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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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425.
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A Christopher Marlowe Poem
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of th purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
________________
Herbert Nehrlich addition:
And I shall weave from fallen leaves
a crown which in the end deceives
the devil and his Reaper grim,
no sight will fade, no eyes gow dim
On moss you will be resting and
with kisses love and soothe my hand
the sheep? The hounds will care for those
while I go find for you a rose
to place behind you pretty ear
so that from now it too can hear
the whispers of your lover's call
each tone, and PACE*, yes to all,
I thirst for you, please kiss my lips
and bring them close, your sensuous hips,
and let us rest here, in the shade
while thoughts of duty slowly fade.
Herbert Nehrlich
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426.
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A Cock Named Elsevier
A cockatoo named Elsevier
had sipped some of his master's beer.
The alcohol had warmed his heart,
he thought it would be very smart
to raid the Bar for Jδgermeister.
His boss who was a lawyer-shyster
would not be home for many hours.
He was a bird with special powers
and turned the cabinet's gold key,
then switched on lights so he could see.
Let's see now, there is the Wild Turkey,
which does go well with Angus Jerky,
and Ouzo from the Isle of Crete,
which should be drunk well-chilled but neat.
So many bottles, endless choices...
He suddenly heard female voices
come through the door into the lounge,
the bird, determined still to scrounge,
took beakfuls of an aged Pernod
and pretty soon felt like a crow,
though he was lilywhite and gold,
the Crest Of Kings he had been told.
The master's wife came in at last
and saw the bird (it was a blast) ,
who tried to balance on the lamp,
below, the carpet showed a damp
and greenish looking worm-like spot.
The lady said 'This sure is NOT
permitted in this noble house! '
And as she stood, her bright blue blouse
became desirable attraction
for Happy Hour drunken action.
Head-over-heels the cockatoo
dived in between those lovely two
mammary swellings, well confined,
where he was stuck and nearly blind.
You see, when women are in rage
their breathing then expands the cage,
which houses, on the outside, breasts
and underneath the vital rest.
The guardians of his new-found prison
had, through expansion thus arisen
from comfort-fit to bulging tight,
thus one can understand his plight.
Another trait that women bear
is that they like their underwear
kept free of any cockatoos,
regardless how much potent booze
they have imbibed, so that was that.
I would not even bet a nickel
that she would, at the slightest tickle
of 'too-down feathers on her boobs,
so close to lactogenic tubes
that lead into the breasts' interior
and parallel to some superior
and very touchy sens'ry nerves...
which means that her majestic curves
reacted with expected shock.
She ripped it off and yelled 'You COCK,
you are not welcome in my house,
look what you've done to my new blouse.'
And so the day proved once again
that liquor is reserved for men.
And cockatoos who live in houses
should never dive down into blouses.
And French Pernod at three o'clock
can turn a bird into a cock.
And cocks, it must be said, should stay
from ladies' breasts quite far away.
Herbert Nehrlich
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427.
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A Commentary
The infantile word 'infantile'
brings up in me a bit of bile.
The other word (he called it boring)
reminds me of him never scoring
in posting something vaguely pleasant
though I enjoy the title 'boy',
I would describe a boy as coy.
But don't forget a boy is young
and not as effortlessly stung
by those who cannot even spell
though try to stand, attempt to sell
their work as something of a thrill
for me it is a tasteless pill.
And I would like to add to this
that rhyming poetry is bliss
and that those men of poetry
like Silverstein and Nash (and me)
and Suess and Goethe of the past
whose poems will forever last
would not appreciate the mention
no matter what the man's intention.
It is a bit like when they fought
in the debate, and one had sought
to be compared to Kennedy
and Reagan whose own heart was free
reminded him of who he was
(a man of doubt and many flaws) ,
so let me close this rather sweetly
you, Sir, to put it more discreetly,
should seek advice up in Seattle
before you enter any battle.
Some words in the above were placed due
to the need to rhyme. This may change the meaning
for some readers, though not for myself.
H
Herbert Nehrlich
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428.
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A Cranka
Be stupid, helpless and bland
it will, most unfailingly
let only God understand.
Help not, love not, have no smiles
He will keep you company
for thousands of miles.
Look sad, smell bad, even stutter
walk arm in arm with misery
Dead man is best left in the gutter.
Herbert Nehrlich
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