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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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1597.
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José's Brassieres
Colchita who had married young
lost hubby (though he was not hung) .
He had, defying all the laws
absconded with a thousand bras
from JC Penney, in the city
which for the owners was a pity.
This Penney's was the first they'd built
well-decorated and then filled
with gadgets from the greedy Yanks
the thing was financed by the banks.
Colchita's hubby, named José
had bought a bra but could not pay.
He did not have those mucho pesos
to top it off, he smelled like quesos.
They did attempt to throw him out,
the manager began to shout;
José, instead of giving in
took out his box marked Mickey Finn.
Each person in the store was given
three pills (José by now was driven) ,
and soon they rested on the floor
while our hero searched the store.
He ended up not liking things,
discarded even golden rings
and in the end he grabbed all bras.
It must have been simply because
he liked the thought of what one found
inside the cups, so big and round.
He took his ageless Chevy truck
right through the border, with some luck.
They asked about the pile of cloth,
he said it was to chase the moths
from all the curtains in L A
the borderguard said, A-Okay.
Back home the women were united
and wanted José extradited.
All senoritas and senoras
were now considered little whoras.
No one had access to support,
be it a nursing bra or sport.
So when José, well dressed and healthy
came back to Mexico, now wealthy
they took him to the ancient jail
and tied him to a donkey's tail.
The donkey then was stimulated
by heavy voltage, highly rated
in megaamps, and DC current,
it was not meant as a deterrent.
The donkey ran into the scrub
tripped over a cast iron tub,
which had been placed to water stock
inside the shade of a big rock.
The donkey, thinking of a chase
which was, you know it, not the case,
had tangled his hind legs (the dope)
in a quite sturdy handmade rope.
This rope kept tub and rock in place
but now it triggered a wild race.
The donkey, looking briefly back
saw tub and rock on the attack!
They, tied by rope, were pulled behind
which seemed at least to be unkind.
The more they raced the faster ran
the tub as if it were a man,
the rock stayed with it just the same
it was a terrifying game.
As you can guess, they did not stop
until they reached the very top
of Montezuma's mountain range
where something genuinely strange
descended on the fleeing trio:
it was the song of Sole Mio
sung by the angels up above,
a song of true, eternal love.
Our God, whose wisdom sure surpasses
the intellect of any asses,
(be they from Mexico or not)
had, with some kindness, killed the lot.
He had been napping on the mountain
in a deckchair by the fountain,
an angel had played the guitar
when the commotion from afar
disturbed his afternoon siesta,
no need to mention the fiesta.
José, now dead and at the Gate,
to be assessed for mental state
saw angel after angel wear
no stockings and no underwear,
just see-through gowns of pink chiffon
and brand new bras that slip right on.
So now you know when YOU do pass,
thanks to José and one mad ass,
you might as well take Rubik's cubes
because you won't see any boobs.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1598.
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Journey
Silent whispers float on by,
wait, and let me hear!
Fragrance of warm apple pie,
humming bees so near.
Spring, your lovely virgin breath
sets my heart on fire,
eyes will see no sign of Death,
currents take me higher.
Birds and planes soon left behind,
anxious moments teasing,
clouds beguile the drifting mind,
angel teardrops freezing.
Yes, my friend, you fly ahead
go and find your God.
Those who ache to join the dead
strike me rather odd.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1599.
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Journey To Appenzell
A Dandelion stood alone
near iron railway tracks,
he leaned against a granite stone
to rest, and to relax.
He stood up straight for every train
and watched the many faces,
who travelled, seemingly in vain
to mystic foreign places.
He never knew that there was life
beyond the smoke and dirt,
one day a gentleman with knife
bent down and cut. It hurt.
The man now rode to Appenzell
and back each afternoon.
He wore the plant on his lapel
but tired of it soon.
Five journeys Dandelion made,
then, on a Sunday morn,
just as his shine began to fade
he felt that he was torn
and thrown without a single tone
onto the pitch-black tracks.
He landed near the granite stone
and leaned back to relax.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1600.
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Joy - In Memoriam
She gave to all,
with caring hands
and warmth of heart.
They called her,
with a hint of praise
'our volunteer'.
Her man of fifty years
thought of himself
as flabbergast,
the very thought
of clubs and charities,
their numbers endless
like the grains of sand,
on beaches reeking strangely
of the musk of sweet infinity.
She had not needed much
in culinary goods
or in the way of sleep.
Her smile was tainted,
yes, a mixture of concern
and reassuring nods,
framed by a mischievous
and maiden born enthusiasm.
When she laid eyes on me
that busy day, when all of us
had come to get acquainted,
there in the yard, a cask or two
and green VB on bags of ice,
we clicked just for the heck of it,
it seemed. And if she judged
it did not show, for which I was
as always glad, she took you
as you were or as you sought to be.
A shadow flashed across her cheeks
that helter-skelter afternoon
when life demanded all her skills
and selflessly she had complied,
again. And then again.
There was a pain, a real pain
down in the very pit of things,
and instantly she had become
a woman of unusual perception.
She'd been, by way of cyberwaves
become aware. So sad for litle folks.
What would they do, let down as such
by what the gods had now decreed,
it would be such a pain to tell,
especially the little ones, she would
be so bereft of words, the granny
who had met the match,
the one who took her speech away
by cutting deep within that heart of gold
and twisting once or twice,
just to make sure she understood.
And then, when she awoke again,
to wrap the Christmas gifts for all,
she had to steady trembling hands
and sit in the recliner from last year,
a present of her grown up son,
attorney to the world, respected
and the father of those little darlings
who would be, with smiles of happiness
and reddened cheeks rush to the tree
and rip the living daylights out of wraps
and bows and cartons made by boys
in sweatshops of new opportunity,
down old Kolkata Way.
She would be resting then,
inside a box of cypress or mahogany
and think about them all, with Joy,
her little ears alert to all the sounds
that were her life and warmed her heart
so long ago. It was a life lived by a flower,
who never lost the fragrance of a rose.
Herbert Nehrlich
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