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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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177.
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My High School Choir
It was expected to belong.
A boy who has his sights
aimed high,
who aims to make
his parents proud,
will show respectability
and rise above the common folks.
It was the driving force
that made me join the choir,
a voice of mediocre quality
would not disgrace the school
as it was mixed into the crowd
of screaming baritones,
of pubescent basses and the lone
and rather spindly looking pallor
who, as a rarity, was an essential tenor.
When teenage vocal cords perform,
there is an awe that settles in the hall,
or auditorium, it clings to dusty walls
and rests among the cobwebs of the past.
And hearts pick up their happy beat
as if to shout about their sheer invincibility,
each ear, as it partakes the sum of all,
of loud, angelic voices oh, so pure,
claims ownership of the collage of tones
impressed and stirred to greater deeds,
while restless eyes now roam, subdued
search rows of colleagues in the amber light
until they find that pair of mellow molecules,
look back into the innocence of all,
and tiny promises now sing a melody.
Herbert Nehrlich
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178.
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Off With Their Heads
So Dubya wants to leave the stage
in righteous, radioactive rage.
He figures that by being tough
the effort may yet be enough
to have the people keep him there
as logical and rightful heir.
Drop bombs and other friendly fire
onto the people, what a liar
who has condemned allies and friends
to wait until the folly ends.
Hold on there, cowboy, time is up!
Just have a look at your own cup!
We threw the gangster Howard out
demoted him to walkabout.
It's time the warmongers and crooks
be hung from sturdy butcher's hooks.
No people ought to be subjected
to orders from above, directed
at special interests in the name
of freedom, what a dirty shame.
Just have a look and see who runs
the poisons, oilrigs and the guns
and who will benefit from it
I say, let us indict, to wit,
let's lock them up without a trial
and let them fester there a while.
Well, George, now Tony Blair has gone
and Howie, you will soon move on.
You have not covered your small head
with glory, and it must be said
that they will read in hist'ry books
just how we recognised you crooks.
And that we learned by observation
that help is needed for this nation.
Ideals were lost and hopes were shattered,
as if those values never mattered.
You know the feeling how the air
smells lovely and beyond compare
after a shower in the Spring.
You'll hear the tiny robins sing
and that is what the world will know
when all you gangsters finally go.
Herbert Nehrlich
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179.
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Poetry Practice (Kids)
I have a little brown-eyed horse
it bites me from behind,
shows neither mercy nor remorse
I wish my horse were kind.
I have a little blue-eyed goat
he lies and steals from me
last week he stole my paddleboat
and took it out to sea.
I have a little green-eyed frog
he slept inside my bed,
I should have left him in the log
because he now is dead.
I know an ugly-eyed, obese
and sniffling ball of slime,
it's swinging in the evening breeze
a happy unsolved crime.
Herbert Nehrlich
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180.
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Polygamy **
I want to join the folks who keep
a bunch of wives to help them sleep.
If chosen wisely, I suppose
the one with a large-nostrilled nose
would be the chef to feed me well,
another, one with pompous breasts
would serve to entertain the guests,
most men (excepting me) prefer
their boobs stupendous, de rigueur,
thus visitors would feel at ease.
The wife resembling heartsease,
a flower of extreme noblesse
would be my partner, playing chess
and sit on Biedermeier chairs
discussing other folks' affairs.
Then there is she, who often giggles,
and as she walks she truly wiggles,
her eyes downcast like silken sheets
she would not know of poet Keats
but versed she'd be in certain skills
she'd be the keeper of all Dills.
The question soon on my agenda
would be, if all of them are tenda
in dealing with a man like me
they'd all be welcome, after tea
to douse the lights in my huge bed
and sleep together, head to head.
In darkness then, if certain feelings
like urges, also known as healings
come up and penetrate the skin
it would be time to venture in
the territory of sweet dreams
of pheromones and sticky creams.
Alas, who'd pick the lucky sleeper
who'd bring her close to me the reaper?
Would there be strife beneath the sheets
perhaps some clawing of soft teats?
Would there be jealousy and tears
a tally kept to mark arrears?
And, most importantly how would
my little fellow (no one could)
assign those points to match a face
and know which lady was an ace?
I'm tempted to discard the notion
that multiples into devotion
in marriage makes much sense at all,
yes, it is good to have a tall,
a short and round, an apple ass
and one whose Roman cheeks show class
but, is a man with more than one
ahead in life (think of the fun)
or is this all a clever ploy
by Gods to give a boy his toy?
I woke, the dream had my attention,
looked over, made no special mention
viewed the mirage which lay beside
inside my loins, a liquid tide
was building, sanctioned by the brain
Polygamy? Was I insane?
A bit of drool now trickled on
her pillow, as the morning sun
caressed her soft delicious twins
her bellybutton (yes it grins)
was looking with a horny eye
at me, the world's gregarious guy,
the one whose luck was so complete...
I placed my fingers on the sheet
and met her hand into the night
while holding sweetly, holding tight.
A moment's grace lets me assess
and I shall openly confess
that ALL of what my senses knew
was the perfection that is you.
Herbert Nehrlich
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