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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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109.
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Mother Goose
The pillow cradled her gray locks,
she dreamed about a goose,
the night was cold and she wore socks
of pleasant baby blue.
When in the morning she awoke,
her dream was still so vivid,
she realised this was no joke,
sat up, became quite livid.
They'd tied (inside her dream) a noose
around the lovely neck
of that benign Canadian goose,
out on the Boathouse deck.
As through the window peeked the willow
she quickly donned her shoes,
picked up and hugged her fluffy pillow..
it was her Mother Goose.
Herbert Nehrlich
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110.
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My Kindred Spirits
I dream about my travels,
through times long gone
and space now allocated
to those young bulls with horns.
A melancholy road ahead
is lined on either side
by fragrant leaves and stems,
with purple petals, moist of dew.
Those are my kindred spirits,
they neither wilt nor ever die,
a comfort should I need to cry.
Herbert Nehrlich
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111.
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My Old Schoolmate
A friend from overseas,
one who was half forgotten,
came for a visit just today,
to reminisce and see koalas.
I had occasion to observe
him freshening and take a shave
in front of our steamed up mirror,
and he remarked that olden times
remember when we used to, well.
He started yapping as he used to
just over 50 years ago at home.
Yes I remembered well our pranks,
the turds we laid in school loudspeaker,
the powdered Glauber Salt for tea
that made the teachers run at last.
The hazy, though acute reflection
had given me some food for thought
but when we sat with our friend Jack
and sipped the memories back down
it did occur to me that he, in truth,
had aged so much that it was doubtful
he was the friend I'd left behind.
So, c'est la vie I mumbled loudly,
creation knows no decency.
Next morning when he shaved again
I peeked in quickly, did confirm
and my elation made me glow
how lucky can a person get?
Then I was beeped and had to go
he said 'you put on some condition',
patting my belly, then he added
'well face it, we're old geezers now'.
I have a beard and never shave
and therefore have no need to look
into a steamed up lying mirror
and, well I do recall the days,
when that old geezer was still young,
he always did exaggerate.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: mirror poems, friend poems, school poems, food poems, today poems, remember poems, truth poems, home poems, teacher poems, memory poems, running poems
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112.
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Of Horses And Flies
A fly had ventured from his nest
and flew (of course) then came to rest
upon the tailbone of a horse.
And with considerable force
he pushed his stinger through the hide
which promptly ended up inside.
The horse, whose tolerance of pain
was governed by an oblong brain,
a horse, that much is widely known
is born without a funny bone
It follows that a horse may cry
when bitten by a nasty fly.
The fly, whose cousins own the dunny
inflicts his germs and thinks it funny
when bits of half-digested dung
infect the spot where he has stung.
Though in the case of any horse
it matters little since, of course
a horse makes, on command, vaccine
which brings resistance to the scene.
Thus horses won't, upon reflection,
pick up a Coliform infection,
which pleases me (you may ask why)
but tell me, why the horse would cry!
A horse will cry at times, of course
due to the fly's lack of remorse.
Which does intensify the pain
I hope I've made this subject plain.
Since stings make horses jump and wince
you'll never see a horse that grins.
You may consider this quite silly
but think about it, as a filly
a horse soon meets the dreaded fly
he suffers, as the years go by
and stores the thought inside his head
that flies would better off be dead.
And if, the Gods in the hereafter
outlawed all flies we'd hear the laughter
of horses just as now and then
a nicker sound comes from the pen.
This is a soft and pleasant sound
containing vowels that are round.
But if you hear them whinny-ing
you know they're thinking of the sting
and of the time when God will boil
all flies in holy Hyssop oil.
All mammals then will celebrate
the new and blessed stingless state
and will, in gratitude endorse
the king of critters, yes the horse.
Herbert Nehrlich
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