gershon hepner Poems

In the faithless money-driven
world nobody is forgiven,
unless they can afford attorneys
who drive them gently on their journeys
...

The heart that pounds, the pouring palms that sweat,
are proof I absolutely am in awe of you.
The less you notice me, perhaps forget
about me, make me need far more of you.
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The brightest of the blush is off the leaf,
between the aching spaces only brown
remains suspended sparsely in relief,
because the canopy has fallen down.
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In the sun, the famous Eccles
is never suntanned or gets freckles,
since he’s mainly in his shell,
where nary ultraviolet spell
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“One link out' from visible,
on Huffington we post
what print treats as derisible
but cyberwriters boast
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Tarzan teaches us that sex that’s torrid
should hardly be condemned as somewhat horrid.
Settling as he did in California,
where town and valley gals are sometimes hornier
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Of mad men gulping vodka on the rocks
while ogling secretaries whom they’re scheming
to take to bed I sing, for forever dreaming
the fantasies a PC world now mocks.
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Now that gas tanks are no longer fillable
with what once seemed unlimited cheap oil
it seems that lawyers’ hours that are billable
will be replaced, attorneys made to toil
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Finding bad reasons for what
on instinct we choose to believe,
philosophy rescues from rot
the thoughts we’d do better to leave
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A tale of classes that conflict and meditations
on middle age and all its malcontents,
including its persistent inhibitions,
it’s a tragedy that makes most sense
...