gershon hepner Poems

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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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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She tells me that her eyes are hazel,
but the color green, like basil,
is her favorite, it seems.
Eyes provoke a lover’s dreams
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Soar: although the sky is cool,
and all the earth, soar to Orion;
be strong, though not like ox or mule,
but independent as a lion.
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Separated by a wall and then by death,
Pyramus, in love with Thisbe, is the paradigm,
in Ovid first, and then in Shakepeare’s shibboleth
that’s mispronounced by Bottom in crude prose and rhyme,
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SOLVING MYSTERIES

Deep mysteries may be solved by analytic clarities,
but then dissolve as you dismantle their disparities,
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She said, “Oh nein, oh nein, oh nein! ”
and since she was a German girl.
he wouldn’t do what seemed not fine
to her, a charming chap, no churl.
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I caught this morning morning’s minyan
in the beth hamidrash where
ten men give God His dominion
which He is prepared to share
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They only fruit when they are sure
that they are bound to die,
and only threat of death will lure
most mushrooms to your pie.
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Peace on your return, delightful bird,
by my window from a warmer clime;
your voice is just as welcome as a word
of winter warmth recalling summertime.
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