gershon hepner Poems

“How lovely in the garden are your eyes,
your lips, your mouth, your breasts, you legs! ” I say,
but she rejects my comments: “Is it wise
to comment about parts that I display
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Revered as books some have collected, our
relationship is one through which we browse
each day; it is a cut but unpressed flower
we treasure like the love that we espouse.
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Baseball runners like a herd
storming the first base,
reach the second and the third.
Pitchers whom they face
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Common Era, around Fifty-five,
vivid portrait on encaustic,
looks as though she really is alive,
far too early to be Gnostic.
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A Briton, not a Teuton, he
on physic’s laws made mutiny.
For falling apples avid, he
discovered laws of gravity,
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He always looks as though he is about
to take the clothes off women that he meets,
then hesitates, as if he had a bout
of flu, or maybe hasn’t changed his sheets,
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Wine, women, song, religion, meditation,
for Leonard Cohen were all an expression
of points he made with major exclamation
to hide relentless progress of depression.
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Turned into a stag, then torn by hounds,
Actaeon has no time to wonder
how he offended, gazing out of bounds,
the virgin goddess. For his blunder
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Richard Strauss the composer was born
to the sound of his father’s old horn.
All his life well disposed
to its sound, he composed,
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Zeus finds Europa playing with her hand––
handmaidens some say, pulling wool
over eyes of people who demand
that she be modest. As a bull,
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