Via Negativa

November 12, 2025November 14, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

You Think You Hear a Ladybug Cry for Help

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

(an emoji poem)

If small insects like the jeweled 
ladybug sent out a cry for help,
would you hear it? You remember a nursery
rhyme from childhood about a king who stuck
a fork into his dessert, releasing four and 
twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. But if they
were truly baked and done for, they wouldn't
be able to fly out of their tomb of shortcut
pastry, would they? And since they began
to sing in chorus, they must have had nine
lives or there was some wizardry involved— 
the type that sets off snare drums, broomsticks 
falling briskly in line to empty trash bins 
and carry buckets of water. What padlocked 
the doors to bewilderment and surprise in your
blood and held up a stop sign every time you saw 
a swan and recalled tales of transfiguration?
The snake doesn't whisper Sit in the corner 
like a good child. In that kind of story, it urges 
you to take a big bite out of the shiny apple, bets 
you could steal cheese from a mousetrap or filch 
a smoke without being caught. People have lost big 
in TV shows where the host asks you to choose between
wads of money or a taped-up mystery box containing...
what exactly? Perhaps you are the insect— just a small
creature, and not large as allegory like the one 
in a Kafka story. You do your everyday things: fry
and eat an egg for breakfast, swim a couple of laps 
at the gym, dutifully take out the recycling.
You squint up at the fading light one evening, 
and remember how in your teens you really wanted 
to learn the bass guitar, rack up enough
points to join the local Mensa club, or train
as a long-distance runner if not for being flat-
footed. No, none of those, to your dismay. 
But the voice of some wise sage says in your ear
that it's alright. Neither you nor the barnyard
creatures nor the bright blue Morpho butterflies
nor the earthworms churning up the soil older
than all of us necessarily need saving all the time. 
Your daughter texts you to say that one day, when she 
took her second-grader to the park, she was feeling 
so burned out from work. She joined him on the slides
a couple of times, and felt a little better. 
You tell her— next time they visit, you'll drop 
everything you're doing so you can go to the teahouse 
you enjoyed so much the last time, to drink oolong, 
eat finger sandwiches, popcorn chicken, and scones.

November 12, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Voice lesson

At my office most of the morning, after I had done among my painters, and sent away Mr. Shaw and Hawly, who came to give me a visit this morning. Shaw it seems is newly re-married to a rich widow. At noon dined at home with my wife, and by and by, by my wife’s appointment came two young ladies, sisters, acquaintances of my wife’s brother’s, who are desirous to wait upon some ladies, and proffer their service to my wife. The youngest, indeed, hath a good voice, and sings very well, besides other good qualitys; but I fear hath been bred up with too great liberty for my family, and I fear greater inconveniences of expenses, and my wife’s liberty will follow, which I must study to avoid till I have a better purse; though, I confess, the gentlewoman, being pretty handsome, and singing, makes me have a good mind to her.
Anon I took them by coach and carried them to a friend’s of theirs, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and there I left them and I to the Temple by appointment to my cousin Roger’s chamber, where my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas met us, I having hoped that they would have agreed with me to have had [it] ended by my cozen Roger, but they will have two strangers to be for them against two others of mine, and so we parted without doing any thing till the two send me the names of their arbiters. Thence I walked home, calling a little in Paul’s Churchyard, and, I thank God, can read and never buy a book, though I have a great mind to it. So to the Dolphin Tavern near home, by appointment, and there met with Wade and Evett, and have resolved to make a new attempt upon another discovery, in which God give us better fortune than in the other, but I have great confidence that there is no cheat in these people, but that they go upon good grounds, though they have been mistaken in the place of the first.
From thence, without drinking a drop of wine, home to my office and there made an end, though late, of my collection of the prices of masts for these twelve years to this day, in order to the buying of some of Wood, and I bound it up in painted paper to lie by as a book for future use. So home and to supper and to bed, and a little before and after we were in bed we had much talk and difference between us about my wife’s having a woman, which I seemed much angry at, that she should go so far in it without consideration and my being consulted with. So to bed.

you who are my voice
must avoid singing

in a strange church
without a drop of wine

a mad collection of ears
bound up in a book

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 12 November 1662.

November 12, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Brain fog

All the morning sitting at the office, and then to dinner with my wife, and so to the office again (where a good while Mr. Bland was with me, telling me very fine things in merchandize, which, but that the trouble of my office do so cruelly hinder me, I would take some pains in) till late at night. Towards the evening I, as I have done for three or four nights, studying something of Arithmetique, which do please me well to see myself come forward. So home, to supper, and to bed.

all morning sitting with
the bland merchandise of night

I study arithmetic
to see myself

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 11 November 1662.

November 11, 2025November 11, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

In a Tropical Country, Refrigeration is Key

"...on Nov. 5 ... doctors in the Philippines 
have documented the case of a woman 
whose armpits leak milk."  (Reddit)


 
In 1847, Russell & Sturgis acquired tax-free
rights to carry 250 tons of ice on the frigate
Hizaine to Manila, variously called the Pearl
of the Orient or the Rome of the East, or
more recently the armpit of the world for its 
urban blight and overpopulation. In the 1800s, 
blocks of ice were harvested from creeks and lakes 
in deep winter, then covered with sawdust or hay 
for insulation in ice houses. The great Banquet 
of Malolos celebrating Philippine independence 
in 1898 flaunted a European-inspired menu, 
as if to show the world the newly formed 
nation was as civilized as others in the West.
Seven appetizers, seven courses and four desserts—
oysters, shrimp, stuffed crab and buttered radishes; 
cold ham with asparagus, cheeses, jams, leche flan
del mar and mantecado— ice cream! The milk was likely
coconut or carabao milk, and of course it needed
to be kept cold. Any milk, including breast milk, 
spoils when overexposed to heat. Bacteria convert
lactose into acids. Fermentaton thickens into 
a moist and foamy surface spackled with curds.

November 10, 2025November 11, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 45

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: an eye to the telescope, the jeweler’s eye, the eye of a terrible angel, the sunflower’s eye, and much more. Enjoy.

November 10, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Postindustrial

Up betimes and to set my workmen to work, and then a little to the office, and so with Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself by coach to White Hall, to the Duke, who, after he was ready, did take us into his closett. Thither come my Lord General Monk, and did privately talk with the Duke about having the life-guards pass through the City today only for show and to fright people, for I perceive there are great fears abroad; for all which I am troubled and full of doubt that things will not go well. He being gone, we fell to business of the Navy. Among other things, how to pay off this fleet that is now come from Portugall; the King of Portugall sending them home, he having no more use for them, which we wonder at, that his condition should be so soon altered. And our landmen also are coming back, being almost starved in that poor country.
Having done here I went by my Lord Sandwich’s, who was not at home, and so to Westminster Hall, where full of term, and here met with many about business, among others my cozen Roger Pepys, who is all for a composition with my uncle Thomas, which upon any fair terms I am for also and desire it.
Thence by water, and so by land to my Lord Crew’s, and dined with him and his brother, I know not his name; where very good discourse; among others, of France’s intention to make a patriarch of his own, independent from the Pope, by which he will be able to cope with the Spaniard in all councils, which hitherto he has never done. My Lord Crew told us how he heard my Lord of Holland say that, being Embassador about the match with the Queene-Mother that now is, the King of France insisted upon a dispensation from the Pope, which my Lord Holland making a question of, and that he was commanded to yield to nothing to the prejudice of our religion, says the King of France, “You need not fear that, for if the Pope will not dispense with the match, my Bishopp of Paris shall.”
By and by come in great Mr. Swinfen, the Parliament-man, who, among other discourse of the rise and fall of familys, told us of Bishopp Bridgeman (brother of Sir Orlando) who lately hath bought a seat anciently of the Levers, and then the Ashtons; and so he hath in his great hall window (having repaired and beautified the house) caused four great places to be left for coates of armes. In one, he hath put the Levers, with this motto, “Olim.” In another the Ashtons, with this, “Heri.” In the next his own, with this, “Hodie.” In the fourth nothing but this motto, “Cras nescio cujus.”
Thence towards my brother’s; met with Jack Cole in Fleet Street, and he and I went into his cozen Mary Cole’s (whom I never saw since she was married), and drank a pint of wine and much good discourse. I found him a little conceited, but he had good things in him, and a man may know the temper of the City by him, he being of a general conversation, and can tell how matters go; and upon that score I will encourage his acquaintance.
Thence to my brother’s, and taking my wife up, carried her to Charing Cross, and there showed her the Italian motion, much after the nature of what I showed her a while since in Covent Garden. Their puppets here are somewhat better, but their motions not at all. Thence by coach to my Lady’s, and, hiding my wife with Sarah below, I went up and heard some musique with my Lord, and afterwards discoursed with him alone, and so good night to him and below, having sent for Mr. Creed, had thought to have shown my wife a play before the King, but it is so late that we could not, and so we took coach, and taking up Sarah at my brother’s with their night geare we went home, and I to my office to settle matters, and so home and to bed.
This morning in the Duke’s chamber Sir J. Minnes did break to me his desire about my chamber, which I did put off to another time to discourse of, he speaking to me very kindly to make me the less trouble myself, hoping to save myself and to contrive something or other to pleasure him as well, though I know not well what.
The town, I hear, is full of discontents, and all know of the King’s new bastard by Mrs. Haslerigge, and as far as I can hear will never be contented with Episcopacy, they are so cruelly set for Presbytery, and the Bishopps carry themselves so high, that they are never likely to gain anything upon them.

times pass
only for show
in this wonder-starved country

never making a thing
among levers and puppets

their war on thought
their hoping to save themselves

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 10 November 1662.

November 10, 2025November 8, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Illusions of Cause

Spray-painted white, a tangle of driftwood hangs from 
the ceiling. 

It moves when a breeze comes through the door. 

Underneath, a table with pitchers of water, glasses, napkins. 

Tinkle of wind-chimes in the neighbor's garden.

Foghorns cutting through the blinds.

How many people are out in a storm tonight, as waves 
crest barriers and flood waters rage down boulevards?

Images flicker on my screen.

I remember a bus ride through towns in the aftermath of 
volcanic eruption— courtyards half-buried in lahar, 
the statues of saints spackled with mud.

Centuries after Pompeii was buried in ash, the shapes 
of corpses lying side by side came to light. 

Scientists determined they were a man and a child.
They had no relation to each other.

November 9, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Test of faith

(Lord’s day). Lay alone a good while, my mind busy about pleading to-morrow to the Duke if there shall be occasion for this chamber that I lie in against Sir J., Minnes. Then up, and after being ready walked to my brother’s, where my wife is, calling at many churches, and then to the Temple, hearing a bit there too, and observing that in the streets and churches the Sunday is kept in appearance as well as I have known it at any time. Then to dinner to my brother’s, only he and my wife, and after dinner to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well, and he and I to St. Gregory’s, where I escaped a great fall down the staires of the gallery: so into a pew there and heard Dr. Ball make a very good sermon, though short of what I expected, as for the most part it do fall out. So home with Mr. Moore to his chamber, and after a little talk I walked home to my house and staid at Sir W. Batten’s. Till late at night with him and Sir J. Minnes, with whom we did abundance of most excellent discourse of former passages of sea commanders and officers of the navy, and so home and to bed, with my mind well at ease but only as to my chamber, which I fear to lose.

tomorrow is a lie in my church
serving the sun I have
no time to rot

only after dinner
I fall down the stairs
a short little dance with my fear

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 9 November 1662.

November 9, 2025November 10, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

The Gift

I had a couple of intricately beaded necklaces.
One of them was a gift, years ago, from my eldest child.
When I looked at what I had in the drawer, I couldn't remember
which one was bought by me, and which was a gift from another.

I gave one to the giver, who felt hurt I didn't remember,
more than that I was returning the gift. The mind's like that:
forgets the details, though archives are kept by the heart.
It's only one of many faults for which I must atone. 

One was a gift, years ago, from my eldest child.
Giving something back, the hurt is that I didn't remember. 
One was bought by me, one was a gift from the other.
That the gift was returned, her mind found unfathomable.

I mailed it back to her, and she was hurt I didn't remember. I might
have forgotten details, but isn't what the heart keeps what matters?
I returned the gift, but not out of spite. My mind isn't that kind of stupid.
And yet it's only one of many things for which I must atone.

I may have returned the gift, but I know it wasn't out of spite.
When I looked at what I had in my drawer, I only saw too much.
Perhaps it's only one of many faults for which I must atone.
Once, I ran my hands over two intricately beaded necklaces.

November 8, 2025November 8, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Grief Ripples

Grief can ripple, expanding outward in concentric circles.
After my father-in-law died, my mother-in-law said she was ready.
My mother thought the same thing after my father passed away.
She started wearing his favorite shirts when she went out.

After my father-in-law died, my mother-in-law said she was ready.
Remembering this makes me want to do an inventory of my closets.
My mother would wear his favorite shirts when she went out.
My mother-in-law passed less than 5 years after her husband did.

Sometimes when I look in my closets, this is what I remember.
My mother died 43 years after my father breathed his last.
My mother-in-law died less than 5 years after her husband passed.
Mother's ashes are in an urn, in a columbarium called Heaven's Gate.

Mother died 43 years after my father left this world.
After my father passed away, she said her time was probably soon.
Her ashes are in an urn, in a columbarium called Heaven's Gate.
Grief is ripplng outward still, moving in concentric circles.