Red-Lipped Lady Poem by gershon hepner

Red-lipped lady, lacking a moustache,
no Frida look-alike, although your art
contains, when panned, gold nuggets whose bright flash
intrigue my biventricular bold heart,
do not remain within a canvassed frame,
but step right out so we may trip the light
fantastic, in the real world that we’ll shame
by being bright together in the night.

Inspired by my own poem:

SOME MAD WOMEN


Tragic victim, Sylvia Plath,
poured on patriarchy her wrath.
In the attic mad Virginia
showed less anger, somewhat sinnier.
Bohemian without a garret
Elizabeth (loved Robert) Barrett,
translating Portuguese, her sonnets
lilting waterlilies, Monet’s,
a gift for Robert, dedicated
perhaps while she was medicated.
Emily, a virgin hermit,
parked her poems without permit.
Saxon, suicidal Anne,
loved some women like a man.
Bi and curious for sex,
Frida overcame the hex
a watchful world no more expects
from a lady labeled Mex.
Red-lipped, and with a dark moustache
She is the icon for the rash
emotions stirring poetesses
who mix their certainties with guesses.

2/18/05