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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=560454" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Keep Flowing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Between the closing dusk of sleep<br>and my descended night<br>I catch a spotlit vision<br>of living water glistening: <br>at times a pond of koi, <br>sometimes an overflowing cup, <br>a fountain, river or a flooded garden where I stand <br>gazing at my crystal feet<br>amongst the flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such visions come from down within the folds<br>and fissures of my brain, <br>dripping, trickling, rushing, and no one knows <br>the quantity of waters stored there, fed <br>by even deeper streams. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">While deep within the ocean grows your brain<br>where nematodes and blind fish<br>swim and search among voluted fissures, <br>where bubbles from deep cracks and crevices<br>deeper than the highest Himalayas, <br>hotter than the icy pinnacles, <br>ooze lava, spew amazing rocks, <br>seethe and re-form the ocean floor, <br>shaking the earth crust, changing the world shape, <br>fill explorers who descend, who dare, <br>or those who wait above in gardens <br>with delight that only music, only voices penetrating <br>convoluted brains<br>can reach and touch and teach.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To me you are the ocean, constant, powerful and salty, <br>waves pulled by an unknown planet, <br>up and down the shore, in and out of billows, <br>smashing, crashing, and accepting<br>streams and rivers flowing in while <br>nothing flows out, only the fish, only the birds, <br>only the words, but only the sun <br>warms and evaporates the restless waters, gathering to herself <br>billowy clouds and moisture <br>that fall again<br>into my floods and pools and fountains<br>from the highest Himalayas<br>into the rivers<br>that return to you, <br>to you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LRH<br>8.31.06 </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To my incomparable GWH, his poem below: <br>Excuses</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Horses: excuses for feet in a stirrup.<br>Pancakes: excuses for maplesweet syrup.<br>Wives who’ve stuck with you forty odd years––<br>I’ll tell you their meaning, allaying the fears<br>of those who consider them as mere excuses<br>for resting their feet eating syrupy juices.<br>They’re writers of narratives that are men’s stories, <br>perennially constant as blue morning glories, <br>deluding their spouses to think they’re the heroes<br>of nightscented stories whose glory is eros, <br>while they are the heroines pulling the string<br>on the puppets persuaded to buy them a ring<br>nearly forty odd years before their anniversary.<br>Excuse this mere outline for being so cursory; <br>To find out precisely why they are a blessing<br>is cheating, because they love keeping you guessing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gershon Hepner<br>8/31/06<br> <br>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)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Linda+Hepner">Linda Hepner</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=560454" data-title="Keep Flowing de Linda Hepner" data-description="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
a..."></div>
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