gershon hepner Poems

Honi soit qui mal y pense
on Samson, though some think Saint-Saëns
makes more sense if you think of him
as being Palestinian, while the grim
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Warning! Do not poke about
the correspondence of your friends:
you’re surely better off without
the information that it sends.
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From Aeschylus’s eagle-bark
to self-punishment of Plath
lights are put out by the dark
in tragedies we rue with wrath.
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Gross national happiness now in Bhutan
is the goal, and not gross national product;
happiness great but not gross is my plan,
and the bottom line I’ve always buttocked.
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Said Mr. Steed to Mrs. Peel,
“I think we make a splendid pair.”
Said Mrs. Peel, “I also feel
we are, since clearly we both dare
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Your touch that I find ever-present
I want, as I have since I first
met you, and found you ever-pleasant,
spontaneous, sparkling, unrehearsed.
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An aged man’s a paltry thing
(John Butler Yeats, of course) ,
his legacy divided, king
like Lear, bereft of force,
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My center’s a reed
I play like a flute,
producing the seed
that years for your root.
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We’re not as intricate or clever
as we believe, but fortunately are amused
so easily we laugh forever
about absurdities with which we abused.
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Elizabeth said to the Earl:
“It is time that you left me to curl
with another young man, having less sex
with you, my dear robin of Essex.”
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