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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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809.
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Camera..... Action....Roll....
She was curled up on her mattress loosely covered by a sheet,
crimson rivers staining alabaster skin,
through French windows peeked a moon through thick Louisiana heat
marking out a most sardonic final grin.
Mean his manners and his stubbles as he barked a new command,
all assistants scurried gladly to and fro.
From the alley came the voice that rattled gravel and pure sand
flashing lights were just a part of this great show.
Tears of sadness fell to ground and mixed with blood on marble tiles
as the camera picked up a silent twitch,
when the boss put down his pipe and started scratching at his piles,
then announced that they had run into a glitch.
In the end it took a day before the scene recorded right,
they were tired of that little word named 'action'.
And the body had a fever from the hot and burning light
the director had to have his satisfaction.
Herbert Nehrlich
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810.
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Camilla and Charles
Oh, what a dream it was!
I had been standing idly
at the gate called Buckingham,
the Palace was engulfed
in British Dew, so gray
when suddenly, how strange,
two corgy dogs came at me growling.
In an evasive, quick manoeuvre
I entered royal territory,
a carriage driven by the Queen
devoured body, soul and spirit.
'I must be dead', the thought occurred,
a yellow light was playing sweetly
with four full-grown and horny moths.
The Prince was bandaging my ankle
and for my soul my head was cradled
within the lap of a stout maiden.
She stroked my hair, then kissed my cheek
and spoke exotic English,
I understood, I'd be alright
if not they would be sorry
and give command to have a wake
a burial with full honours
she smelled so nice and looked so young
her perfume is called Ambush.
And when Camilla mentioned 'Wake',
I sat up in my bed,
and, realising what's at stake
I'm glad I am not yet dead.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: sorry poems, hair poems, dream poems, light poems, dog poems, kiss poems
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811.
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Can You Spare A Dime?
Oh Bro, can you spare a dime?
I need to get some soup and bread
to feed my brain so it can rhyme
there is a glut inside my head
of words and letters, ribbons, buttons
to be let out in splendid birth
but poets in their heads are gluttons
we give and take from this great earth.
So can you spare just one small dime
I'll make for you the sweetest rhyme.
Herbert Nehrlich
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812.
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Canadians
A handsome, male, Canadian Goose
had, since that morning, rather loose
and frequent bouts of very runny......
you know, and no, it wasn't funny
now let me tell to you the reason.
December is the Christmas Season,
and geese are often on the menu
thus no surprise that at this venue
at a small town named Chilliwack
the hunters went on the attack.
Now Mr. Goose was known as gander
and he was prone to just meander
through all the gardens and the woods
to look for culinary goods.
He had, needless to say, decreed
that she should wait to get her feed
and since the gander's high IQ
would always tell him what to do
they would be safe to New Year's Day
when hunting closed out on the Bay.
It now so happened that the base
of Mrs. Goose's hiding blace
was at the bottom of the Mill
where she could sit no longer still.
She scrambled up the steep incline
and crossed a well known danger line.
A man, well armed was walking near
and caused the goose a bit of fear.
She ran to gain her take-off speed
slowed down by snow and frozen weed
and as it started now to hail
the hunter was right on her tail.
Now female geese don't have the wits
of ganders, but they get the shits
whenever danger shows its head
the question is, be loose or dead.
So, was it instinct or an urge
of Nature when a sudden purge
of quite substantial gooseshitgreen
came flying out onto the scene?
Pursuit is often quite successful
but also can be rather stressful.
Precisely at the moment when
the goose decided, once again
that she was doomed this day, would lose
this battle and her gander goose,
there was an empty sound at last,
she recognised it from the past
there would be only gaseous bluff
she hadn't eaten quite enough.
But, with a bang that could be heard
by each and every Northern bird
a chocolate well filled with nuts
exploded from her inner guts.
The night before, her gander man
had hatched an urgent, special plan
he sat, in silence, and subdued
to get his lady in the mood.
And from his soft, Canadian wing
he did retrieve a gift-wrapped thing.
It was a chocolate bar from Lindt,
the foil was taken by the wind.
She swallowed it, without a thought
(and happiness had just been bought) .
But since she didn't chew the nuts
they went intact, right to her guts.
Nut pellets hit the man who lusted
to get his goose, his glasses busted,
he fell without a further sound
into the green sauce on the ground.
By now, the goose had gathered knots
and since she was no clumsy klutz
she lifted in the winter air
just missing a tall Polarbear.
She honked to let the gander know
and soon he could be seen in tow.
They left the region, flew to Rome
and made themselves a Latin home.
The man who had been knocked out cold
had turned and on the slick ice rolled
down the incline just when the bear
was looking for his season's share.
So you can see that when a gander
gets up to go and just meander
it's best to keep each female feather
out of the fickle winter weather.
Herbert Nehrlich
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