaled,
or in the throes of their would-be

undoing. This world is bodies astride
blades and bowing beneath the hull

of some idol's cast-off shoe, is beasts
and demons shooting swords or flames from

their mouths. In the distance, lakes black
as tar; the clang of instruments for binding

and shattering. The harp of the world
is strung to the point of breaking.

What hope there might be is a small
bubble, a spacecraft with limited seating.