My student was talking about a film
he described as terrible— about terrible
human beings and how they did terrible things
to each other, with no relief at the end. Not
even a shot panning away from the broken window-
pane and into the shadowed hills, not even the noises
animals make in the woods, magnified by the dark. Why
even does it exist, he asked? why do people watch it?
A movie can be like a poem, and a poem like a movie.
Nested images, personae, mood, some kind of setting.
A poem can seem to have several movies nested inside
it. But even the bleakest poem couldn't have complete
cynicism: otherwise, why was it turned into a poem?
Someone took all the koi out of the small pools
by the entrance to a battleship— nine guns, three
main gun turrets— now turned into a museum.
We recall seeing the flash of orange and gold
scales as fish darted through moss-green water.
Chained by two anchors, the ship almost doesn't
seem connected to something as terrible as war.
Malignant
Before I went to the office my wife and I had another falling out about Sarah, against whom she has a deadly hate, I know not for what, nor can I see but she is a very good servant. Then to my office, and there sat all the morning, and then to dinner with my wife at home, and after dinner did give Jane a very serious lesson, against we take her to be our chamber-maid, which I spoke so to her that the poor girl cried and did promise to be very dutifull and carefull. So to the office, where we sat as Commissioners for the Chest, and so examined most of the old accountants to the Chest about it, and so we broke up, and I to my office till late preparing business, and so home, being cold, and this night first put on a wastecoate. So to bed.
falling dead is a lesson
we take to the poor
if a full chest
cold is a waste
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 2 December 1662.
Deep Cleaning
Behind the small folding bookshelf
in the guest room, I find three
canvasses. Each one bears traces
of the start of a project— landscape,
portrait, indeterminate still life;
none of them complete beyond a first
thin layer. I must have seen things
then that beckoned as finished visions,
but that now I must conjure if I want
to complete them. Not to make
a copy of the thing, but to manifest
the heat that cut through the distance—
wheel of yellow, bowl teeming with fruit;
girl blowing a profusion of dandelion
seeds into the wide open sky.
Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 48
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: poems talking to poems, optional depth, the moon in a well of whisky, and much more. Enjoy.
Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 48”The Ministry of Anti-Corruption
Such an office has been established and forgotten
and revived too many times to count. Smaller variants
exist— Whistleblower Hotline, Consumer Complaint
Department, Ombudsman's Office, Ethics Committee.
It's a ministry because it's almost a vocation
to which you swear a vow: to transparency and
accountability, freedom of speech and of the press,
observation of due process, establishment of sanctions.
But it's growing a global network, staffed with
the compassionate and civic-minded. They are not
allowed to take bribes nor award ghost contracts
while looking the other way. They will visit families
whose dwellings have been swallowed by flood, and
document the absence of well-built dikes, dams,
and bridges despite billboards along the highway
lauding progressive infrastructure. They cause
warrants to be issued for officials and businessmen,
and demand scrutiny of financial records. After
following the money, it should become clear who
enabled and who signed off on, who claimed they were
only following orders while tucking millions into bank
accounts. They receive reports leaking secret
conversations about the launching of torpedos against
small sailing vessels. They gather in the hundreds,
blocking garages before illegal enforcement units
can get into their vehicles to make yet another raid
on ordinary civilians— the ones they've been ordered
to bring to private detention facilities whose earnings
rake in hundreds of millions a year. Sometimes they
are actual ministers: a pastor brandishing a bible
in the faces of those who dared to enter a church
with evil intent. Most times they peacefully organize
food and coat drives; they chant or play music,
hold up signs on the periphery of courthouses.
Frosted
Up and by coach with Sir John Minnes and Sir W. Batten to White Hall to the Duke’s chamber, where, as is usual, my Lord Sandwich and all of us, after his being ready, to his closett, and there discoursed of matters of the Navy, and here Mr. Coventry did do me the great kindness to take notice to the Duke of my pains in making a collection of all contracts about masts, which have been of great use to us. Thence I to my Lord Sandwich’s, to Mr. Moore, to talk a little about business; and then over the Parke (where I first in my life, it being a great frost, did see people sliding with their skeates, which is a very pretty art), to Mr. Coventry’s chamber to St. James’s, where we all met to a venison pasty, and were very merry, Major Norwood being with us, whom they did play upon for his surrendering of Dunkirk.
Here we staid till three or four o’clock; and so to the Council Chamber, where there met the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, my Lord Sandwich, Sir Wm. Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Rider, myself, and Captain Cuttance, as Commissioners for Tangier. And after our Commission was read by Mr. Creed, who I perceive is to be our Secretary, we did fall to discourse of matters: as, first, the supplying them forthwith with victualls; then the reducing it to make way for the money, which upon their reduction is to go to the building of the Mole; and so to other matters, ordered as against next meeting.
This done we broke up, and I to the Cockpitt, with much crowding and waiting, where I saw “The Valiant Cidd” acted, a play I have read with great delight, but is a most dull thing acted, which I never understood before, there being no pleasure in it, though done by Betterton and by Ianthe, And another fine wench that is come in the room of Roxalana nor did the King or queen once smile all the whole play, nor any of the company seem to take any pleasure but what was in the greatness and gallantry of the company.
Thence to my Lord’s, and Mr. Moore being in bed I staid not, but with a link walked home and got thither by 12 o’clock, knocked up my boy, and put myself to bed.
white and close to life
frost is a pretty art
surrendering to the mission
of the mole in his pit
where light is dull
to take any pleasure
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 1 December 1662.
The Mills of the Gods
The former leader of a small
southeast Asian nation sits
in a jail cell awaiting trial
at the Hague. Well-appointed,
with its own kitchenette, but
jail nontheless. When the petition
for his interim release is denied,
his followers weep and embrace
carboard standees. Elsewhere,
families of victims in his "war
on drugs" follow the news by video
link, and clap. They clutch pictures
to their chests too— of husbands
and children felled by bullets
fired by death squads, masked
and riding tandem on motorcycles.
Drawing in
(Lord’s day). To church in the morning, and Mr. Mills made a pretty good sermon. It is a bitter cold frost to-day. Dined alone with my wife to-day with great content, my house being quite clean from top to bottom. In the afternoon I to the French church here in the city, and stood in the aisle all the sermon, with great delight hearing a very admirable sermon, from a very young man, upon the article in our creed, in order of catechism, upon the Resurrection. Thence home, and to visit Sir W. Pen, who continues still bed-rid. Here was Sir W. Batten and his Lady, and Mrs. Turner, and I very merry, talking of the confidence of Sir R. Ford’s new-married daughter, though she married so strangely lately, yet appears at church as brisk as can be, and takes place of her elder sister, a maid.
Thence home and to supper, and then, cold as it is, to my office, to make up my monthly accounts, and I do find that, through the fitting of my house this month, I have spent in that and kitchen 50l. this month; so that now I am worth but 660l., or thereabouts. This being done and fitted myself for the Duke to-morrow, I went home, and to prayers and to bed. This day I first did wear a muffe, being my wife’s last year’s muffe, and now I have bought her a new one, this serves me very well.
Thus ends this month; in great frost; myself and family all well, but my mind much disordered about my uncle’s law business, being now in an order of being arbitrated between us, which I wish to God it were done.
I am also somewhat uncertain what to think of my going about to take a woman-servant into my house, in the quality of a woman for my wife. My wife promises it shall cost me nothing but her meat and wages, and that it shall not be attended with any other expenses, upon which termes I admit of it; for that it will, I hope, save me money in having my wife go abroad on visits and other delights; so that I hope the best, but am resolved to alter it, if matters prove otherwise than I would have them.
Publique matters in an ill condition of discontent against the height and vanity of the Court, and their bad payments: but that which troubles most, is the Clergy, which will never content the City, which is not to be reconciled to Bishopps: the more the pity that differences must still be.
Dunkirk newly sold, and the money brought over; of which we hope to get some to pay the Navy: which by Sir J. Lawson’s having dispatched the business in the Straights, by making peace with Argier, Tunis, and Tripoli (and so his fleet will also shortly come home), will now every day grow less, and so the King’s charge be abated; which God send!
alone with the afternoon light
you sit still as an urn
risk an old kitchen prayer
‘I wish to god it were done’
some uncertain
quality of the light
matters most
which must now
every day grow
less and so
abate
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 30 November 1662.
No novelty
Before I went to the office my wife’s brother did come to us, and we did instruct him to go to Gosnell’s and to see what the true matter is of her not coming, and whether she do intend to come or no, and so I to the office; and this morning come Sir G. Carteret to us (being the first time we have seen him since his coming from France): he tells us, that the silver which he received for Dunkirk did weigh 120,000 weight.
Here all the morning upon business, and at noon (not going home to dinner, though word was brought me that Will. Joyce was there, whom I had not seen at my house nor any where else these three or four months) with Mr. Coventry by his coach as far as Fleet Street, and there stepped into Madam Turner’s, where was told I should find my cozen Roger Pepys, and with him to the Temple, but not having time to do anything I went towards my Lord Sandwich’s. (In my way went into Captn. Cuttance’s coach, and with him to my Lord’s.) But the company not being ready I did slip down to Wilkinson’s, and having not eat any thing to-day did eat a mutton pie and drank, and so to my Lord’s, where my Lord and Mr. Coventry, Sir Wm. Darcy, one Mr. Parham (a very knowing and well-spoken man in this business), with several others, did meet about stating the business of the fishery, and the manner of the King’s giving of this 200l. to every man that shall set out a new-made English Busse by the middle of June next. In which business we had many fine pretty discourses; and I did here see the great pleasure to be had in discoursing of publique matters with men that are particularly acquainted with this or that business. Having come to some issue, wherein a motion of mine was well received, about sending these invitations from the King to all the fishing-ports in general, with limiting so many Busses to this, and that port, before we know the readiness of subscribers, we parted, and I walked home all the way, and having wrote a letter full of business to my father, in my way calling upon my cozen Turner and Mr. Calthrop at the Temple, for their consent to be my arbitrators, which they are willing to. My wife and I to bed pretty pleasant, for that her brother brings word that Gosnell, which my wife and I in discourse do pleasantly call our Marmotte, will certainly come next week without fail, which God grant may be for the best.
if we see the true
matter of a morning
we have seen that silver
go away
slip down into
the business of fish
and every new-made next
become some limit
Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 29 November 1662. Prompted by
Kindling
At the beginning of the holiday
season, the 12 Days of Christmas
plates come out of their Williams-
Sonoma box shaped like a rope
tension drum. The song's a counting
ritual: it starts with a bird
in a fruit tree, adds on increments
the sum of which supposedly equates
to "true love:" turtledoves and
domesticated fowl, golden rings,
a jubilee of animal and human
antics and pastoral labor. It's also
a counting down to the end of another
year— how we've moved through space
and time, how we sense the dark
slip beyond the hills as we reach
for a spark to kindle the broken twigs
in the hearth; how the flame sputters
as if catching its breath, before growing
brighter and pouring out of itself.

