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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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785.
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Burma General
He sat and sipped
while orange mumus slipped,
aghast and filled with human fear,
prayers so urgent
rose from cold lips,
courage my shephard,
soldiers may cheer.
An arrow, featherlight and trim
broke silence then
of arrogance and hate,
pausing but briefly
in the satin drapes,
to find its home
within a heart gone cold.
Herbert Nehrlich
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786.
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Burp - (German Version) Ruelps
Am Fenster sitzt ein grauer Spatz
beaeugt von einer alten Katz'.
Der Vogel frisst vom Napf Getreide,
fuellt damit seine Eingeweide.
Der Katze knurrt der leere Magen,
hat nichts gegessen schon seit Tagen.
Nun springt die Katz mit einem Satz....
den grauen kleinen Spatz, den hat's.
Der Vogel der ja einst gesungen
wird von der Katze runterg'schlungen.
Im Magen selbst ist es sehr sauer,
hier schlaegt kein Vogelherz auf Dauer.
Der Spatz, in sehr prekaerer Lage
stellt sich die doch sehr kluge Frage:
Was wohl passiert wenn er sich wehrte
weil er die Freiheit so begehrte.
In diesem Augenblick da spuerte
die Katz' 'nen Stich was dazu fuehrte
dass aus des Magens inn'rer Feuchte
ein Katzenruelpser nun entfleuchte
und durch den Druck von Saeuren, Basen
entstand ein Aufwind von den Gasen.
Erst brodelte der Brei und kochte,
dem Sperling schon das Herze pochte.
Er spannte seine Fluegel aus
und flog dann mit dem Ruelpser raus.
English:
A sparrow sits, as sparrows will
gray-feathered on a window sill.
He eats there, from a bowl, fresh seeds
and thus fulfills his body's needs.
A cat observes the sparrow eating
and wonders whether this brief meeting
could lead to fill the belly since
she'd found no food in garbage bins.
And for some weeks she'd fed on roaches
inside retired Greyhound coaches.
In desperation now she pounces,
with all her pounds and fourteen ounces
and swallows quickly the gray bird,
who, going down, says not a word.
Inside the stomach it is sour,
no bird would last in there an hour.
The sparrow ponders what to do
his birdbrain though provides no clue.
He wonders briefly what would be
if he fought back. Would he be free?
And at that moment he is feeling
that from the bottom to the ceiling
the soup turns into one big bubble
which might increase for him the trouble.
But, unbeknownst to Wyatt Earp
the feline did release a burp.
And you, my friend, you would have laughed
as CO2 produced a draft.
The sparrow, shocked but somewhat clever,
thought to himself, if I could ever
escape this cat's digestive belly,
which was quite dark and very smelly,
it should be now! And then he felt
that through the updraft now expelled,
along with vapours, bile and juice,
he had escaped the feline's noose.
Herbert Nehrlich
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787.
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Bush
I am not smitten with the man
or what he does, day in day out.
I wonder though, just why there is
a veritable hurricane of lies
blasted like unforgiving arctic wind
at him as if he were the culprit,
a villain extraordinaire, mais ouis.
'Ami', says Schroeder privately,
dumm, ein Texasbauer, peasant
with stetson and that longhorn shit
for brain, no European would conduct
himself or this great orchestra
with such incompetence, no way.
'All hurricanes can now be safely blamed
on George, he did not sign the paper',
a fruitcake by the name of Trittin,
says 'Amischwein you did not do
what all the people wanted, your neglect
of the environment has brought
you punishment, so well deserved.'
Al Qaida adds 'it is the wrath of God'.
Another voice wants to be heard,
somewhat anonymously, it says
much money was withheld from New Orleans
to pay for warring in Iraq, and troups,
most of them sent to battle overseas,
and no one left to help those bastards,
who were, by their own frank admission
black as the night, and sins occur,
as we all know, most likely in the dark.
Four years ago the editors of SA
predicted a disaster of unknown proportions
was waiting in the Gulf of Mexico.
They did not mention that the president
would be committing this indictable offence.
Herbert Nehrlich
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788.
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Bushfire
The outback fires raged and chased
the little critters onto barren land,
home was now gone, as sadness interlaced
with spinifex and bulldust, in the sand.
But look, a purple flower, ah so unafraid!
Unfolds and points its petals to the sky,
oblong and green, caressing as a braid
two fragile leaves embrace, while aiming high.
A trace of darkness, scorched from hostile flames
sticks to the fabric of the flower's skin.
I stand in awe, forgotten are the precious names
though there is closeness here, a spirit's kin.
Last puffs of smoke drift up as if to search for space
in which to start anew its evil tongues of death,
a shadow scrambles and it leaves a wrinkled trace
upon the earth and on its critters' hopeful breath.
The purple flower, now maturing into pink,
is standing taller and it sways in the new breeze
it cannot wait for friendly clouds to share a drink
and leaves to others all the begging and the pleas.
Life for us all may hinge on simple, silly deeds,
bestowed in random ways by friend and foe alike.
Each purple flower must be tolerant of weeds
and of Bavarians with big bellies on a hike.
Yes, life will blossom as the script itself revealed,
no fire ever can destroy the spirit's soul.
All deadly ills of human beings shall be healed
by roaring flames under benevolent control.
Herbert Nehrlich
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