Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 14

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: feathered messages, spring monsters, animal bodies, emerging seeds, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 14”

Microchasm

Sam Pepys and me

By water to Whitehall and thence to Westminster, and staid at the Parliament-door long to speak with Mr. Coventry, which vexed me. Thence to the Lords’ House, and stood within the House, while the Bishops and Lords did stay till the Chancellor’s coming, and then we were put out, and they to prayers.
There comes a Bishop; and while he was rigging himself, he bid his man listen at the door, whereabout in the prayers they were but the man told him something, but could not tell whereabouts it was in the prayers, nor the Bishop neither, but laughed at the conceit; so went in: but, God forgive me! I did tell it by and by to people, and did say that the man said that they were about something of saving their souls, but could not tell whereabouts in the prayers that was.
I sent in a note to my Lord Privy Seal, and he came out to me; and I desired he would make another deputy for me, because of my great business of the Navy this month; but he told me he could not do it without the King’s consent, which vexed me. So to Dr. Castle’s, and there did get a promise from his clerk that his master should officiate for me to-morrow.
Thence by water to Tom’s, and there with my wife took coach and to the old Exchange, where having bought six large Holland bands, I sent her home, and myself found out my uncle Wight and Mr. Rawlinson, and with them went to the latter’s house to dinner, and there had a good dinner of cold meat and good wine, but was troubled in my head after the little wine I drank, and so home to my office, and there did promise to drink no more wine but one glass a meal till Whitsuntide next upon any score.
Mrs. Bowyer and her daughters being at my house I forbore to go to them, having business and my head disturbed, but staid at my office till night, and then to walk upon the leads with my wife, and so to my chamber and thence to bed.
The great talk is, that the Spaniards and the Hollanders do intend to set upon the Portuguese by sea, at Lisbon, as soon as our fleet is come away; and by that means our fleet is not likely to come yet these two months or three; which I hope is not true.

at the peak a prayer
comes out as a laugh

the conceit of soul
as castle is so old

in my little wine-glass
sun on the sea


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 7 April 1662.

Provocational

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). By water to White Hall, to Sir G. Carteret, to give him an account of the backwardness of the ships we have hired to Portugall.
At which he is much troubled. Thence to the Chappell, and there, though crowded, heard a very honest sermon before the King by a Canon of Christ Church, upon these words, “Having a form of godliness, but denying,” &c. Among other things, did much insist upon the sin of adultery: which methought might touch the King, and the more because he forced it into his sermon, methinks, besides his text.
So up and saw the King at dinner; and thence with Sir G. Carteret to his lodgings to dinner, with him and his lady, where I saluted her, and was well received as a stranger by her; she seems a good lady, and all their discourse, which was very much, was upon their sufferings and services for the King. Yet not without some trouble, to see that some that had been much bound to them, do now neglect them; and others again most civil that have received least from them.
And I do believe that he hath been a good servant to the King.
Thence to walk in the Park, where the King and Duke did walk round the Park. After I was tired I went and took boat to Milford stairs, and so to Graye’s Inn walks, the first time I have been there this year, and it is very pleasant and full of good company. When tired I walked to the Wardrobe, and there staid a little with my Lady, and so by water from Paul’s Wharf (where my boat staid for me), home and supped with my wife with Sir W. Pen, and so home and to bed.

give ungodliness a thought
touch the king in his text

salute a stranger
upon their suffering

see some that have received
least and believe

walk where the tired and gray walk
go with a boat for a bed


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 6 April 1662.

Some Things to Love Today

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Drone cameras brought back 
images of thousands upon thousands

holding up signs saying how much
we love this world, ransacked

but not yet in complete ruin.
In order to keep loving, we'll

have to keep living for those
deprived, no longer alive, taken

too soon. Pollen dusts the porch,
and new maps of the world appear

before our eyes. Hydrangeas
from last season stayed tethered

to their stalks, as if guarding
the plant until its return to green.

*

Addendum, 06 April 2025:

I woke up to this post from poet, translator,
and professor JUNLEY LORENZANA LAZAGA
(based in Baguio City), who was moved
to translate this poem into Ilocano
- I'm deeply grateful.

Sumagmamano a Banag nga Ayaten Ita nga Aldaw
(Impatarus iti Ilokano ni JL Lazaga)


Insubli dagiti drone camera
dagiti imatang dagiti rinibribo

a mangipakpakdaar iti no kasanotayo
nga ay-ayaten daytoy a lubong a naasak

ngem saan pay met a narsaak.
Tapno mataginayon ti panagayat, nasken

a itultuloytayo ti agbiag para kadagiti
napaidaman, dagiti saanen a nabiag, nasapa

unay a pimmusay. Natapukan iti pulbos ti sabsabong ti balkon,
ket agparang dagiti baro a mapa ti lubong

kadagiti saripatpattayo. Dagiti milflores
manipud iti naglabas a panagsasabong, agtalinaed

kadagiti sangada, a kas mangbambantay
kadagiti puonda agingga iti panaglangtodanto manen.

Flight

Sam Pepys and me

At the office till almost noon, and then broke up. Then came Sir G. Carteret, and he and I walked together alone in the garden, taking notice of some faults in the office, particularly of Sir W. Batten’s, and he seemed to be much pleased with me, and I hope will be the ground of a future interest of mine in him, which I shall be glad of. Then with my wife abroad, she to the Wardrobe and there dined, and I to the Exchange and so to the Wardrobe, but they had dined. After dinner my wife and the two ladies to see my aunt Wight, and thence met me at home. From thence (after Sir W. Batten and I had viewed our houses with a workman in order to the raising of our roofs higher to enlarge our houses) I went with them by coach first to Moorfields and there walked, and thence to Islington and had a fine walk in the fields there, and so, after eating and drinking, home with them, and so by water with my wife home, and after supper to bed.

together alone
taking off

hope will ground
a broad view

raising higher houses
in the fields


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 5 April 1662.

Memory of Mother, in the Days before Good Feminine Products

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
 
They call it fasting
blood sugar— how you're not

to eat or drink anything
from midnight, before a sample

is taken for the doctor. The lab
technician comes in and binds

your arm with elastic, then
inserts a needle into your vein.

As the vials fill with crimson,
you think of all the times you tasted

rust in your throat from a nosebleed,
saw poppies bloom in front of your eyes;

the day you clutched your mother's skirt
as a thick line of red flowed down

the inside of her thigh, and she waved
and waved, trying to flag down a taxicab.

Antagonists

Sam Pepys and me

By barge Sir George, Sir Williams both and I to Deptford, and there fell to pay off the Drake and Hampshire, then to dinner, Sir George to his lady at his house, and Sir Wm. Pen to Woolwich, and Sir W. Batten and I to the tavern, where much company came to us and our dinner, and somewhat short by reason of their taking part away with them. Then to pay the rest of the Hampshire and the Paradox, and were at it till 9 at night, and so by night home by barge safe, and took Tom Hater with some that the clerks had to carry home along with us in the barge, the rest staying behind to pay tickets, but came home after us that night. So being come home, to bed.
I was much troubled to-day to see a dead man lie floating upon the waters, and had done (they say) these four days, and nobody takes him up to bury him, which is very barbarous.

is the company
taking away rest

night by night
safe to hate?

the dead float on the water
nobody to bury us


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 4 April 1662.

Spooned

‘There are enough microplastics in your brain to make an entire spoon’
—headline in Fast Company

oh brain spoon
shall we take our medicine
of gray rain

how about we lighten
our thoughts and make them
stackable

what sparks joy must
be smooth and new
and uniquely sleek

no more murky
unAmerican thoughts
of slaughtered children

no more muffled wails
of ambulances buried
in mass graves

neuroplasticity
lets us relax
we moo over the moon

for the spoon the dish
ran away with
has come to a fork

Irresistible

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
"Who trusts a mouth that does not abandon
itself/ to...ripeness?"
- Albert Abonado


Yes, too much salt
billows in the blood.
Too much sugar hardens
the kidneys into clappers.
Too much fat hoists
sandbags to the rafters,
from where they will drop
one day soon on your feet.
Too much bile burnishes
the coins of each envy,
reddens the nets that swim
in the backs of your eyes.
One day, one way
or another, you
will die.
But you can't starve
the hunger planted
beneath your navel,
the hunger squirming
under the white
roof of your belly.
It digs its points
into your flesh
and wakes you up
at night, dreaming
of crackling pork rind
and blood stew, green
bulbs of bitter melon
glowing on vines
in the yard; soft
tongues lapping up
vinegar. You will slip
out of bed and take
your sharpest knife,
crush garlic cloves,
pour oil into
the heated pan.