gershon hepner Poems

How disappointing to discover’
that we aren’t experts in ourselves,
and know less than our friends and lovers
and learned books upon our shelves
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Childhood is another country
from whose bourns no man returns,
knowing little of the wintry
region of old age it spurns.
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Who was the man who sat last night
at the table next to ours,
trying to impress, but quite
as fallen as Trade Center Towers?
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As easily as right keys turn
the tumblers of a lock
we kiss each other as we burn
with equal love, and shock
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Man’s quintessence being dust,
Hamlet felt that he could trust
no man as friend, for all could sow
betrayal, save Horatio.
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“How lovely in the garden are your eyes,
your lips, your mouth, your breasts, you legs! ” I say,
but she rejects my comments: “Is it wise
to comment about parts that I display
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Revered as books some have collected, our
relationship is one through which we browse
each day; it is a cut but unpressed flower
we treasure like the love that we espouse.
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Baseball runners like a herd
storming the first base,
reach the second and the third.
Pitchers whom they face
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Wine, women, song, religion, meditation,
for Leonard Cohen were all an expression
of points he made with major exclamation
to hide relentless progress of depression.
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A Briton, not a Teuton, he
on physic’s laws made mutiny.
For falling apples avid, he
discovered laws of gravity,
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