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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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553.
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Sweet Mary - Sweet Laurie
Mary, born a little pre
had some trouble breathing,
also, nightly she would pee
and she screamed while teething.
In the private school she met
Laurie from Chicago
Laurie wore a silver net
loved old Doc Tshivago.
Laurie was a trifle sweet
had no use for men,
got just formula to eat
though she rated ten.
Missed the milk that Nature makes,
which was one good reason
to demand those frequent breaks
during hunting season.
Meaning, puberty and all
girls are searching daily
Laurie who was rather tall
laughed and smiled so gaily,
when they had the prom that year
Laurie tasted Mary,
and she dumped, (for good I fear)
Polish boy named Harry.
Harry had, (he was quite mad)
followed Mary over,
Harry's uncle told the lad
(was an Aussie drover) ,
get your hands on any bird
never pay no mind,
what she says, and take my word
grab her from behind.
Harry tried and was rebuffed
Laurie was to smitten!
Harry pouted, Harry huffed
from the lovebug bitten.
In the flat on 69
girls were reminiscin'
after some cheap Gallo wine
they were gently kissin'.
Later on, when Laurie woke
Mary said I reckon,
you are better than a bloke
all they want is neckin'.
If we practice, Laury said
try manipulation,
here in our Kingsize bed
we may get lactation.
Herbert Nehrlich
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554.
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Sweetness is Stickiness
I have this thing, you know.
Passed down and caught
and chained to it as well.
Hands must be clean
and hair brushed straight
so that each one will be
quite equidistant from its mates.
Shoes always rest in parallel,
one must be certain about symmetry.
Thus, it is no surprise to me
and those who walk with me
that I detest the smallest dropp
of stickiness, or damp upon the skin,
be that on legs or more protected parts.
She'd half expected me to use the time
to cuddle or tell old time tales,
though I was quite pre-occupied.
It would, I had observed it once,
dry on its own and fade away,
seemingly into open space
from a forbidden zone at that.
There was, inside my mind, no qualm
with the logistics of the chemistry,
that would be tied to certain laws,
as legs support a living body
and hair allows for steam and turbulence.
Yet, nothing realistic had prepared
this greenhorn for the lengthy interval
that sticky residue would make
its awful presence felt, I shudder
at the very thought and see, today
the eyes of grandma, stoic, green and stern,
unspoken words commanding me,
belligerence inside the lederhosen
the Edelweiss, seal of a secret room
a leather flap now standing guard
for petty jewels with early hopes.
The pie itself was of the noblest kind,
with layers of pink flowers and cold cream,
it was the sugar, it would stick against all rules
for little boys and, so much later, for some fools.
Herbert Nehrlich
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555.
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Sylvester In The New Age
It was Sylvester,
the scruffy cat,
who peeked into the Bedroom
of Desire.
It had
not been that long
since that fine day
when one big door
was closed with softness
and some urgency,
trapping the cat,
caught with his tail
remaining motionless.
Yet as the earth
rotated slowly,
again but under laws
of the New Age,
and a new turbulence
had taken hostage
of aptly named
and steamy room
filled with desire,
there was, with little doubt,
a sense of in e vi ta bili ty,
thrust on this earth
the laws and age
of Lestrus, Man of Crete.
That all things
would be following
the cycle of
a universal
and phil-of-logic means
quickly and brutally
reversed, no further notice.
Now in the end,
it ended, tail of cat
name of Sylvester,
being reversed,
due to the cycle
so that reality
was now,
under the user-friendly,
the novel dictates
of pure joy
and of curiosity,
but little reason,
the tail did now appear
outside the bedroom
named desire.
Allowing curious eyes
of tortured cat
much leisurely inspection
and fond appreciation
of goings on
that some would call
unclinical and open propagation.
And nine lives notwithstanding.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: cat poems, joy poems
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556.
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Teachers
Of all the many salient features
of childhood I remember teachers.
Right after birth you get attention,
they cater to you, not to mention
free food and lodging and those rattles
with which to fight your frequent battles,
when no one listens to you crying
and Dad pretends that you are lying,
yet overall, all those distractions
and those which trigger strange reactions
are not what I would call oppressive
or, even in a pinch obsessive...
Back to the subject, the main feature
which, after all, is what a teacher
does to an innocent, still growing,
developing and overflowing,
perceptive and receptive student,
it seems to me it would be prudent
to lay all cards upon the table.
A teacher, though extremely able,
and with the best of all intentions,
can teach you math and those inventions
that are considered quintessential
for kids to harness their potential.
He'll teach you how to write to Nana,
about the bend in the banana,
and photosynthesis of grasses,
the volatile and inert gases,
about the nature of the STASI
and what went wrong with Esterhazy,
he shows you how to draw a stallion
and how to count in good Italian,
why Hitler ended up in power
and how an insect-eating flower
digests the flesh of German roaches
Do not forget their role as coaches.
They must be anchored in Gymnastics
so that they turn the dumbest spastic
into an athlete and achiever,
and, as a genuine busy beaver
he is a jack of all persuasions,
which comes in handy on occasions
of idiosyncratic troubles,
a teacher thinks and rubs his stubbles
around the chin for stimulation
of dormant neurons on vacation,
and students sit in awe and ponder
how soon the bell will ring, they wonder
how any human can stay jolly
when faced with this forsaken folly.
And in the end, when years have faded
and all your teachers judged and graded
you as a product of the system,
you'll find that after all, you've missed them.
Herbert Nehrlich
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