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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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1117.
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Cow Eyes
And who I ask you academic minds
would find the eyes of cows attractive
most humans would consider putting blinds
to cover bovine faces, though they are pro-active
in their own way, most notably the udder
on those occasions that they have been freshly cleaned
and, thinking back to my own farm I often shudder
how hard it was to raise a calf until it's weaned.
It was the State of Washington, the weather lousy
and bugs would visit unsuspecting little calves
the frigid winds blew in and pushed around the drowsy
young critters and we used so many medicines and salves
yet many died, of the pneumonia bug and also scours.
I well remember that it often broke their mother's heart
when in the foggy, lonely often deadly morning hours
another one fell over, cutting short a very hopeful start.
But what I never will forget is how those homely eyes
took on a sad and melancholy look of real pain
each time a little one was finished, and had stopped its cries
it felt, to all as if a cruel bovine devil suddenly had slain
a child of innocence, so cute and full of utter need
it was those sad occasions when we all were fools,
such helplessness, but we could see, indeed
the mix of Friesan, Holstein and those Jersey jewels.
You may prefer those often mentioned Spanish eyes
so full of Southern heat and spirit of the roaming sun
and if you do you have not ever caught the look, so wise
of one sad mother cow, who thinks 'what have they done'.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1118.
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CRA - Years Cannot Erase
I see you still, just standing, in the shade
soft shoulders, slightly drooped, it wasn't fair.
It was a day it seemed like any they had made
the memory of lust still in the frosty air.
Although prepared for awkward glances, bring them on!
Due to the nervousness of things to come so soon,
a future which was spent and now had gone
no tears were visible or felt, I was a hoon.
A ray of sunshine probed through traffic's cranky noise,
and settled on your sweet, angelic face.
You looked so sad but covered well (just like the boys) ,
I was so tempted then. But years cannot erase.
Your Nordic features, bathed in golden orange glow
have stayed with me for forty years, and maybe more.
But when we met again, so briefly, in the snow,
there was resentment from the stuff that went before.
I'm passing through, would you please forward all my mail?
I Ieft you suddenly and vowed not to return.
Unspoken promises remained, though no farewells.
I was a brat and not too likely then to learn.
There is no question that ye Gods have intervened.
You matter more than you will ever ever know.
I say Good Day now to the bum and to the fiend
and watch a secret little flower thrive and grow.
I am not mean or without feeling for them all,
would never hurt a little fly unless it squeaked.
But in the city, at the big shots' annual ball
it was my energy that really, really peaked.
You held your hand out, dressed in glove of snowy white,
I took it off and kissed your lifeline just to say,
it is not crucial what there is but what just might
come join me on the road to far and far away.
There is a weather coming in, an Autumn haze,
huge clouds are drifting just to settle here tonight.
But all our years will never ever quite erase
it would have been, my darling, right and right and right.
I shall be waiting for you, anywhere you choose.
And if you cannot break away until we die,
perhaps you WILL save just the last for me, a Blues
and we could dance until the angels say good bye.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1119.
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CRA Lives Here
I have met so many in my days,
who would demand admission to the place.
Clean-shaven and surrounded by the fragrance of Cardin
you'd carry your Schick-pampered chins with pride.
You did not ask, you ripped the fabric door,
a curtain that was made of silk and lace,
and just a patch or two of autumn kangaroo hide.
It is a day of sorts, the French call it Martin,
they also say that all of life is an encore,
and that the people carry on inside a haze.
My place is closed to all, it has been spoken for.
I cannot have another guest, I do regret,
all rooms are taken from the basement to each floor
it's been a love-in since the very day we met.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1120.
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Crash
....and bathed in beads of fearful perspiration,
our pilot tried to re-start one more time.
He had exhausted all his skills, and navigation
of empty air space with no power, was a crime.
So, they prepared for the disaster by the book.
Your head goes forward with the pillow on your knees.
Your mouth is open, eyes would have a fearful look.
The pressure fails, a door flies out, in comes a breeze.
The first to go is flight attendant number two,
as by the exit she had tried to lock the latch.
It sucked her out, she struggled, then she flew.
Her fragile body for those forces was no match.
The folding seat, reserved for flight crew was now rattling,
the purser hurled himself to isle seat right nearby.
An older woman left the toilet and was battling
against the suction but she also had to fly.
The captain's voice now shouted his commands:
'Stay belted in, we're ditching in the sea.'
And one could see the golden dunes and endless sands.
I started praying to the cushion on my knee.
There was no sound except a howling from the wind,
the nose was up too much, the tail was sagging badly.
And in the cockpit sat the pilot and he grinned,
I thought he's losing it, we need him now, how sadly
these things turn out sometimes when nothing is expected.
A simple journey with a modern aero-plane,
then something happens and your whole life is affected,
as you go down at speed you try to look so sane.
We seemed to glide now, perhaps were slowing down,
only the body of the plane had started shaking.
A thousand rattles, I was sticking to my frown,
some of the passengers had quickly started faking
a calm expression in the face of Grim the Reaper.
Go out in style, die like a man, I thought of that.
I asked Him briefly whether He as my own keeper
could have the heart to show the way to where it's at.
We hit so hard the plane broke in two sections,
a fire flashed from deep within the galley floor,
the flight crew instantly was springing into action,
but nothing worked, the bloody shute stayed by the door.
We had our panic, something useless and insane,
that no one welcomes it although it fights the stress.
Now passengers were jumping off the plane.
A black-robed priest stood by the exit, said 'God bless'.
There, in the water, there was movement and much foam,
some of it red as many sharks were coming in.
The plane was tipping now, submerging its nose dome.
And soon the suction of the water would begin.
Some horrifying screams were heard, and limbs,
whole torsos, heads and other pieces floated
between the frenzied sharks but from the iron rims
of the wrecked plane were people jumping as I noted.
Then we went down within about ten seconds,
a pooping noise was like the last hooraah.
I thought is this how hell or heaven beckons,
and a decision was required - jump or stay.
Into the cockpit was my thought, I dove right in.
Quick. Shut the door and bolted, then took stock.
The storage section by the door was one big bin,
'twas filled with cylinders that said 15- B-Dock.
A bill of lading was attached to it, I read it:
Port Moresby - Helium, A-Grade, pressure sealed.
A thought appeared, before I could forget it
I started grinning at the secret here revealed.
I shook the pilot who had passed out cold and grinning,
as he came to he did confirm my bright idea.
If we could manage it, the chances of us winning
would be considerable, and we'd get out of here.
With kitchen knives and cockpit axe
we chopped the shute and sealed the cube.
And double-checked and caulked with wax
until we'd used the final tube.
Then, on command applied our masks
of oxygen's life-giving power.
Forthwith began the vital task
of opening up our helium shower.
All cylinders were cranked wide open,
their hiss drowned out our anxious fears.
We clung to instruments and seats, were hoping
would we go up if no one steers?
And with a gurgle and a rumble
we started our strangest trip.
At first we did a little tumble
and then a bumpy backward flip.
That's when the captain grabbed the stick
to steer our ship - I guess he's mad.
He turned around and said: 'Hey Nick,
we're gaining altitude, not bad.'
And up we floated now and hovered,
the four of us, by now recovered
from fatalistic final mood.
We broke the surface and went faster.
The captain stared, sat there like glued,
and said 'I take you from disaster
back to your loved ones in this ship.'
'Thank you for choosing us to fly
we hope you had a pleasant trip.
and now we bid you folks good bye
we'll see you back on our ship.'
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: power poems, water poems, journey poems, sometimes poems, woman poems, red poems, fire poems, people poems, heaven poems, hope poems, wind poems, sea poems, spring poems, thanks poems, women poems, work poems, howl poems, fear poems, lost poems
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