Whirlwind - Poem by gershon hepner
I was in whirlwind and thinking of girls
and batons that high in the air each one whirls,
but now I think only of you, for you’re movin’
my body in ways of which we’re both approvin’.
There’s somethin’ about both your style and your grace
that tells me that surely there’s no better place
than the one where you’re staying. That’s where my flesh lingers
with you in the power of me and my fingers,
arousing your spirit which flows like the waters
than ran through the Garden of Eden’s four quarters,
one river for each of them. You are the force
that fills me like them from your feminine source.
Now, till expelled from a place less bucolic,
let’s spend time together in freedom, and frolic,
and pray that no cherubs will stop our love capers
with hands on their fiery swords and their sabers.
Inspired by “Something there is about you, ” by Bob Dylan:
Something there is about you that strikes a match in me
Is it the way your body moves or is it the way your hair blows free?
Or is it because you remind me of something that used to be
Somethin' that crossed over from another century?
Thought I'd shaken the wonder and the phantoms of my youth Rainy days on
the Great Lakes, walkin' the hills of old Duluth. There was me and Danny
Lopez, cold eyes, black night and then there was Ruth Something there is
about you that brings back a long-forgotten truth.
Suddenly I found you and the spirit in me sings
Don't have to look no further, you're the soul of many things.
I could say that I'd be faithful, I could say it in one sweet, easy breath
But to you that would be cruelty and to me it surely would be death.
Something there is about you that moves with style and grace
I was in a whirlwind, now I'm in some better place.
My hand's on the sabre and you've picked up the baton
Somethin' there is about you that I can't quite put my finger on.
Comments about Whirlwind by gershon hepner
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You