gershon hepner Poems

How admirable the stately trees
that make no sound until a blast
of wind in autumn makes them sneeze,
as on the ground their leaves they cast.
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Though poets spend their lives in spying,
invading inner lives and feelings,
and, word-addicted, prone to lying,
with double-meanings double dealing,
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Our interest being on the dangerous edge,
we think we’re able to see more
in truth than those whom we deplore
because they do not plumb the depths and dredge
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isn’t interesting enough
to be put into poetry it’s not worth saying;
if writing poetry makes life too tough,
you cannot solve your problem writing prose or praying.
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Whether frontal, rear, or lateral,
damage will occur, collateral,
whenever just men fight their foes.
Today, they focus on the woes
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Pure poets think poetic thoughts,
and never write them down,
subjecting them to poet courts
to bury with a frown,
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Will life become a tunnel between clarities
that we perceive in youth when eyes are bright,
and just before we’re overtaken by disease
and aging that deprive us of our sight,
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Waiting for a footstep that will never come,
we sit immobile round the holiest of holies,
distracted by our mindgames with a zero sum,
and though we do not have a ball, we act like goalies,
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Secular literature is a war
that’s fought against clichés.
Biblical literature, stories and law,
is mainly yeas and nays
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The pot once in a fit of rage
said to the kettle: “You are beige! ”
Refraining from a rage attack,
the kettle did not say: “You’re black! ”
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