Via Negativa

January 15, 2026January 14, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Landscape with Crippled Sheep and Joystick

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

The sheep's mother said Uh-oh, no, 
perhaps not understanding that 

a disability isn't equivalent 
to a death sentence. And so 

at the farm they cobbled together 
a wheelchair, really a wagon 

on wheels that it learned to drive,
pushing its nose against the joy-

stick. The grass is always greener,
the clover sweeter, over on the other

side. You can talk to the horses
and the cows in the meadow, cause

a chicken commotion, bask in a grove
where gumballs and chestnuts fall.

Apples dot the field with extravagance.
The softer the flesh, the more easily 

bruised. The sweeter the ripening which 
ripens when it's no longer expected.

January 14, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Editorial meeting

Lay very long in bed, till with shame forced to rise, being called up by Mr. Bland about business. He being gone I went and staid upon business at the office and then home to dinner, and after dinner staid a little talking pleasant with my wife, who tells me of another woman offered by her brother that is pretty and can sing, to which I do listen but will not appear over forward, but I see I must keep somebody for company sake to my wife, for I am ashamed she should live as she do. So to the office till 10 at night upon business, and numbering and examining part of my sea-manuscript with great pleasure, my wife sitting working by me. So home to supper and to bed.

a long call to talk
who can sing

I do listen but not
but I must live

at night I am
part manuscript

with my wife
working me up

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 14 January 1662/63.

January 14, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Coal country

So my poor wife rose by five o’clock in the morning, before day, and went to market and bought fowls and many other things for dinner, with which I was highly pleased, and the chine of beef was down also before six o’clock, and my own jack, of which I was doubtfull, do carry it very well. Things being put in order, and the cook come, I went to the office, where we sat till noon and then broke up, and I home, whither by and by comes Dr. Clerke and his lady, his sister, and a she-cozen, and Mr. Pierce and his wife, which was all my guests.
I had for them, after oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb, and a rare chine of beef. Next a great dish of roasted fowl, cost me about 30s., and a tart, and then fruit and cheese. My dinner was noble and enough. I had my house mighty clean and neat; my room below with a good fire in it; my dining-room above, and my chamber being made a withdrawing-chamber; and my wife’s a good fire also. I find my new table very proper, and will hold nine or ten people well, but eight with great room. After dinner the women to cards in my wife’s chamber, and the Dr. and Mr. Pierce in mine, because the dining-room smokes unless I keep a good charcoal fire, which I was not then provided with. At night to supper, had a good sack posset and cold meat, and sent my guests away about ten o’clock at night, both them and myself highly pleased with our management of this day; and indeed their company was very fine, and Mrs. Clerke a very witty, fine lady, though a little conceited and proud. So weary, so to bed. I believe this day’s feast will cost me near 5l..

to an owl
doubtful of noon

the first rabbit is a fire
and a raw rope

an old mine smokes
night and day

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 13 January 1662/63.

January 14, 2026January 13, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

In a Future Where the Sky will not be So Tired

I want to get to a future
where we'll worry more about  
patching cracks in the drywall 
than the collapsing of foundations, 
where our neighbors don't leave 
their houses for work with the fear 
they might not be able to return.

I want to get to a future 
where disagreement is just a sign
that there are many interesting paths 
to the same clearing, but each of us 
could still find the road, giving 
friendly recommendations for snack 
and dimsum stops along the way.

I want to know there's someone
who'll agree to come fix the broken
gate or help cut the grass, in the same 
way I'll gladly pick up groceries or send
a package for them in the mail. Aren't there 
those who have willingly and without question 
donated a kidney to save someone in need?

When we arrive at that future,
I want it to be a place where apology walks
hand in hand with repair of the splintered, 
with return of what was taken by force. Under 
that sky, perhaps we'll finally understand 
how to write history without muzzling 
the tribunes and chroniclers in our midst.

January 13, 2026January 12, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

The Benguet Road

(1900-1905)

What did it take to turn
      puny horse trails into a road
             cutting through the Bued river
and up raw mountainsides, make 
      rock surrender to pickaxe, dynamite, 
             brute force? In unyielding rain,
soldiers' boots filled with mud.
      When scaffolds snapped, they and native
             laborers tumbled over the cliffs,
disappearing into a green but forlorn silence.
      In this land now the empire's new
             possession, what was it they signed up 
for, here so far away from their fathers' 
      farms in the midwest, the jobs turned down 
             at the glassworks factory in Poughkeepsie? 
Promise of a cool Eden in the northern pastures,
      a map drawn on top of existing landscape.
             Commerce arriving after dispossession.

January 12, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Nouveau riche

Up, and to Sir W. Batten’s to bid him and Sir J. Minnes adieu, they going this day towards Portsmouth, and then to Sir W. Pen’s to see Sir J. Lawson, who I heard was there, where I found him the same plain man that he was, after all his success in the Straights, with which he is come loaded home. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and with him in his coach to White Hall, and first I to see my Lord Sandwich (being come now from Hinchingbrooke), and after talking a little with him, he and I to the Duke’s chamber, where Mr. Coventry and he and I into the Duke’s closett and Sir J. Lawson discoursing upon business of the Navy, and particularly got his consent to the ending some difficulties in Mr. Creed’s accounts.
Thence to my Lord’s lodgings, and with Mr. Creed to the King’s Head ordinary, but people being set down, we went to two or three places; at last found some meat at a Welch cook’s at Charing Cross, and here dined and our boys.
After dinner to the ‘Change to buy some linen for my wife, and going back met our two boys. Mine had struck down Creed’s boy in the dirt, with his new suit on, and the boy taken by a gentlewoman into a house to make clean, but the poor boy was in a pitifull taking and pickle; but I basted my rogue soundly. Thence to my Lord’s lodging, and Creed to his, for his papers against the Committee. I found my Lord within, and he and I went out through the garden towards the Duke’s chamber, to sit upon the Tangier matters; but a lady called to my Lord out of my Lady Castlemaine’s lodging, telling him that the King was there and would speak with him. My Lord could not tell what to bid me say at the Committee to excuse his absence, but that he was with the King; nor would suffer me to go into the Privy Garden (which is now a through-passage, and common), but bid me to go through some other way, which I did; so that I see he is a servant of the King’s pleasures too, as well as business. So I went to the Committee, where we spent all this night attending to Sir J. Lawson’s description of Tangier and the place for the Mole, of which he brought a very pretty draught. Concerning the making of the Mole, Mr. Cholmely did also discourse very well, having had some experience in it.
Being broke up, I home by coach to Mr. Bland’s, and there discoursed about sending away of the merchant ship which hangs so long on hand for Tangier.
So to my Lady Batten’s, and sat with her awhile, Sir W. Batten being gone out of town; but I did it out of design to get some oranges for my feast to-morrow of her, which I did.
So home, and found my wife’s new gown come home, and she mightily pleased with it. But I appeared very angry that there were no more things got ready against to-morrow’s feast, and in that passion sat up long, and went discontented to bed.

I was the same plain man
with a king’s head

ordinary as dirt
and pitiful in the papers

but my lady would not pass
on a king’s pleasures

in her hand one orange
for my feast

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 12 January 1662/63.

January 12, 2026January 12, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 2

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 murdered poet, a wild god, the silence of pine forests, squawks, trills, and yodels, and much more. Enjoy.

January 12, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Unimpressed

(Lord’s day). Lay long talking pleasant with my wife, then up and to church, the pew being quite full with strangers come along with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, so after a pitifull sermon of the young Scott, home to dinner. After dinner comes a footman of my Lord Sandwich’s (my Lord being come to town last night) with a letter from my father, in which he presses me to carry on the business for Tom with his late mistress, which I am sorry to see my father do, it being so much out of our power or for his advantage, as it is clear to me it is, which I shall think of and answer in my next. So to my office all the afternoon writing orders myself to have ready against to-morrow, that I might not appear negligent to Mr. Coventry.
In the evening to Sir W. Pen’s, where Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and afterwards came Sir G. Carteret. There talked about business, and afterwards to Sir W. Batten’s, where we staid talking and drinking Syder, and so I went away to my office a little, and so home and to bed.

o my letterpress
I am so out of order

to have read the pen’s art
out of bed

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 11 January 1662/63.

January 12, 2026January 11, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Deadheading

This cloudy day, you do 
deadheading of the brown and 
brittle blooms that never let go 
even as the cold strikes down all 
other vegetation. This small violence 
is supposed to encourage denser growth 
after winter, make vengeance out of 
luxuriant comeback. But this and other 
ordinary chores seem weightier or more 
premonitory than usual. The blades, 
precise but indifferent. On the stove, 
the kettle's strident hiss. In the mail, 
not a letter in flowing script but bill 
after bill, cramped with figures spelling 
out debt. You put away the shears, pour 
hot water into a mug for tea which you 
will drink with lemon and honey. 
You water the drooping pilea and 
in half an hour see it visibly revive. 
The laundry you fold smells of clean 
sunlight. Through the window, you see 
that the sky is still not blue, 
though it is still the sky.

January 11, 2026January 11, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Lament, with Prayer for Green

 
Our mothers' tears pool under the very 
bridges. In every pot, their griefs melt clean  
with marrow bones. They want to make

us strong, and so, feed fronds of torment 
to the fire, drop sacs of bile and muscled 
strips into the soup. Did you find a clutch 

of red roses bleeding on the snow, crickets 
interrogating piles of stuffed animals? Such 
are the times we live in. Not atria or cool, 

vaulted ceilings, no warm glow in windows 
but vigils lit by candle-flame. Oak, sycamore 
and pine line the avenues. Willow-braid 

and damask magnolia, pale fronds of grass along 
the shore. O moon floating detached above the broken 
skyline, will you not promise even one green leaf?