gershon hepner Poems

Demanding either ahs or chuckles,
I am an artist who swashbuckles,
performing before ears that hear,
and eyes that read, what is most dear
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She goest beyond where heavens are,
or so she says when falling
into my arms, when she’s not far
from voices that are calling
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All the life that isn't mine
depresses me a lot. I wish
that I could like it more than wine
or French fries served without the fish.
...

The mind can be a passionate
organ, scholarship’s
poetry. Imagine it
a tongue between the lips.
...

Trailing snail-tracks of the jism
appearing through the private prism
of her lover’s contact, lenses
unobstructed by her menses,
...

How beautiful it is,
how easily it can be broken,
far more them merely phys-
iological once it has woken.
...

Boredom’s a corrosive force
from which aggression may escape,
not only fighting wars, of course,
when it can even lead to rape,
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A hint of clove and orange peel
and even cedar, maybe,
are some aromas in the meal
I'm giving to my baby,
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Azriel of Gerona taught
that if you look beyond the yesh
which is the aught you’ll find the naught,
the spirit that’s behind the flesh,
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Born in barnyards, see how roosters strut,
searching for a hen that is a slut.
Wherever men are born they do not care
about most women till they see them bare.
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