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Change Challenge, Page Three

Copyright © 2011, by Mary Cresswell, William Dennis, Linda Umans, Gary Glauber, Esther Greenleaf Mürer, and Gene Doty

Containment

Mary Cresswell

Packing away the day is easy.
Should I store it in the light or in the dark?

Foolscap once encompassed my needs.
Now I have flax bags and ziplock slips.

That metal box belonged to the dead carpenter.
His leather apron hangs on the garage wall.

The flax was woven, so water washed through,
cleaning the shellfish and dumping the dross.

Three men of war were trapped in the bucket.
We decided not to let them grow.

The key to things is a lacquer box. Though
I have many layers, I can’t make it work.

Short sides, long sides, base and lid:
Today takes shape and lies there empty.

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Then Everything Changed

William Dennis

Take 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?

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late April ghazal

Linda Umans

solid pinks and tinges wake out of winter's change
red tulips out of nowhere on the street a showy change

some people are uncomfortable with transformations and revisions
but they claim to love spring the glorious misting change

the fluttering outsize butterfly home in the tropical forest
sheds color and shape in coming into its spectacular change

adult iridescence warmed in the sun dramatic hues the greens
and blues   I aspire to the Morpho whose name is change

naked-faced adniL Glenfiddich in hand beholds her portrait
and emotionally accepts the age in change

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Incredulity: a ghazal

Gary Glauber

When her story seems unlikely fiction, a matter of suspension of disbelief,
he soon loses his grasp, and is sent reeling on a steep declension of disbelief.

He feels at once foolish and frustrated, a tortured captive in gray manacles
and powerful heartstrings that push and pull at his extension of disbelief.

There is a new sense of tacit compromise, a wince followed by grim silence
that speaks volumes about the fact there will be no mention of disbelief.

He’d invested heavily in this relationship, a shared wealth of trust accruing
daily interest, currently squandered to a paltry pension of disbelief.

A full moon soon wanes to a crescent as lunatic hope dwindles over time,
Nothing seems what it once was now that he pays the attention of disbelief.

He wonders if depleted stores can be full again after reparations are made;
He cries in joyous dreams where there’s a strange and ghostly ascension of disbelief.

Again she violates his wishes, betrays his secrets, and smiles knowingly too.
He’s consigned to this lover’s prison of immodesty, this detention of disbelief.

Always he wants to believe, an optimist with benefits given beyond the doubts,
eager to ignore the pain of nagging aggravations, the tension of disbelief.

If his name is Gary, this related fiction runs the risk of being far too real;
He longs for simple and more loving times, before the sad invention of disbelief.

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Change

Esther Greenleaf Mürer

Emerson wrote, “Nothing is secure but life, transition,
the energizing spirit.” No standing aloof from change.

At last I’ve arrived at, well, wherever I’ve arrived at.
Program for the future: loaf and evolve, loaf and evolve.

Faced with a choice between turning into a pangolin
and living with my tired old self, I’d just as lief mutate.

You struggle and strive and then, having done your utmost,
head up and let your sails luff in the transfiguring wind.

Fed up with endless displays of American folly?
Practice the mantra, “What a laughable development.”

I feel you, Creator Spirit, hiding in the darkness.
No need to mourn, then, just because the green leaf is turning.

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