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Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Switchboard

At home, she adjusted the ends of a pink
hairband so they came over her ears, punched

holes in the lid of a cardboard shoebox
then fixed colored yarn to the ends

of bobby pins, having seen the phone
operator’s switchboard on the first floor

of the City Hall— Her father used to take her
there after school; while he finished up work

in his office, she wandered the halls,
the men and women in suits never minding,

going about their business. The heels
of her black Mary Janes tapped lonely

on linoleum until she stood before the wide
glass windows and she watched as the women

spoke into the mouthpiece, patched
a call from someone on the other side

to any of the offices in the building.
Some waved and smiled in her direction,

never once missing a cue, never once
uncertain: the cords in one hand connecting

to their proper jacks, the hum of barely
audible voices looped into waiting circuits.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Just sitting

Up betimes and to my office, where we sat also all the morning till noon, and then home to dinner, my father being there but not very well. After dinner in comes Captain Lambert of the Norwich, this day come from Tangier, whom I am glad to see. There came also with him Captain Wager, and afterwards in came Captain Allen to see me, of the Resolution. All staid a pretty while, and so away, and I a while to my office, then abroad into the street with my father, and left him to go to see my aunt Wight and uncle, intending to lie at Tom’s to-night, or my cozen Scott’s, where it seems he has hitherto lain and is most kindly used there. So I home and to my office very late making up my Lord’s navy accounts, wherein I find him to stand debtor 1200l.. So home to supper and to bed.

we sat till noon
but not very well

no apt wager came
the solution stayed way off

in my Zen
here is where I stand


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 11 April 1663.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Clavicular

This entry is part 8 of 15 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2016

The clear sky has turned white.
When did the roots of your hair begin

to reflect the distance of the road
from moonlight? Supposing we did

what we said we would not do?
Perhaps I would not be secretly

looking for the pale blush
of squash flowers in each new

greengrocer I visit. I taste
your lips each time I drink

the salty broth. When a dragonfly lit
on the porch, I counted birthday

after birthday on the grid of its belly
pressed to the screen. Still with me,

the idea of you is close enough to touch
like the nubs that rise at the ends

of the strut between my shoulder blade
and sternum. The textbook says:

The clavicle is the only long bone
in the body that lies horizontally.

It says nothing of how things lie down
before they say goodbye or go to sleep.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

News that stays

Up very betimes and to my office, where most hard at business alone all the morning. At noon to the Exchange, where I hear that after great expectation from Ireland, and long stop of letters, there is good news come, that all is quiett after our great noise of troubles there, though some stir hath been as was reported.
Off the Exchange with Sir J. Cutler and Mr. Grant to the Royall Oak Tavern, in Lumbard Street, where Alexander Broome the poet was, a merry and witty man, I believe, if he be not a little conceited, and here drank a sort of French wine, called Ho Bryan, that hath a good and most particular taste that I never met with.
Home to dinner, and then by water abroad to Whitehall, my wife to see Mrs. Ferrers, I to Whitehall and the Park, doing no business. Then to my Lord’s lodgings, met my wife, and walked to the New Exchange. There laid out 10s. upon pendents and painted leather gloves, very pretty and all the mode. So by coach home and to my office till late, and so to supper and to bed.

all change is news
a quiet stir to the oak

and the poet
if not conceited

and particular as water
in her loves


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 10 April 1663.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Unfaithful

Up betimes and to my office, and anon we met upon finishing the Treasurer’s accounts. At noon dined at home and am vexed to hear my wife tell me how our maid Mary do endeavour to corrupt our cook maid, which did please me very well, but I am resolved to rid the house of her as soon as I can.
To the office and sat all the afternoon till 9 at night, and an hour after home to supper and bed. My father lying at Tom’s to-night, he dining with my uncle Fenner and his sons and a great many more of the gang at his own cost to-day.
To bed vexed also to think of Sir J. Minnes finding fault with Mr. Hater for what he had done the other day, though there be no hurt in the thing at all but only the old fool’s jealousy, made worse by Sir W. Batten.

we met in the cook house
night after lying night

at the cost of finding hate
for what hurt

all old jealousy
made worse


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 9 April 1663.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Eating at midnight

This entry is part 7 of 15 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2016

Once, greeting me at the door
at midnight when I’d come home

again after my week after week
of working in the city, you took

my bags and led me to the table.
You took from the refrigerator

a few green peppers, a handful
of mushrooms, a small onion

which you diced into quarters.
A slick of oil sizzled in the pan.

You crushed a clove of garlic
and sautéed the medley, soy-

spattered, which I ate and ate
until nothing remained

in the bowl of rice. I think
of that meal sometimes and try

without success to bring it all
back together on my stove.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Jean Morris

The Archers

Only a radio soap, a knife imagined,
a sound effect, tense rush of air,
but as it’s playing out the sky grows dark
and thunder roars from way too close,
a memory rises of just such a kitchen knife
wielded in temper and with wild threats,
imagining becomes remembering…
the glinting blade… my mother’s house
on New Year’s Eve… so many, many
years ago, but trauma has a long half-life.


In response to Luisa Igloria’s “Only.”

The Archers  See here.

thunder roars  In London a brief but dramatic thunderstorm erupted just as the stabbing episode came to an end at 7:15 pm last Sunday.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Only

which amber
which old precedent
~ D. Bonta

I want to write about
the tyranny of only—

how for years I was taught:
fly low under the radar.

When the gods give you something,
give thanks; but when others notice,

belittle its importance. Say it’s only
a trifle, only by chance. Don’t praise

too loudly the cleanliness of your house,
the neatness of your numbered columns,

the smooth-running engine of days that do work.
Point instead to the flaw in the bed-spread,

the uneven table leg, the trouble that hasn’t
visited your house yet. Do this often enough

and soon you’ll believe as I did: the moment
warm in your hands isn’t in itself a gift.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Ova.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Sea dog

Up betimes and to my office, and by and by, about 8 o’clock, to the Temple to Commissioner Pett lately come to town and discoursed about the affairs of our office, how ill they go through the corruption and folly of Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes.
Thence by water to White Hall, to chappell; where preached Dr. Pierce, the famous man that preached the sermon so much cried up, before the King against the Papists.
His matter was the Devil tempting our Saviour, being carried into the Wilderness by the spirit. And he hath as much of natural eloquence as most men that ever I heard in my life, mixed with so much learning.
After sermon I went up and saw the ceremony of the Bishop of Peterborough’s paying homage upon the knee to the King, while Sir H. Bennet, Secretary, read the King’s grant of the Bishopric of Lincoln, to which he is translated. His name is Dr. Lany. Here I also saw the Duke of Monmouth, with his Order of the Garter, the first time I ever saw it.
I am told that the University of Cambridge did treat him a little while since with all the honour possible, with a comedy at Trinity College, and banquet; and made him Master of Arts there. All which, they say, the King took very well. Dr. Raynbow, Master of Magdalen, being now Vice-Chancellor.
Home by water to dinner, and with my father, wife, and Ashwell, after dinner, by water towards Woolwich, and in our way I bethought myself that we had left our poor little dog that followed us out of doors at the waterside, and God knows whether he be not lost, which did not only strike my wife into a great passion but I must confess myself also; more than was becoming me. We immediately returned, I taking another boat and with my father went to Woolwich, while they went back to find the dog.
I took my father on board the King’s pleasure boat and down to Woolwich, and walked to Greenwich thence and turning into the park to show my father the steps up the hill, we found my wife, her woman, and dog attending us, which made us all merry again, and so took boats, they to Deptford and so by land to Half-way house, I into the King’s yard and overlook them there, and eat and drank with them, and saw a company of seamen play drolly at our pence, and so home by water. I a little at the office, and so home to supper and to bed, after having Ashwell play my father and me a lesson upon her Tryangle.

wild eloquence
translated into dog
a walk by the sea


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 8 April 1663.

Posted on by J Likha Yatco

Abaniko

in Filipino it means “fan,”
the same thing in Basque
a ream of paper, card stock,
hand-painted, or short roll of cloth,
even of Belgian lace, folded
these many times and bound
to an armature of
bamboo or sandalwood
that allows for the abaniko’s
unfolding, folding,
opening and closing like
a peacock’s tail

how evocative the abaniko is
of old Latin Sunday masses
when my mother and her aunts,
their heads covered with black veils,
their missals open, fanned themselves
while the priest rambled on

the word “fan” does not
quite capture the slight
breeze the abaniko
summons nor the imagined
sound of castanets clicking
as a flamenco dancer prepares
to enter center stage


In response to a writing prompt from Luisa A. Igloria:

On the unusual sea creatures site that I found, the Pink See-through Fantasia is described thus: “Its name makes it sound like a piece of sexy lingerie, but don’t be fooled: The pink see-through fantasia is a sea cucumber, found about a mile and a half deep in the Celebes Sea in the western Pacific (east of Borneo).”

Select the name of an unusual object or creature from a source of your choice (botany? anatomy textbook? geophysics text? plumbing manual?) Write a poem about a person/experience that might come to mind from this first trigger provided by the suggestive quality or sound of this name.