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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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437.
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A Down Under Itch
There once was a fellow named Pap,
he was Greek but alazy old chap.
While his hand was inside
of his Inuit bride
he said, something in here is on tap.
And he took out a sample of cells
while ignoring the whistles and bells.
He said, please dear, compliance
is the essence of science
so hold still please, Mademoiselle.
And he filled up a small amber glass
with some drops from her underpass.
When he finished she said
let us stay in this bed
he said yes when she wiggled her ass.
Thus the PAP Test was born in a fever
it was named (all in Greek) Test Of Beaver,
and the man became rich
from a down under itch
Every Greek tends to be an achiever.
Herbert Nehrlich
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438.
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A Dull Featherweight
There are those who will always stoop low
as they're smarting still from the last blow.
Fabrication? It suits
walk in somebody's boots?
Not for those quite unable to grow.
It is boring to read such old crap
one would need a Sat-Nav or a map,
but so many i.d.'s
matching names as you please
and unlimited hours on tap.
But I thank the small member of course,
for his whipping a tired old horse.
It's the legend of Wales
quite unfit to tell tales
only morons could really endorse.
I should ask my dear God why he blessed
only some, why the rest are hard-pressed,
and must strive to play clown
cut the tall poppies down
while succeeding in soiling their nest.
It is envy that drives so much hate,
if you can't follow facts or debate
you must stay with the herd
loathing every nerd,
but your label says dull featherweight.
Herbert Nehrlich
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439.
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A Duty Now To Die
They'd badgered him, the family,
to go and have the tests, since, after all,
one needed to take all that modern medicine
and science had to offer to prevent,
prolong, improve and otherwise enhance
the human misery into something much more serene.
The'd taken at the firehouse his pulse,
and measured how much pressure it did make,
'this little heart of his, at rest and on the mill.
Sinister faces then prescribed the wonder pill,
it's what he needed to survive, thanks to his God.
It was, needless to say, the God of Modern Medicine,
which had its sticky fingers in a thousand pies,
'you'll take this pill, but twice a day for life,
it is called Lipitor and it will save your hide.'
Now this small pill will change the rules, at that,
of your physiology, it will prevent the synthesis
of much cholesterol through clever trickery,
while curing nothing and suppressing what
is sorely needed for the heart and every cell.
Let's kill you softly, says the ghost from Pharmaland,
it's of extreme importance that you put your trust
into the ways of modern man, and when it dawns
upon your mind that there is love, you will, of course,
take in the meaning of the Guv's most famous words:
It is the elderly who have a need to die.
Herbert Nehrlich
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440.
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A Faceless God
And there appeared
without a warning
a break within the clouds
that had remained,
so heavy and so low
all week, as all HIS people
went on about the business
of burying those
who had defied,
with loudness and
determination,
their fellow man
and now their God.
Committed treason,
thus forsaken
their holy Being.
Abandoned Deity.
And God then did,
with thunderous
unprecedented
and harsh and deadly
force, akin to evil
and reminiscent
of Satan's work.
He had destroyed
and quickly rained
the angels of his death
upon the doubters
and the infidels.
As he appeared
a yellow light,
an image without shape,
within the clouds,
his face unseen,
but well possessed of voice,
and speaking to
the people just below:
'Your own iniquities
have seperated
you, the people
from myself,
your God.
It is your sins
which have
betrayed
and hidden
from you all
my holy face.
I will not hear you,
but cast you into
the lake of fire,
There shall be punishment
so everlasting
and all destruction
be heaped upon you.'
And thus, his will was done
as well it needed to be done.
And in the end,
there was one child,
left standing.
Alive and without harm
from God's own wrath.
And he seemed utterly,
and strangely unafraid,
and then he spoke:
'God, you have brought
no great tidings of your joy
to your own people.
And thus you are
perhaps to you
but not to me
my God.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: people poems, warning poems, god poems, evil poems, work poems, child poems, fire poems, joy poems, death poems, light poems, angel poems, children poems
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