Via Negativa

February 29, 2024February 29, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

A New Heaven, A New Earth

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

The land no longer provides without fail 
for those who faithfully labor and trust. 

In the dream, the hills are packed tightly together. 
When they open their arms, a thousand birds 

fly blind, like arrows into the sun. A smell of burnt
flesh fills the air, and news of cities exploded 

into sand. Through a spyglass, we can see  
a flotilla of ships pretending the pearl of the world 

has not yet been discovered. Even in the dream, 
I want to keep you safe. I want to tear down the over-

growth, to gather rain in flasks we can hide in our 
clothing. We look for round shapes to cup

in our hands. Even in dream, we know the brilliance
of time is hidden in the heart of secret things.

February 28, 2024February 28, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Free Association

When your teeth tingle, you are reminded they are bones. 
Your fruit is your vegetable, your bread is a soup bowl. 

The need for utensils seems overrated when you’ve learned  
to scoop a little mound of rice around a piece of barbecue pork.

Don’t you sometimes feel the need to sharpen your tongue 
on a slab of rock salt or apple cake, because sometimes 

it loses the motivation to bloom? The wind is a pulley 
that can make even your knees creak. Do you remember 

how it sang a dirge that stunned the sun into silence?
When such a thing happens, your hair folds flat as a sea.

There aren’t enough days for sorting into neat piles 
but it feels like they’re always running into each other.

Fate has come that much closer. Is this what you were 
thinking as you adjusted all the clocks in the house?

February 28, 2024February 28, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Early to wait on my Lord, and after a little talk with him I took boat at Whitehall for Redriffe, but in my way overtook Captain Cuttance and Teddiman in a boat and so ashore with them at Queenhithe, and so to a tavern with them to a barrel of oysters, and so away.
Capt. Cuttance and I walked from Redriffe to Deptford, where I found both Sir Williams and Sir G. Carteret at Mr. Uthwayt’s, and there we dined, and notwithstanding my resolution, yet for want of other victualls, I did eat flesh this Lent, but am resolved to eat as little as I can.
After dinner we went to Captain Bodilaw’s, and there made sale of many old stores by the candle, and good sport it was to see how from a small matter bid at first they would come to double and treble the price of things.
After that Sir W. Pen and I and my Lady Batten and her daughter by land to Redriffe, staying a little at halfway house, and when we came to take boat, found Sir George, &c., to have staid with the barge a great while for us, which troubled us.
Home and to bed.
This month ends with two great secrets under dispute but yet known to very few: first, Who the King will marry; and What the meaning of this fleet is which we are now sheathing to set out for the southward. Most think against Algier against the Turk, or to the East Indys against the Dutch who, we hear, are setting out a great fleet thither.

in the way of all flesh I am
as little as a candle

and good sport it was to double
the price of a house

we have to eat secrets
in the war against the ear

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 28 February 1660/61.

February 27, 2024February 28, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

On Casualty

In this life, there is a language of wake 
and another for sleep. One blares its jangled 
notes in your ear at six in the morning. The other 

coos faint refrains from the eaves. 
You separate the wrinkled apples from the tray, 
line the coffeemaker with fluted paper so it's 

ready. There is a language that restores, 
and a language of betrayal. Casualty comes 
from casuelte, meaning chance, 

incidental; unfortunate loss viewed 
against the big screen called history. 
How do you make sense of that 

which happens, and what befalls 
another? How do you make  sense 
of the blankness on one side of the page,  

versus the dark stain where a body 
burned on the pavement? There's nothing 
that falls, that happens, purely 

by chance. Wind whips through 
the night, making the shingles clap. 
Another strip of paint peels off the gutter.

February 27, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Collaborative

At the office all the morning, that done I walked in the garden with little Captain Murford, where he and I had some discourse concerning the Light-House again, and I think I shall appear in the business, he promising me that if I can bring it about, it will be worth 100l. per annum.
Then came into the garden to me young Mr. Powell and Mr. Hooke that I once knew at Cambridge, and I took them in and gave them a bottle of wine, and so parted. Then I called for a dish of fish, which we had for dinner, this being the first day of Lent; and I do intend to try whether I can keep it or no. My father dined with me and did show me a letter from my brother John, wherein he tells us that he is chosen Schollar of the house, which do please me much, because I do perceive now it must chiefly come from his merit and not the power of his Tutor, Dr. Widdrington, who is now quite out of interest there and hath put over his pupils to Mr. Pepper, a young Fellow of the College.
With my father to Mr. Rawlinson’s, where we met my uncle Wight, and after a pint or two away. I walked with my father (who gave me an account of the great falling out between my uncle Fenner and his son Will) as far as Paul’s Churchyard, and so left him, and I home.
This day the Commissioners of Parliament begin to pay off the Fleet, beginning with the Hampshire, and do it at Guildhall, for fear of going out of town into the power of the seamen, who are highly incensed against them.

in the garden
I sing about the garden

you hook
a fish for dinner

the power is out
so we fall into
the power of the sea

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 27 February 1660/61.

February 26, 2024February 27, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Ghazal of the Uninspired

Lately it's been hard to feel inspired.
Every taste is chalky, every meal uninspired.

Fruit spoils fast, the bread won't rise.
The air smells oily, stale, uninspired.

The soup is bland as the window view.
Fingers trail no shapes in dust, uninspired. 

Sleep is late, is hard to come by. Dreams
dissolve—unremembered, uninspired.

In the mirror, the planes of your face are angled
and sharp. Color and shine feel uninspired.

February 26, 2024February 26, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 8

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, subscribe to its RSS feed in your favorite feed reader, or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack.

This week: active hope, the anti-ship of Theseus, knocking the brain off its pedestal, smutty Persephone poems, slow stitching, and much more. Enjoy.

February 26, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Open book

(Shrove Tuesday). I left my wife in bed, being indisposed by reason of ceux-la, and I to Mrs. Turner’s, who I found busy with The. and Joyce making of things ready for fritters, so to Mr. Crew’s and there delivered Cotgrave’s Dictionary to my Lady Jemimah, and then with Mr. Moore to my coz Tom Pepys, but he being out of town I spoke with his lady, though not of the business I went about, which was to borrow 1000l. for my Lord.
Back to Mrs. Turner’s, where several friends, all strangers to me but Mr. Armiger, dined. Very merry and the best fritters that ever I eat in my life. After that looked out at window; saw the flinging at cocks.
Then Mrs. The. and I, and a gentleman that dined there and his daughter, a perfect handsome young and very tall lady that lately came out of the country, and Mr. Thatcher the Virginall Maister to Bishopsgate Street, and there saw the new Harpsicon made for Mrs. The. We offered 12l., they demanded 14l.. The Master not being at home, we could make no bargain, so parted for to-night. So all by coach to my house, where I found my Valentine with my wife, and here they drank, and then went away. Then I sat and talked with my Valentine and my wife a good while, and then saw her home, and went to Sir W. Batten to the Dolphin, where Mr. Newborne, &c., were, and there after a quart or two of wine, we home, and I went to bed—where (God forgive me) I did please myself by strength of fancy with the young country Segnora that was at dinner with us today.

I left my bed
for the dictionary

a thousand strangers and you
the virginal street

an icon made
for at-home use

and me reborn
after a quart of wine

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 26 February 1660/61.

February 25, 2024February 25, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Through Line

                                  "I'm sorry you can't have

an origin that holds you."
                                                          ~ Hari Alluri


Here's a new language to marble in your mouth;
a bowl of milk in which to dip it. You're told to hold 

your head in such a way to keep you from looking 
back, to keep from being distracted. In certain 

stories, those who give their souls believing this 
is how they become eternal can never change back 

into mortal form. But you love salt and sugar too much; 
and broth rich with shank bones and marrow. Shrimp 

paste, stinky fish sauce. In the pot, one eyeball 
comes loose from its socket in the head of the fish. 

Scoop it into your bowl. Suck on this chalky pearl 
because you want to remember the sound of church-

bells, cacophonous grammar of war as ships sail into 
the harbor,  unreeling chains leading to  this moment here.

February 25, 2024January 11, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Tramp

Sir Wm. Pen and I to my Lord Sandwich’s by coach in the morning to see him, but he takes physic to-day and so we could not see him. So he went away, and I with Luellin to Mr. Mount’s chamber at the Cockpit, where he did lie of old, and there we drank, and from thence to W. Symons where we found him abroad, but she, like a good lady, within, and there we did eat some nettle porrige, which was made on purpose to-day for some of their coming, and was very good. With her we sat a good while, merry in discourse, and so away, Luellin and I to my Lord’s, and there dined. He told me one of the prettiest stories, how Mr. Blurton, his friend that was with him at my house three or four days ago, did go with him the same day from my house to the Fleece tavern by Guildhall, and there (by some pretence) got the mistress of the house, a very pretty woman, into their company. And by and by, Luellin calling him Doctor, she thought that he really was so, and did privately discover her disease to him—which was only some ordinary infirmity belonging to women. And he proffering her physic—she desired him to come some day and bring it, which he did; and withal hath the sight of her thing below, and did handle it—and he swears the next time that he will do more.
After dinner by water to the office, and there Sir W. Pen and I met and did business all the afternoon, and then I got him to my house and eat a lobster together, and so to bed.

old road
like the prettiest blur
mistress of thought

I discover a ring
and her thin hand
will do

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 25 February 1660/61.