Transits
By William Dennis
Then Everything ChangedTake love, I wasn't in it at all, but then, everything changed;
I thought I knew what it meant to be deranged, but then everything changed. I thought I'd crouch a little while beneath love's quivering wing, but quick, I felt its talons' sting, I knew then everything changed. Her pestle wit grinds gallstones in the mortar of my heart; like hand and glove, we were, like part and parcel, then everything changed. Black was the soot from all my ancestors' innocent living and dying; who thought our funeral pyres could melt the poles? Then everything changed. What's this then, Bill, contrary-and-western or country-and-middle-eastern, your venture in mixed-meme medium with nothing much and everything changed? first appeared in The Ghazal Page issue 38 (2011)
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Grow and ChangeI remember toddling about, eager to grow and change;
I stagger now through books for what I want to know and change. A child quickly forgets that he was part of his mother once; and slowly learns that bonding love is how to grow and change. Not diamonds, gold or works of hand equal a first-born child, allowing who we think we are, and what, to grow and change. The greatest gift that God could give us is our children's children; embittered, bored and lonely, you hear their treble crow and change. Re-birth assumes a world that's worth returning to again; face the Paraclete, called Vishnu, the Preserver, bow low and change. The bony, little fish are best, in water or in oil, when choosing from the food chain's bill, pick low, eat slow and change. At least, as Pure Land Buddha says, decarbonize the grid; I'd gladly spare our warming globe that sort of woe and change. Batteries charge at little cost, while fouling no one's air; a lightbulb lights above my head: I ought to go and change. Though my man rarely wins election, I vote them gladly out; an orderly anarchist, I curse the status quo and change. Much better reward virtue than to seek to punish vice, my brutal intuition likes to link a blow and change. The day that punishment breaks bad behavior, all jails empty, and, Bill, your stubborn heart will take its final blow and change. first appeared in The Ghazal Page issue 38 (2011)
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By Century's EndThree feet or four-and-a-half of sea-level rise by century's end--
in Bayonne and 'burbs, that's bound to spell trouble, and I don't mean by century's end. I like Ike..., that's Newton: his What melts down must dry up; don't worry, what never happened before won't happen by century's end. The Dutch abandon their country, like some lesser-developed island? Florida's motto: The Land without a Future by century's end? And when the north pole melts..., and Greenland..., can the south be far behind; will the Eskimos have twenty words for melt by century's end? The poles are polar opposites, they stand a world apart; though the globe may shrink, the poles won't grow close or warm by century's end. Then the last living killer whale eats the last polar bear left on the face of the earth, as she swims from the only remaining ice flow, as it melts in the sunlight, by century's end. Any mammals much bigger than bread-boxes, any fish formerly found in the sea, whatever bird's not yet a pigeon...will wake up extinct by century's end. As the cannibals said to the missionary, That was dreadful bad taste, we confess; we promise, if it happened at all, it will happen no more by century's end. The last blue-fin tuna cost thousands per pound, worth more for its mercury content; they just ran to six inches, thank God, and worked as thermometers by century's end. As long as it's not wheat or rye, barley, rice or corn, then you'll be able to eat whatever you like by century's end. With oil from the arctic too cheap to be metered and the tundra to bloom like a rose, it's springtime again in..., well, Canada..., even Siberia by century's end. Who really could have guessed the problem of obesity in American children would be solved so easily by century's end? They're such nice people, Bill, the desert-makers, they do it all for you; you needn't travel, they'll bring the desert to you by century's end. You're right, Bill, wholesome, decent, hardworking..., trying to make a buck: the sort that made our country what it will be by century's end. Please tell us, Bill, how did the bad-lands get so bad..., like this? You might have warned our aquifers run dry by century's end. first appeared in The Ghazal Page issue 38 (2011)
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Promised to ChangeYou promised and promised, I promised and promised--both of us promised to change;
but neither believed the other'd arrange it, so neither has bothered to change. My slacks and my shorts and my hair and my mind, everything changes, I know it; but your hand in my hand--and I guess my grip shows it--is one thing I'm frightened to change. Demolish old buildings and build up the new, renegotiate contracts at leisure; but a worker who's labored so long at your pleasure? Please, say that you're too kind to change. The church has assured me that I'll be forgiven, why won't you tell me the same? Although, while I'm waiting, I work some more shame in, one's never too wicked to change. The pigeon was once just pie on the wing and the carp called gefilte in motion; and you once evoked mouth-watering emotion, Bill, why were you prompted to change? |
Makes SenseWith so much at stake, the biggest transgressors lie most, it only makes sense;
for captains of industry, elected officials and lovers like us, this makes sense. Sunspots explain more and more every day--extinctions and rising sea levels; and oceans would drain from the earth, were it level--that God made earth cup-shaped makes sense. Carbon dioxide, natural as breath, how could anyone call this a problem? The dinosaurs must have been breathing too much; viewed that way, I think, it makes sense. Totalitarian scaredy-cat, you want it all explained; dealing with doubt and change, as it does, science, you're sure, can't make sense. The cranks about climate have taken their shot, their best and their worst ones together, supposing to sink the boat that we share with a shot through their foot now makes sense. The light-purple-flowered rhodora stands with its shallow-run root and thin leaves, facing a flat, hotter world--it never bears fruit and scarcely makes scents. With the idiot grin of pleasure in malice, someone will eat the last tuna; for species at risk, I'd say second amendment rights are starting to really make sense. Sartre--"Hell is other people." Lévi-Strauss--"Hell is ourselves." "Myself am hell."--Milton's Satan. God, Bill, how this makes sense. |
Have, Too
The sea has its moods and its seasons, you have, too;
the cliff has its faces and its angles--I have, too. I swallowed the dregs with the wine for good reason, and swallowed the reason besides--you have, too. You've turned in doorways of churches and stepped back off trains; you've looked back with your hand on the plow--I have, too. I've chewed up pencils and punished my leg with my fist; I've cursed at myself and grown bored with my words; you have, too. Life's smorgasbord offers tasty dish after dish; there's no returns, Bill, so take just what you have to. |
Who Would've Thought?On tipping-points, I'd notice growing pressure, you would've thought;
tedious years of warning--suddenly, earthquake! Who would've thought? Rather than the re-make of a film about Pearl Harbor, 9-11 called for introspection, one would've thought. I thought before the doctor spoke, that I'd be fine forever; a little optimism couldn't hurt, I would've thought. Cleaning out my desk should take me longer (have some staples); though caught off guard, it should have taken longer, you would've thought. My wise investment, all at once, becomes a losing bet, though I'd booked options I could use at home..., I would've thought. You must have scales and cataracts, our Bill, and when they drop, Lord, you'll go blind with rage at things you never would've thought. |
If At AllAnd if I don't look back, I won't see creeping change at all,
and labor on in blind belief I never change at all. And vision so far casts ahead, my stubbed toes stumble, sore; and old age, now I notice, feels not strange at all. And many moons we brazened out the sun in distant tropics, and thought we were that sort the years could not estrange at all. And who can pluck one day of all the falling days called love, and swear love's but a single point and has no range at all? And one bit then another laps outside the marriage quilt, and both rise up, irate, and want to re-arrange it all. And longer life grants more old age instead of extra youth; Sport, you plan to do your dying all at once, then..., if at all. |
Hurt Me Any MoreHere's partial change: now you don't want to hurt me any more;
some change: so you'll feel awful if you hurt me any more? From secret glutton to public promiscuity--the moth; but I've reversed his course, so you can't hurt me any more. Forever chrysalis--not what I was, nor what I could be; I'm grateful those old hungers can't still hurt me any more. A little drink to keep a drink a little company; it only bothers others; it can't hurt me any more. I have no right to quit although my task can't be completed; does Rabbi Tarfon then deny it hurts me any more? |
Valentine HeartThis calls for something sweet 'n easy, darlin',
something obvious and unobjectionable, m'dear, with prominent rhyme and pronounced feeling, darlin', principled and general, not much harmed by being forgot, m'dear. Care should be shown by the polish it's given, love, the labor engraved on the page with some effort, sweetie, and craftsmanship shown, since it's all done by hand, love-- the sort of thing that goes without saying, sweetie. Personal features may well get their mention, pun'kin, comparisons be made to classical figures, cupcake, or famous contemporaries--favorable, of course, pun'kin. Herbal imagery, certain birds and sweet foods, cupcake, and graceful female animals that have small broods, pun'kin, all good if they can be worked in selectively, cupcake. In an ideal world, or if we were younger, this would be that, honey, but for this and a small box of chocolate, won't you be my Valentine, honey? |