Linda Hepner Poems

Poetry is
Not prose,
Though prose
Can be
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KICKING
a poem for pregnancy #1
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Ogham, oghast, oghat,
I think I smell a rat,
oghamus, that's we
oghatus, that's three,
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The word’s “untold, ”
And that’s the hole
In which Miss Fox lives
Hidden, just her nose
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Standing in the scalding shower
How I soak oblivious to skin
Flaking off me washing down the gurgling drain
And bones melting inside my heated body
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When you lie
I sigh
So you lie
And I cry
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Flow proudly fair river,
For one who fell under
Your spell was the liver
Doc, Gershon - asunder
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I wake up
With difficulty
I must have coffee
Coffee
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Gesundheit!

He's a mild little man,
Spindly legs and concave chest,
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Dido stands upon the wall to watch
Aeneas sailing on to destiny
She is the Queen of Hearts, alone
Tall among her ladies, all abandoned
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