gershon hepner Poems

Do not go gentile into that good night.
One Dylan almost said this, hardly gentle,
when raging against darkness with a fight
that often now involves experimental
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Turning on a paradigm,
I have tried extremely hard
to be godly in my rhyme,
hoping to be avatarred,
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We're entering the dawn of what some call,
erroneously, a great new error,
confusing as malapropism all
deniers of the reign of terror
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They used to think that it was drought
that drove the Anasazi out
of southwest cities on the mesas,
to die there, like forgotten races.
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Fun and frolic, fashion, flash,
lechery and chamber pots,
lots of women seeking cash
from the men who have the hots,
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There’s more than one way to perform
Bach’s St. Matthew Passion,
there’s no right way, or even norm,
for style resembles fashion,
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Bars that keep a felon in,
keratin and melanin
trap the colors on the tail
that a peacock loves to flail.
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If you’re accustomed to a constant ream
of cyberinformation, you’ll be bored
when digitally you’re deprived. Your stream
of consciousness won’t be restored
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Regard me, one side and the other,
each side is not the other’s brother,
for usually each side’s in hiding
behind my artifice, the siding
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Hard on her saddle now riding her cycle
my lady engages the road less than me,
and seems to be frozen in thought, an icicle
for those who don’t know that her feelings are free.
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