gershon hepner Poems

In northern Beverly Hills the sidewalk ends,
and if you wish to take a walk
or jog along the road you’ll find it sends
a message to you like a fork
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“We’ll meet again, ” sang Vera Lynn,
more than sixty years ago,
and now, when records do not spin,
and spin is what men say they know
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A dinosaur that’s tiny
when compared to T. Rex has been named
Raptorex Kriegsteini,
by palaeontologists who have acclaimed
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In Tel-Aviv they’re eating calamari
under nighttime skies as starry
as eyes of those who run like Jonah
from reality, with Barcelona
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John Donne was metaphysical,
Will Shakespeare dramaturgic
and William Wordsworth lyrical.
I can't say I'm allergic
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When into a lake we dive
we do not aim get from a to b,
but just to feel that we’re alive,
which also is the reason we
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When into lakes we choose to drive
it’s not to swim from a to b,
but just to feel that we’re alive,
which also is the reason we
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Do re me, sings Julie Andrews,
finding with these words a band ruse,
to join into a singing band
a bunch of kids in Austrialand.
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Mies van der Rohe––Mies, not Mouse––
built the famous Farnsworth House;
Frank Lloyd Wright, whose name’s not shorter,
built fabulously Falling Water,
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What we’ve got here is a failure to
communicate,
they said to Paul in “Cool Hand Luke.” Adieu
the loony gate
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