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Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Happy Hour

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
Five of us meet at a restaurant— it used to be popular
for pastries but is now the place for bourbon, burger 

nights, and pizza. It's happy hour so everything, 
including cocktails, is twenty per cent off. Henry V 

says in Shakespeare's play: Therefore, my lords, omit no
happy hour/ That may give furtherance to our expedition. 

In the early 1900s, sailors in the U.S. Navy began 
to designate certain happy hours for entertainment, 

for relieving their tedium at sea. The stoics defined 
happiness as living in agreement with Nature, which 

to them meant conforming to the providential scheme of 
the universe: aligning one's choices with the perfection 

of reason, which results in virtue. One of us tells 
the story of a friend who's been in one of those twelve-

step programs where they're asked to "drop the rock"— 
let go of all that stands in the way of sobriety 

and personal growth. This friend, she reports, keeps 
both dogs and chickens. Sometimes, the dogs open 

their mouths and pounce on the chickens. Then he yells 
Drop the chicken! Drop the chicken! But he also said 

nowadays he feels lighter; even happy. There are more
than a hundred ways to carry a thing and as many 

ways to hold on to it— to feel the weight of stones 
in our pockets as we wade in the water, or the gag 

of feathers in our mouths. But in the end, there's 
only one way to let it go: by putting it down.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Prodigal

Sam Pepys and me

Up early, and to my office, where Cooper came to me and begun his lecture upon the body of a ship, which my having of a modell in the office is of great use to me, and very pleasant and useful it is.
Then by water to White Hall, and there waited upon my Lord Sandwich; and joyed him, at his lodgings, of his safe coming home after all his danger, which he confesses to be very great. And his people do tell me how bravely my Lord did carry himself, while my Lord Crofts did cry; and I perceive it is all the town talk how poorly he carried himself. But the best was of one Mr. Rawlins, a courtier, that was with my Lord; and in the greatest danger cried, “God damn me, my Lord, I won’t give you three-pence for your place now.” But all ends in the honour of the pleasure-boats; which, had they not been very good boats, they could never have endured the sea as they did.
Thence with Captain Fletcher, of the Eagl, in his ship’s boat with 8 oars (but every ordinary oars outrowed us) to Woolwich, expecting to find Sir W. Batten there upon his survey, but he is not come, and so we got a dish of steaks at the White Hart, while his clarkes and others were feasting of it in the best room of the house, and after dinner playing at shuffleboard, and when at last they heard I was there, they went about their survey. But God help the King! what surveys, shall be taken after this manner!
I after dinner about my business to the Rope-yard, and there staid till night, repeating several trialls of the strength, wayte, waste, and other things of hemp, by which I have furnished myself enough to finish my intended business of stating the goodness of all sorts of hemp.
At night home by boat with Sir W. Warren, who I landed by the way, and so being come home to bed.

a body of water
coming home to cry

how poorly it all ends
the pleasure-boat
with ordinary oars

while larks
survey the wasteland


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 30 July 1662.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Bedfellows

Sam Pepys and me

Early up, and brought all my money, which is near 300l., out of my house into this chamber; and so to the office, and there we sat all the morning, Sir George Carteret and Mr. Coventry being come from sea.
This morning among other things I broached the business of our being abused about flags, which I know doth trouble Sir W. Batten, but I care not.
At noon being invited I went with Sir George and Mr. Coventry to Sir W. Batten’s to dinner, and there merry, and very friendly to Sir Wm. and he to me, and complies much with me, but I know he envies me, and I do not value him.
To the office again, and in the evening walked to Deptford (Cooper with me talking of mathematiques), to send a fellow to prison for cutting of buoy ropes, and to see the difference between the flags sent in now-a-days, and I find the old ones, which were much cheaper, to be wholly as good. So I took one of a sort with me, and Mr. Wayth accompanying of me a good way, talking of the faults of the Navy, I walked to Redriffe back, and so home by water, and after having done, late, at the office, I went to my chamber and to bed.

one sea among
our flags and ropes

in the company of water
having one bed


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 29 July 1662.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Exhibit

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
What will become of our thoughts 
stopped in their tracks, suspended 
in syrupy heat or nailed to the floor 
in the deathlike cold? Will the soft 
bodies of snails slice open before they 
can melt; will the octopus breed fail to last 
the years required for their hatching and their 
mothers' arms cook into rubbery urns on the grill 
of the ocean bed? The future ticks its out-of-tune 
hours. Inside the cool marble vaults of mansions, 
a taxidermied history hangs on the walls. Pelts 
of animals tuft the floors and couches— bear 
and raccoon, gazelle and leopard; the marbled
brilliance of their omniscient eyes.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 30

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: a green snake, the sound of a lawnmower, worms without mouths or stomachs, a protest dance, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 30”
Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Gelatin Silver Print

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
"The only language
         I have
             is Language."
                     - Robin Coste Lewis


For as long as we can, we want to hold
the image that flares beneath our eyelids—

The same kind of irresolvable desire
behind all the attempts to save what we can 

in the face of certain extinction. Last week
I saw an early 20th century closet recreated in

a museum room: an umbrella of mauve printed silk 
with a clear lucite handle; a pair of lace-up boots 

with kitten heels. On the bedroom vanity, a black 
pillbox hat. In the bath, a tin of Epsom salts 

and a box that housed a bar of Ivory soap. Two 
nightgowns of white muslin behind the door. Close 

your eyes and you might imagine the shape of a body 
climbing into bed, clasping its hands together.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Bugged

Sam Pepys and me

Up early, and by six o’clock, after my wife was ready, I walked with her to the George, at Holborn Conduit, where the coach stood ready to carry her and her maid to Bugden, but that not being ready, my brother Tom staid with them to see them gone, and so I took a troubled though willing goodbye, because of the bad condition of my house to have a family in it. So I took leave of her and walked to the waterside, and there took boat for the Tower; hearing that the Queen-Mother is come this morning already as high as Woolwich: and that my Lord Sandwich was with her; at which my heart was glad, and I sent the waterman, though yet not very certain of it, to my wife to carry news thereof to my Lady. So to my office all the morning abstracting the Duke’s instructions in the margin thereof.
So home all alone to dinner, and then to the office again, and in the evening Cooper comes, and he being gone, to my chamber a little troubled and melancholy, to my lute late, and so to bed, Will lying there at my feet, and the wench in my house in Will’s bed.

a bug in my ear
with no news or instructions

alone in the evening
on little melancholy feet


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 28 July 1662.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Farther

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). At church alone in the pew in the morning. In the afternoon by water I carried my wife to Westminster, where she went to take leave of her father, and I to walk in the Park, which is now every day more and more pleasant, by the new works upon it. Here meeting with Laud Crispe, I took him to the farther end, and sat under a tree in a corner, and there sung some songs, he singing well, but no skill, and so would sing false sometimes. Then took leave of him, and found my wife at my Lord’s lodging, and so took her home by water, and to supper in Sir W. Pen’s balcony, and Mrs. Keene with us, and then came my wife’s brother, and then broke up, and to bed.

at church a father
is farther under

a tree in the sun
singing of water


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 27 July 1662.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Through the Sieve

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
"Here's to your coffins—
May they be made of hundred-year-old oaks
which we shall plant tomorrow."
                          - Irish toast



Across the lake, a gray band of moving clouds 
sieves rain over vineyards. From where you sit
this summer afternoon, there's no evidence 
of the great labor that must have gone into 
the cultivation and harvest— just row after 
perfect row of vines and trellises; and inside 
the winery, bottles gleaming on every shelf: sweet, 
semi-sweet, dry. Later, when your brother-in-law jumps 
in the water for a swim, his dog whimpers. The dog follows 
him all over the house with a ball in his mouth, begging 
to play catch. Must be what it's like to have a kid,
he says. The night before leaving your separate ways
for home, you all sit around the picnic table outside.
The fridge must be emptied of everything you brought
and the cottage cleaned for the next group of occupants
(who complained about dog hair, the last time). Party
music drifts from one of the docks nearby, and 
the sound of a boat engine. Don't keep swirling 
the wine in your glass instead of drinking it; 
look at all those gnats hovering for a taste.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Who

Sam Pepys and me

Sir W. Batten, Mr. Pett, and I at the office sitting all the morning. So dined at home, and then to my office again, causing the model hanging in my chamber to be taken down and hung up in my office, for fear of being spoilt by the workmen, and for my own convenience of studying it.
This afternoon I had a letter from Mr. Creed, who hath escaped narrowly in the King’s yacht, and got safe to the Downs after the late storm; and that there the King do tell him, that he is sure that my Lord is landed at Callis safe, of which being glad, I sent news thereof to my Lord Crew, and by the post to my Lady into the country. This afternoon I went to Westminster; and there hear that the King and Queen intend to come to White Hall from Hampton Court next week, for all winter. Thence to Mrs. Sarah, and there looked over my Lord’s lodgings, which are very pretty; and White Hall garden and the Bowling-ally (where lords and ladies are now at bowles), in brave condition. Mrs. Sarah told me how the falling out between my Lady Castlemaine and her Lord was about christening of the child lately, which he would have, and had done by a priest: and, some days after, she had it again christened by a minister; the King, and Lord of Oxford, and Duchesse of Suffolk, being witnesses: and christened with a proviso, that it had not already been christened. Since that she left her Lord, carrying away every thing in the house; so much as every dish, and cloth, and servant but the porter. He is gone discontented into France, they say, to enter a monastery; and now she is coming back again to her house in Kingstreet. But I hear that the Queen did prick her out of the list presented her by the King; desiring that she might have that favour done her, or that he would send her from whence she come: and that the King was angry and the Queen discontented a whole day and night upon it; but that the King hath promised to have nothing to do with her hereafter. But I cannot believe that the King can fling her off so, he loving her too well: and so I writ this night to my Lady to be my opinion; she calling her my lady, and the lady I admire. Here I find that my Lord hath lost the garden to his lodgings, and that it is turning into a tennis-court.
Hence by water to the Wardrobe to see how all do there, and so home to supper and to bed.

who after a storm
is sure of being new

an owl christened with day
is calling in the garden


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 26 July 1662.