Keep Flowing Poem by Linda Hepner

Keep Flowing

Rating: 4.2


Between the closing dusk of sleep
and my descended night
I catch a spotlit vision
of living water glistening:
at times a pond of koi,
sometimes an overflowing cup,
a fountain, river or a flooded garden where I stand
gazing at my crystal feet
amongst the flowers.

Such visions come from down within the folds
and fissures of my brain,
dripping, trickling, rushing, and no one knows
the quantity of waters stored there, fed
by even deeper streams.

While deep within the ocean grows your brain
where nematodes and blind fish
swim and search among voluted fissures,
where bubbles from deep cracks and crevices
deeper than the highest Himalayas,
hotter than the icy pinnacles,
ooze lava, spew amazing rocks,
seethe and re-form the ocean floor,
shaking the earth crust, changing the world shape,
fill explorers who descend, who dare,
or those who wait above in gardens
with delight that only music, only voices penetrating
convoluted brains
can reach and touch and teach.

To me you are the ocean, constant, powerful and salty,
waves pulled by an unknown planet,
up and down the shore, in and out of billows,
smashing, crashing, and accepting
streams and rivers flowing in while
nothing flows out, only the fish, only the birds,
only the words, but only the sun
warms and evaporates the restless waters, gathering to herself
billowy clouds and moisture
that fall again
into my floods and pools and fountains
from the highest Himalayas
into the rivers
that return to you,
to you.

LRH
8.31.06

To my incomparable GWH, his poem below:
Excuses

Horses: excuses for feet in a stirrup.
Pancakes: excuses for maplesweet syrup.
Wives who’ve stuck with you forty odd years––
I’ll tell you their meaning, allaying the fears
of those who consider them as mere excuses
for resting their feet eating syrupy juices.
They’re writers of narratives that are men’s stories,
perennially constant as blue morning glories,
deluding their spouses to think they’re the heroes
of nightscented stories whose glory is eros,
while they are the heroines pulling the string
on the puppets persuaded to buy them a ring
nearly forty odd years before their anniversary.
Excuse this mere outline for being so cursory;
To find out precisely why they are a blessing
is cheating, because they love keeping you guessing.

Gershon Hepner
8/31/06

A fortieth anniversary poem to my beloved wife Linda, in response to the gift of forty years which she gave me as well as the poem (above)

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Gina Onyemaechi 31 August 2006

Feel as if I've just walked under a great, gushing waterfall, been swept all the way across the ocean, and then brought back home again safe and sound! ! ! What a ride, Lind! ! And congratulations to you on Gershy on your 40 years as husband and wife. Love, Gina.

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